Who was the hottest boy in my 7th grade? Hmmm... let's see... I'd narrow it down to two:

(a) My friend Scott, who was on swim team with me. I've said alot about Scott elsewhere, so let's go straight to...

(b) My other friend Buddy.

Buddy was an awesome-looking boy. Blond hair, blue eyes. I didn't have any big thing about blue-eyed blonds - if anything, I had a slight preference for darker hair. But Buddy would've been cute even with orange hair and Coke- bottle glasses :). Tall, slim, fantastic body, big smile, perfect teeth, good complexion... I wish I could show his picture. The words don't do him justice. He was just about the cutest 12 y/o boy I ever met, before or since.

I liked his personality, too. He was outgoing and extroverted, like me. Unlike me, he was pretty conventional in most ways. He never got into disciplinary trouble. He got good grades - not all A's, but better than mine. He studied alot, because it was expected of him. He already had a career path laid out - he was going to go to work in his dad's business (the nature of which I've forgotten), and take over the company someday. I think you know the type. Buddy wasn't imaginative in the least. He was solid. Kids and adults like Buddy keep the world a saner, steadier place.

Buddy was very graceful. I was a good athlete mainly because I have lightning reflexes and can stay accurate in the clutch, and sometimes I have a sixth sense about where to go and when to pass or shoot. Buddy had a talent I never had, and greatly wished for: steadiness and aim. He could line up a shot, and almost without fail make it. The only sport we played together regularly was tennis; needless to say, he beat my butt most every time. Buddy was into basketball and tennis, especially basketball that year. Later, he got fascinated with golf in a big way. (I think golf is the classic sport for guys with that steadiness skill.)

Buddy's straight-arrow status wasn't without exceptions - he was capable of breaking some rules when he wanted. He would sneak off school property with us from time to time and drink cheap wine - not often, and like me, he didn't drink alot, but he'd go. And he let me cheat off his paper in math class a couple of times. (Let me say for the record that I only rarely cheated in school. I won't claim that it was out of any high ethical standards, though I always felt guilty and still do. My compunction at the time was that I didn't want to get caught, have to serve detention, and maybe lose my athletic eligibility. That scared me straight. :))

Speaking of straight... Buddy was as straight as could be, sexually. I did have the hots for Buddy, and would've done anything with him in a split- second. But I got nowhere with recruiting him for "Little Danny's Amateur Sex Education Clinic", although I tried :).

Aside from his good looks and personality, I was attracted to Buddy because he was one of the minority of boys at that time who wore boxers instead of briefs. I've already outlined why I like boys in boxers, so it's enough to say that it was a rush whenever I got to see him in his boxers. And that was more often than average, because Buddy wore white pants alot. Our military-school uniform code was loosened up around the time I started school there, and you had a limited choice of shirts and pants. Being colorblind, I can't tell you what the different combinations were with shirts and neckties, but I know we had three choices of pants: white, blue or black. Most boys (including me) wore blue or black. My guess is that it was because most boys' moms didn't want to do laundry all the time; white pants need to be washed after a single wearing, of course. My mom was in the minimum-laundry category, so I didn't have any white pants back then. But some boys wore white pants all the time, and Buddy was one of them.

Of course, there's no way to keep your underwear from showing underneath your white pants. And with boxers, it's more obvious than briefs. Buddy wore the kind with colored vertical stripes, and it was really obvious. I'd sit in math class with Buddy next to me, and get very distracted by the sight of his underwear. I suppose it was kind of tacky, in a fashion sense. But I loved it :). (Incidentally, since I'm colorblind, I wear white pants alot myself, nowadays; and I have never figured out the solution to this visible-underwear problem. So I just let mine show. I try to avoid the boxers with contrasting stripes and all that, but even plain white underwear shows. I guess I'm tacky. :))

The closest I ever got to sex with Buddy, was one late-winter afternoon when we went off together. We didn't do anything. But it's a sweet memory.

That day, we skipped out of chapel (chapel was one of the few times of day when they didn't call roll, so it was easier to skip) and went to the abandoned quarry down the road from school. It was just the two of us that day, for some reason. Neither of us had any alcohol. But some of the older kids occasionally kept a bottle of MD 20-20 stashed behind the rocks, so we were hoping.

It was just Buddy and me, walking down the railroad tracks, yakking away. The day was chilly, but the sky was cloudless and the sun was bright and warm. I remember enjoying the freedom from school, and being with a friend... and I remember hoping to fool around with Buddy. It was literally the first time I'd ever been alone with him, and I thought I'd never have a better chance.

At several points along the tracks, one of us or the other would stop for a moment, to pull up our socks or tie a shoe or something. I have a vividly- etched memory of one such instance, when I stopped to tie my shoe. Buddy walked on ahead. I looked up as I finished my task, preparing to rise and trot down to rejoin him. And I was struck, like a ray of light, by seeing Buddy in that moment. The sun was shining in from his right, and it illuminated his hair like yellow fire, and his beautiful profile as he glanced off to the side, and his tall, graceful stride, in that moment.

And - like a flower whose petals enclose a treasure of pollen, a fertile core - his boxers were visible underneath his white pants. I can see it now, like a holograph. Buddy's boxers were thick gold and thin black vertical stripes against a white background, and they showed through the white fabric and drew my eye to his center, in that moment, and made me think of his butt and his legs, and that wild beauty came into focus around his sexuality, and I felt aroused, and I felt a little light from the impact, in that moment.

