Well... what else to say? We never did it again. We never even so much as fingered each other. Kenny wanted to try it again; I was the one who held back. This was a bit different from the typical pattern we had fallen into in our relationship. If one of us suggested new things or trying experiments, it was me, more often than not. And really, by this stage we knew each other well enough that neither of us had to take the lead much; it was mutual.

I dislike the gay subculture's terms "top" and "bottom", because among other things I can't help thinking of it as "master" and "slave." I know that's not exactly what the terms mean, but it's the image I get. (Another reason I dislike those terms is that I have trouble remembering which is which; they don't make literal sense. "Bottom" is supposed to mean receptive anal intercourse - I think? But one of the most popular positions is with the receptive partner sitting on the other guy's penis.) Anyway, those terms didn't apply to Kenny and me, however you define them. We had a relationship that I would describe as co-equal.

Trying anal sex again was one issue on which we had a divergence of opinion, though. I recall three other times it came up, and Kenny brought it up all three times. Twice as I recall, over the next 4-5 weeks, in the course of conversations about sex, he dropped the same hint: "Want to try the stables again?" Very indirect. That could've meant just sex in general. But he meant fucking specifically; I could tell. I glossed over it, both times, and he didn't press.

The third and last time it came up, we had a direct conversation about the experience, about three months after we did it. We were at the playground on the school property behind my house, taking a break from one-on-one soccer and swinging on the swings. Out of left field - we'd been talking about something sexual, but not that, not even about us - Kenny said, "I know it hurt you when we screwed. But I wouldn't mind trying it again. What if we used more lube, and went really slow? I mean, people do it all the time... there has to be a way... And you can go first, this time..."

I didn't say anything right away, thinking it over. My emotions were involved. I didn't want that pain again, and the other drawbacks. But... Kenny wanted to. And I liked him alot. (I loved him... but we didn't go there...) But I wimped out. I said "Ummm... well... we'll see. But not today, okay?" I honestly didn't know. I knew I was uncomfortable talking about it. In retrospect, it was bound up with my feelings toward him. I couldn't admit to myself that I'd consider going through more pain for him because he was my boyfriend.

He said, "Okay. I wasn't thinking today, anyway... just sometime. We can wait and see." And we didn't discuss it further. He wasn't upset or anything. I think he took it at face value - that I was genuinely unsure, and not that I was blowing him off. I'm glad, in hindsight. Because if we hadn't broken up a month or so after that, I might've let him screw me again. I was edging in that direction, before we split.

And that was it. The subject never came up again. And three months after Kenny and I split up, I sat on the patio outside my house in a downpour one August night, looking up atr the sky, and asked God to make me desire girls only and not boys from now on.

-----

Kenny was my boyfriend. I'd rather have chewed broken glass than admit it, back then; but he was my boyfriend. I loved him, and was willing to do stuff with him that I would never have done with a friend - even a sexually-exciting friend. And I wanted to get closer to Kenny. I'd had sex (intercourse) with two girls by this time, maybe 7-8 times total - not much, but enough to realize that the books were right - that sex can bring closeness, as well as vice-versa. This particular aspect with Kenny was really about letting him fuck me. I wanted him inside me, in that intimate way.

I want to repeat two things I wrote in the first part of this narrative. They are what I remember. More than the pain, the blood, or anything.

I remember looking out the bus window, and there was Kenny, still sitting there on the wall, talking to someone, sitting with his hair still wet from the shower, sitting there in his school uniform with his legs apart, swinging his feet in rhythm and kicking the wall, left-right-right, left-right-right... and I could see something between his legs that might have been his cock and balls, or might have been just a fold in his pants-fabric, or a shadow... And I remember consciously thinking "God, he is so hot."

I just looked at him for a few seconds. You are so awesome. It overcame all the pain. I didn't forget the pain, not by a long shot; and later, when rational thinking reasserted itself, what I remembered uppermost was the pain, and the other downside stuff. But in that instant... You are so awesome.