larkin

Thank you Cole.. It is a misleading title because it is really about the mother.

A friend and I discussed this project before it came out. I envisioned the publisher, hard up for cash flow talking Ms. Lee into it by saying that she had to leave the niece or nephew something after she gone.. I can almost see the editor and the publisher going up to the attic and dragging down the cardboard box with all Ms. Lee's writings They probably told her, "Don't worry about a thing, we'll take care of everything." Their intention was to stitch it all together into a coherent book.. They failed and discredited Harper Lee in the process. Had they just left her alone, she never would have done it. My friend was disappointed and has just mailed the book to me, I don't think I'll read it.

A Boy Like Me by Larkin There was no doubt about it, Anthony was a prick. Maybe that's what I liked about him, I don't know for sure. When I first met him I knew something was going to happen. He told me that he heard from other kids that I was gay. The word gay sounded so strange coming out of his mouth. I didn't say anything, I just shrugged my shoulders. He asked me, "What's it like, being gay and all?" He was trying to make friends with me and I had a right to be suspicious. Even so, someone else might have run off but I stayed there and listened to him. He said, "I might want to try it, you know what I mean, being gay and all. What do you think?" I didn't answer. I just kept listening to his story. He was big, Italian and a football type. I was skinny, small for my age and easily mistaken for a girl. He pointed at the "Big Deal Clothiers" and said, "That's my Dad's store." We went around to the side of the building and then I followed him up an outside stairway. It led to an unrented apartment on the second floor. It had just been freshly painted. As we walked around, our voices and footsteps echoed in the clean and empty rooms. I felt Anthony behind me. When I turned around, he had his cock sticking straight up out of his pants. He stroked it up and down and displayed it for me. He moved closer and then I felt his hand on my shoulder. He said, "Come on, I won't tell anyone." He moved closer and pushed me down.......So I did it. I was untroubled by the experience because to be honest, it had not been my first. Once I finally gave in and let him force me to do it, he wouldn't let me alone. He'd use all these stupid excuses to get me alone somewhere. I may be a wimp but I'm not stupid. If it was going to happen, I didn't want to make it too easy for him. I wanted him to talk me into it so if anything happened, I could blame him. I'd make up all kinds of excuses like, "I have to go home." He'd say, "Don't give me that, you don't have to go anywhere." Then I'd say, "I have to go meet someone." And he'd say, "Yeah, like who?" I couldn't think up a name of who I was supposed to meet. I could have just run away but I didn't. I'd just hang around and hang around driving him crazy. He'd whisper in my ear. "Come on, you like to suck my dick. Don't you remember how much fun it was last time?" I'd say, "Oh, I'm not really in the mood right now." "What do you mean you're not in the mood?" I said, "Oh, I don't know, maybe later." I just gave him a ray of hope to keep him interested because I really did like the attention. "Later? What's wrong with now?" It is a completely different dynamic if I was the one begging to suck his cock. Imagine if I was saying, "Oh please, please let me suck your big cock." Oh, he'd let me do it for sure and he'd act all cocky like an asshole which he is anyway and I'd come off looking like a disgusting little piglet and after I did it and he'd make like he gave me a special gift and now I owe him and then he'd throw me away like I was trash. "Fuck you, Tony!" Instead I'd say, "Why do you want to make me do that? You're cock is all big and horrible." Even thought he could kick my ass, I was not afraid of him at all. The only one working in the "Big Deal Clothiers" was old Mrs. Haas. She looked at Anthony and then at me,... and then back at Anthony. She had a puzzled look on her face as if to say, "What's this all about?" Since Anthony was the owner's son, she kept silent. Anthony helped me pick out a bunch of new clothes. Afterwards, we went back upstairs to the empty apartment. As I was saying, Anthony is a prick and he's obnoxious too. I didn't really like him. I know that he didn't really like me or anything; he just wanted to get his cock sucked. I dropped the bags of clothes he got me in the corner of the room. I got all ready so he could make me suck his cock. Actually, I was really excited. It was fun and I really liked doing it. The main reason is that Anthony feels like I owe it to him for the clothes and all, so he feels justified in using me. That makes it fun plus, when he cums, we're even again. He's big, masculine and aggressive. I'm small, defenseless and feminine...I mean, when you think about it, we're perfect for each other. Well, perfect if all we're talking about is sex. I'm not really ready for a relationship anyway and if I was, I sure wouldn't want to be owned by Anthony Lanciano. Before you get all critical of me and all, why shouldn't I figure out how things work and what I like before I make a commitment? I mean, if I was going to really fall in love, I would want a boy with the bluest eyes and beautiful blond hair. A boy that people in the street stop to look at because he is so unbelievably cute. He would be skinny and delicate and have the smoothest skin. He would be a boy who is intelligent, sensitive and emotional. You know what I mean, someone just like me.