It passed as quickly as it came. I got up and walked fast to catch up to his side and we went on down the tracks.

Some memories are stained glass. They light up the spirit, and draw attention to the eternal in our daily midst, if we'd just look up.

We got to the quarry and checked out the bottle-stash. We were in luck! There was a half-full bottle of the wretched purple stuff. We sat ourselves down and began companionably passing the bottle, still talking. I think our conversation centered around the upcoming major-league baseball season, and whether our favorite team (we shared that loyalty) would do okay.

Chapel lasted exactly an hour. And I had to get back to school for swim-team practice by 3:15, and Buddy had basketball the same time, so we both knew we'd have to head back before too long. That made it vital for me to push ahead, if I wanted to do anything with him.

After a few swallows - all we dared to take, since it wasn't our bottle and since we had practice coming up - we put the bottle away. We were both pleasantly loose. Partly due to that fact, and partly due to the time factor, I decided to just go direct. When there was a lull in the conversation, I just said, with no preliminary: "Man, that sun makes me horny... how about you?" Buddy giggled. Okay, so far. I rushed on: "It makes me want to beat off. Do you want to do it with me?" Talk about blunt :). That was not how I usually approached the subject with a boy the first time, although it worked well with my experienced partners.

Buddy giggled again, but he was shaking his head "no" at the same time. I pressed a little: "Do you ever beat off?" At that, he looked away. I didn't know if he'd answer. But after a second or two he said, "Well... yeah..." Good sign. Not all of my friends did it, and I figured those who did would be more receptive; so there was hope.

I could think of only one gambit at the moment: a dare. Daring him to prove it. I'd used it before, and it didn't work unless the boy was the type who would never turn down a dare. That wasn't Buddy's personality at all. But the dare option was all I had left, so I used it: "Yeah? Wanna prove it?" I grinned, to take a little of the directness out of it. A dare without grinning could be serious stuff, and alienate the recipient.

Buddy didn't get offended or anything. But he made his wishes clear. He immediately said, "No." He didn't elaborate or continue - just a flat "No." He didn't act upset, but he didn't smile. Like a cloud going across the sun.

Despite the way it may seem, I did know how to take "no" for an answer :). I knew then that it was a lost cause, and I wasn't going to push any longer and lose a friend. It was time for a strategic retreat. The situation had grown a little tense, and I could feel it.

Whenever I get in a delicate situation, nine times out of ten, it seems, a very particular thing happens; and it's wonderful, in both senses of the word - wonderful, and full of wonder. It's like some angel or magic fairy whispers in my ear, telling me exactly the right thing to say or do. I don't experience this as an actual voice. But the words come into my head, and I say them; or the idea comes to me ("do XYZ"), and I do it - and my action defuses the tension or remove the difficulty.

That happened now, with Buddy. I acted unconsciously; I can't recall any thought process leading up to it. I reached over and cupped my hand on his shoulder. It was exactly the right thing. It was important to touch; without it, the small split between us would've become a gulf, quickly. But the usual types of touches boys used on each other - mock-punching your friends, wrestling holds, and all that - would've been the wrong thing. Those touches defused some situations, but it wouldn't have worked in this case.

I could've touched Buddy with just a forefinger, too; but he needed more touch than that. I can't explain why. I just know.

As I touched him, I said the right thing, too: "Dares are for kids, anyways." Then I dropped my hand. Maybe one second in time, total.

I can't sit here and explain why that worked. But it clicked.

Buddy's reply was one word: "Yeah." The word was accompanied by one expression, and that was the real reply: he looked me in the eye, and grinned.

I have been lucky in my life in so many, many ways. I can't count all my blessings. One blessing is that I have alienated so few of my friends. I'm sad that I haven't kept up with any of the boys I knew from back then - a function of time, and especially distance. But I remember.

It was time to go back to the school. We got up off the rocks and brushed our pants off. I felt light-headed from the MD 20-20. I said, "Goddam, that stuff made me dizzy... how 'bout you?" Buddy mock-staggered, like he was about to keel over in a drunken stupor. We both laughed. It was cool. I felt close to him. We walked to the railroad tracks and headed back.

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As I said, that was the one and only time I was ever alone with Buddy. It didn't matter, in terms of sexuality - that wasn't going to be part of the friendship. But friends come in many flavors. Buddy and I didn't stay as close; he developed his circle of friends, and I hung out with everybody and wasn't a deep part of any close-knit groups. But we remained friends. I daydreamed about stuff like sleepovers with Buddy, and sleeping on the living room floor, and winding up lying down with my face somehow next to his thighs (and vice-versa), and one thing leading to another... but I was happy with reality.

Man, he was sooooo cute, though... :)

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Postscript: When I was just out of college, working in my first professional position, I had to go shop for some of those life-necessities, like toothpaste and socks and underwear and whatever. I was idly scanning through the men's underwear section at whatever mega-store I was in (can't even remember now). And my eye fell on this one package of boxers. They looked exactly like the pair Buddy was wearing that day - white background, with vertical stripes of thick gold and thin black. I stood there in the underwear aisle, and the memory of our quarry visit came flooding back, and I felt a shiver of longing and regret for what didn't happen, and thanksgiving for what did happen.

I was in denial about my boy-sex past, then; and I denied the regrets. It crossed my mind briefly to buy those boxers. I didn't.

The next time I went to that store, although I didn't need underwear, I went back and looked. They were gone.