I enjoyed it too. However the Girl Scouts no longer go door to door because it's just not safe... You can order their cookies online plus a new product called.. Holiday Fudge.

Boys on Cam by Larkin Treg's Mother had the habit of barging into his room unannounced. He didn't like being caught in his underwear or worse or having to quickly minimize whatever he was looking at on the computer. It was annoying to have to keep the curser in place or a finger on a hot key, ready to drop the screen in the event of an intrusion. Things became increasing difficult when he met Xjustin99 on his cam site. Well according to him, his real name was Justin and he lived 1000 miles away. He was about the same age as Treg and they took to chatting and exchanging pics. They both preferred yaoi pics instead of real photographic porno. The photographic porno of hairy guys with big ugly dicks and big tittied women were unsettling if not a bit scary. Justin mentioned that they looked like uncooked meat. On the other hand, the yaoi cartoons were cute and fun. Treg, being 14, found it much easier to identify with cute boys tumbling around naked in a cartoon than to have anything in common with a hairy naked man in a cowboy hat. Both he and Justin agreed. Maybe the yaoi manga was safer because it represented an idea instead of some unknown individual in photographic porno. It was on this basis Treg and Justin's friendship evolved. TREG'S MOM Treg was an only kid. His Mom devoted herself to his well being. It really wasn't too difficult because he was good in school and had very good grades. He never really got into any trouble nor did he present any strife at home. Self doubt and worry caused his Mom to feel like she was overlooking things. Because of this, she began to micro manage Treg's life. She met with teachers about his classes, dictated what clothes he should wear and even how he organized his room were ways that didn't bother him in the past, but now it was beginning to make Treg's life uncomfortable. Then one day a black box with a monitor and keyboard appeared on his desk. His parents thought that this was exactly what Treg needed to excel. His Mom was thrilled that now her son had the tools he needed for the world of tomorrow. Of course she hadn't slightest idea how it worked and strangely, no curiosity about it either. Her feet were firmly rooted in the real world of family and emotion. However, Treg did understand its potential. He used computers everyday in school so it only took a day for him to customize his new box to suit his personality. Friends at school filled him in on what sites to join and what sites to avoid. He subscribed to Minecraft and met with new friends online. This was how he came to meet Xjustin99. Once they met, it was the end of going to bed early. Not being able to sleep became the perfect excuse to get up in the night and turn "it" on. Xjustin99 was there. He was a perfect counterpart for Treg. Each of them became alter-egos to the other. It is not to say that either one of them was gay but at this stage of their lives it was a time for self discovery. They had a great fascination for gay male manga. They sent their accumulations of cartoons back and forth to each other and read fanfic about the recurring characters. Xjustin99: "I liked Naruto the best." He claimed that he was more real, like a boy should be. They shared pics late into the night. Treg's relationship with Justin became a small manageable and complete little world. He was no threat, he was a 1000 miles away and so was Treg to him. They were ghostly realities to each other almost as if they were imaginary friends. Late at night, Treg's room was warm and dark, lit by the glow of the monitor. Dressed in only in his underwear, Treg98 and Xjustin99 faced each other. For the moment, they had run out of things to say. Xjustin99: "Hey, Look at this!" Treg watched the screen. Justin's room was also dark and also only lit by his monitor. He stood up and pulled his underwear down exposing a stiff cock and taut set of balls. He quickly sat down, shielded his face and gave out a laugh. Xjustin99: "Ok, your turn." This is common place today but for them, it was a revolutionary act. Treg stood up and exposed himself to the image on the screen. His penis was hanging down and little. Xjustin99: "Treg, crank it up." He did and it immediately sprung to life with exquisite intensity. This encounter became an every night thing. Here are two boys, communicating over a social networking site, teaching each other the world's oldest preoccupation. It was a remarkable event that in truth was natural and where disease was concerned, completely safe. Each of them became obsessed and their nightly encounters that sometimes became animalistic rituals all in the safety of their own rooms. The door to Treg's room flew open and his Mother came right up behind him. Treg quickly concealed his cock. His Mother said, "Treg, who is that boy? Why doesn't he have a shirt on?" Treg quickly collapsed the screen just in time to miss Justin in the act of exposing himself. His heart was pounding, he said, "Oh, it was just a FaceBook e-mail." She interrogated him. "What were you doing? You know it's past twelve? We've talked about this. There are dangerous child molesters on the internet. I don't want you to be going to places where they will try to get you. THE NEXT MORNING Treg's Father was trying to drink his coffee. She was standing over him. "I want you to do something about it. Suppose he gave his name or our address over the internet. They might come in the middle of the night and kidnap him. Or they might ask him to go somewhere and if anything would happen to him I would go out of my mind!! Do you have any idea what kinds of things might happen to him. They might kill him or worse. " He took a gulp of his coffee. She continued, "Are you listening to me!?" He snapped back, "Ok, ok, I'll talk to Lloyd about some sort of child protection devices." It didn't quiet her. She went into Treg's room and finding him not there, stirred up dust by making his bed and collecting his dirty clothes. She picked a pair of his cotton briefs from the floor and looked at them as if she was deep in thought, then tossed them into the hamper. She continued to storm around the house carrying on a loud conversation with herself. She blurted out. "Now where's he gone? She stood over his Father again. "Where is he!?" Treg's father coughed and dough nut crumbs went into his lap. He answered, "I don't know! I guess he went out." Sometime later, Treg returned carrying some bags and went upstairs to his room. His mother was still in a state bordering on hysteria. She held back thinking it would best to continue to sort things out before she approached him. She decided to go out for a drive around the lake to clear her thoughts. The lurid visions that she conjured up only made matters worse. Being contemplative was not one of his mother's strong suits. She was maneuvering the car much too fast for the neighborhood streets. She thought to herself, "His Father is worthless so I am just going have to handle this myself." Upon her return and armed with a verbal attack, she went to open Treg's door. It surprised her to find it locked. Immediately she saw red and yelled. "Treg! Open this door!" She looked and a bit higher than the door knob and to the side of the door, she saw a button. She thought, "Where did that come from?" When she pressed it, it went, "DING DONG." The door opened and Treg appeared. Standing before her, he said politely, "May I help you?"

That's one wall I wouldn't like to be a fly on.

The Illegals by Larkin They congregate on the freeway off-ramps. They pick strawberries. They clean apartments and hotel rooms. They say, these illegal are fucking everything up. Our kids can’t even get jobs at McDonalds. Does McDonalds really pay? Would your kids really work there? These criminals, as they are called, sleep out in the open on cold nights. Men women and little children stoop down all day long to pick your strawberries. I have seen them. Go ahead, find a super market where none of the beautiful produce you eat or throw out, hasn’t been picked by some illegal. You say, they don’t pay taxes! What employer pays a gross earning pay check? If they don’t, where does their tax money go? No one stops to see these illegals. No one looks at them up close. These poor people are Native Americans. They are decedents of the murdered millions. Who but they belongs here more than they do? The Minute Men, angry and resentful. Don’t you remember the dust bowl? Don’t you remember your grandparents moved off the land by bankers? How are these poor immigrants different than you? White Americans have become spoiled, mean and vindictive. To quote George Bush the first, “If you don’t think we have enough prisons, we’ll build them.” and so they have. This is a political trick. It is to distract you from their own malfeasance. It is scapegoating and history tells us that further down the road you will find, genocide.

Lumbersexuals, ...oh give me a f*ckin break.. One primary cause is that bohemian and so-called art colonies have become upscale high end gay resorts that has not only squeeze out the artists but also young gay guys fleeing home. People that have money like the mantle of living in an "Art Colony" but they don't really like artists, eccentrics and low rent individuals. In Provincetown I saw cops interrogating a young guy with a backpack and sandals to see if he had a place to stay and money to pay for it. If I was still living there, he could have stayed with me. Places like Provincetown and all of Manhattan for that matter are untouchable without a stock portfolio or a high paying job. I believe that young artists and writers, that have no money, are where the new ideas come from and that this trend renders places like New Hope Pa, dead. The thing is that the young gay guys are disaffected by all this and are looking for new places to establish themselves. So if you discover where, let me know.

This is my 9th year without cable TV and it is even worse today as it was then. Today I can barely stand a 30 minute sitting. And I am not just talking about "Ice Road Truckers" or the "Pawn Shop Wars". I am talking about the cable news outlets and the talking heads. Does anyone else share my opinion?

If a story has a sub-text, (a story behind the words) doesn't that constitute showing and not telling?

I have been to a lot of straight writers sites and they are brutal. They will tear you apart on technicalities and don't always have a tolerance for queer themes. They really are partial to commercial and formulaic writing. Perhaps I was being defensive but I always do my best to maintain civility

Finding your writer's voice. How did you discover your voice as a writer? Was it gradual or over night? Was it technical or emotional? It can be as simple as finding a style that you are at ease with. For me it was a change of perspective from 3rd person to 1st in the same story. The change was immediate. I can still write in 3rd omniscient but the move to 1st was the trigger for me.

Guess what? I am conceding to my detractors. To Cole, Bruin and even, Colinian. I re-read the piece and made a change. It shows you the power of one word or one punctuation mark. It was a mistake on my part and I didn't see it at the time but I have gone back and edited it. The exclamation mark at the very end of the piece made the tone harsh and unforgiving. That was not my intention. So, essentially you guys are right. Without the exclamation mark, it becomes more like an encouragement to enter into a conspiracy whereby the character has a choice.

A report from Zuccotti Park, November 14th 2011 Written December 25th, 2011 at 06:18 AM by larkin A report from Zuccotti Park, November 14th 2011 (This is my piece, not, cut and paste from other sources) I have a bias so don't expect impartial reporting from me. I am sympathetic to the core issues of Occupation Wall Street. If I was homeless, I might be camped there with them. I traveled 300 miles for a number of reasons, one of which was to go to Zuccotti Park and visit the with the protesters. What makes Occupation Wall Street different from the others is that they are camped in the very center of the world and the contrast is formidable. Upon approaching the park the sky view is dominated by the lofty new world trade center building now almost complete. The campable part of the park is barely 60' x 250' and every square foot is occupied with tents. The overall appearance is grimy like many other parts of New York. The buildings surrounding the park aren't just buildings, they are shining monuments that tower over what I fear is a doomed encampment. On their own and sometimes with the help of the police, the indigent, the homeless and mentally ill came from other parts of the city. It was hoped by their adversaries that the presence of undesirables and potential trouble makers would discredit the motives of the movement. Instead of rejecting or ejecting these people, they fed them, scrounged up clothing and tried to organize social service for them. The philosophy was that these people are also part of the 99%. It was a true test of principles. Surrounding the entire park was a continuous stream of well dressed tourists taking pictures and donating a dollar here and there. I talked with one camper who could only be characterized as an romantic and impractical idealist. I asked him why he didn't make the walk to Washington. He said he didn't have a sleeping bag and he had to stay close to friends in Brooklyn. There were older people, Native American contingencies, There were disaffected democrats, libertarians and yes, socialist and anarchists. The button and poster sellers showed up in numbers. This is a capitalist country, after all. I was excited and fearful at the same time. The police lined the corners of the park acting as quiet and somewhat resentful custodians of something they really didn't want to be bothered with. The New York City police force is probably the most racially diverse police force in the country. They consist of men, women, black, Spanish, Asian, tall and short. They too have family members that have lost their houses or are unemployed. Like the service men that have joined the ranks of the protestors the police are not without sympathies for what is going on. However they are employed by the city and the people that conduct the affairs around Zuccotti park. There is a core group of activists that headed out towards Washington on foot. Their intention is to join up with Occupation Washington and forge solidarity. The walk is expected to take 2 weeks and they plan to accumulate supporters all along the way. I left the park with an ominous feeling about the future of the encampment and for all those involved. I knew it could go on this way. My guess was that rout was going to happen very soon and certainly while the activists were away on their march to Washington D.C. Activists specialize in confrontation and the police really don't need them. I got home on Monday evening. At 4 am this morning I checked Youtube and saw that the camp had been razed at 1 am this morning. The encampment at Zuccotti park maybe gone but it will become the Genesis for a much larger movement. These people didn't come out of nowhere and they challenged and took on the most powerful forces on the planet. They did it with no money. All across the country cities and the police forces will begin to tear down and raze these encampments but it will only make matters worse. The problem is a government unresponsive to the voters. It is a government that supports forces that are dismantling this once great country of ours. Until they begin to deal with these issues things are only going to escalate. To quote Chris Hedges, "We have nothing left but the street.."

I find interesting that countries and cultures that did not have a tradition of opposing same sex sexual encounters such as India and Uganda have clung fiercely to laws imposed on them by the British colonials regimes. It did not take the Baptists Fundamentalist preachers visiting Uganda long to fire up everyone to the point where they increased penalties on laws already put in place by the British even though there is no history of the prohibition of this in pre-colonial Africa or Hindu India. I would remind you that they were screaming for blood! Could it be that it was a product of a Victorian ideal of what was a requirement to be civilized?

Thank you Cole

This is my very first story written ten years ago. The main character threatens suicide but it is an emotional and figurative threat, not literal and as the story moves on he forgets it. The Trap by Larkin We sat together in his Dad's garage. I was worried; Kenny was tearing his bike down and cleaning it for a trip. It was a beat-up old Yamaha. "I can't stand it here anymore. If I don't leave,..." There was a painful pause. "I hate this fuckin place and everyone in it." "What did your Dad say?" Kenny continued pulling the plugs out of the bike engine, but didn't look up when he answered. "Fuck him! I haven't told him. I haven't told anyone except you." I knew this was serious and I felt a rising panic inside me."Kenny, if you leave, what am I gonna do?" This time he looked up at me and I could see the pain in his face. I thought he was going to cry. He started to speak in a slow and halting voice. " What's the point? I'm no fuckin good and I just don't care anymore." He was down working on his bike again. His face was concealed by black hair and the red hood of his sweat shirt. I thought to myself, If he leaves, what's going to happen to me? I had grown to love everything about him from his crooked front tooth to his beat up old nikes. My stupid life had become all about him. His face had broken out again. It bothered him, but it never bothered me. I looked at his bare knee sticking out of his ripped jeans. Kenny was just a few years older and no one knew about us. No one knew that we were already having sex. If he takes off, I feel like I might kill myself. I said, "Where you gonna go?" He answered, "Further West, maybe Oregon. I've never seen the ocean before. They got McDonalds there like everywhere else so I'll be able to work." He looked straight into my eyes and said, "Jimi, I can't stay here." His pain had spread through his body and into my own. I leaned forward and tried to get shelter in his paint spattered old jacket. I slipped my arms around him and breathed in his scent. Kenny was always like a guy, like a brother or buddy. I was the girly one, the one that always wanted to cuddle, the one who wasn't afraid to kiss. Maybe that was it. We were opposites. Now I was crying. "If you go, I'm going to kill myself." There was a trace of amusement on his face for him to see that after being kicked around as much as he had been, someone really cared for him and he wondered why. "When you going to go?" "As soon as my Dad leaves for work in the morning." We hung around until his Dad came out and chased me away. I made Kenny promise not to leave before I came over in the morning. When I got home, my Mother looked concerned. "Jimi, what's the matter?" I answered abruptly, "Nothing!" and went into my room. Now I was determined to go with Kenny. I tried to sleep but got up near dawn and started to organize my stuff. The only money I had was 7 rolls of quarters. I had a blue and black backpack and filled it with stupid things. Most of the things I thought I would need were useless, like magic role playing cards and Pokemon figures. But then, I overlooked important things like a flashlight or a little radio. I did remember a sleeping bag. It was still dark when I peeked into Kenny's garage. His Dad's car was still there and so was Kenny's bike. I hid my backpack and my little self in the clump of bushes next to the garage and started the long wait till it got light and Kenny's Dad went of to work. In my mind imagined a life living with Kenny. We could build a house made of driftwood down on the beach and team up with other kids just like us. Kenny could be my hero and I would do anything for him. I wanted him to be happy more than anything else in the world and then I would be happy. During the day, we could swim and surf in the ocean and at night we could role play with my magic cards. Then we could crawl naked into bed together. That's the kind of life I want to live. I thought about the gray life I was living. My tired Mom working all the time, lots of bills and no money. Angry teachers and hostile kids at school and nothing, nothing outside but the windblown Montana Badlands. Suddenly the garage door rolled up. I hid tightly in the bushes until the blue Neon with Kenny's Dad in it, glided out and quickly drove off. I climbed the fence into his back yard and let myself in through the slider. Quietly, I crept into Kenny's room. He was still asleep. I slid under the covers with him. In this story it is not so important as to what we did together in bed as it is important to say that I was the one that taught Kenny how to do it. I was the one that encouraged him to fuck me. He needed me, only he just didn't know it. Lonely jerk-off was all he knew before he met me. After he came, I started to get emotional. I knew he was getting ready to go. "Kenny, I am going with you," He looked serious, "No you're not." I softly said in response. "I am." "Jimi, I can't take you, I gotta do this on my own." He could see that I was determined. "I brought my stuff and some money." We moved out to the garage for the departure. I showed him that I had my backpack and my sleeping bag. He started ignoring me. "If you go without me, I'll kill myself." He went on as if I wasn't there and began tying his belonging onto his bike. I broke down and clung to him and started begging. I didn't care how it looked. I had to do something. The last resort was the thing that all guys are afraid of. The tantrum! I started to scream. I screamed so everyone could hear it. I was desperate. Kenny began to look uneasy. I was putting his whole escape in jeopardy. He looked all around to see if my commotion was attracting attention. Finally in exasperation he said, "OK! Just shut the fuck up." My mask of distress melted away into a happy and stupid smile. I knew I was really going when he picked up my backpack and tied it on top of his. No more than a few minutes later, with me perched up behind Kenny on his beat up old Yamaha; we sailed off with the dust, wind and the sky. Never in my life had I felt so much happiness and excitement. From the middle of Montana, we crossed Idaho following the local roads and staying away from the inter-state. The bike was great because at night we could pull way off the road where we could build a fire and sleep under the stars. Other than each other, we didn't have much, but we didn't need much. The six days we spent on the road together were the happiest in my life. Kenny was happy too. He smiled at me and said, "Guess what, I just turned eighteen today." The next day we crossed into Oregon and we both were arrested. I was sent home and Kenny was kept in jail and then transported back to Montana. Because we crossed state lines it was a Federal kidnapping offense. Even though my Mom didn't want any charges pressed, they couldn't be dropped and the charges took on a horrible life of its own. I was stupid, stupid, because when the social worker questioned me about my friendship with Kenny I told her that I loved him. Why did this happen? We weren't hurting anyone. We just wanted to be free.

Hi Cole, All that you say may be true but you are speaking of an ideal. Unfortunately, lasting relationships aren't usually the norm and even less so concerning male/male relationships. I applaud gay marriage but it will not change the dynamic between gay men. Every homosexual encounter is not motivated by romance or does it lead to a lasting relationship, nor should it. I meant this story to be humorous male banter not an indictment of casual sex. If you chose to view it in that light then that is your prerogative. Perhaps I am supporting an unpopular point of view but are you suggesting that I don't write about it and that I get with the program?

In spite of me being an confirmed atheist I am a huge fan of Chris Hedges. His father was an anti-war minister who fought for gay rights. Chris Hedges went to the seminary but became a foreign correspondent for the New York Times. He claims that with the hard shift to the right or a plunge into chaos , one of the biggest dangers is the rise of political Christian authoritarianism.

One more comment on names.. I have been knee deep into a story and suddenly say, "This name is wrong! It's just wrong." For whatever reason. This is where the replace app comes in so handy..

Bruin, there is an entire story that goes with this piece and was it intensely sexual but in no way abusive or BDSM. It was by choice and did not extend beyond mutual JO. which is common place among boys. Two people going down the path together is a noble ideal, but the truth is that it is usually one or the other that leads the way. As a writer, should I stick to the ideal or should I tell the truth? In real life this phone call may have been not much more than 50 words and boring at that. I expanded for the sake of literary expression by adding the subtext. Colinian, I don't think that is possible. Every relationship, sexual or otherwise, has coercive elements that are subject to negotiation. It not my object to judge anyone else but only to defend my story.

All due respect, but that is an unfortunate perspective and you've a right to it. Not all relationships are initiated on the basis of conventional romance. And if you look closely, even conventional romance has its own set of coercive dynamics. Being gay should not always mean mimicking heterosexual values. That would be my perspective.

Ok, I know I am over doing it but I am so happy to be here. I promise i will calm down soon. Sea Creatures by Larkin Maybe I was twelve, I don't remember. It was high summer on the rocky Pacific coast. Crumbling yellow cliffs reached out to the churning kelp filled sea. Together we searched the tide pools for the miniature octopus, the sea bat and the inky sea slug. The same age as me, Paco was dark, Native American, Spanish and entirely happy. His smile and spontaneous laugh was frequent and infectious. Just being around him made me feel free and happy. Paco was never very serious about anything and everything was fun. The sun beat down on both of us making me dark and Paco darker. I wanted to be just like him. We ran from the cool water up to the hot sand and buried ourselves like lizards. Behind us, tall cliffs and in front the vast ocean with sea birds flying by. While we had been playing, the tide had come up and cut us off from the rest of the world. We would be trapped here for three hours or more. Knowing this, Paco lifted both legs in the air and pulled off the old worn pair of underwear he swam in. With a bigger smile than ever, he displayed his naked self to me. This city boy was embarrassed to see another naked boy. Paco laughed and taunted me. "Come on, take them off and get naked with me. No one can see, no one can see except me and anyway, who cares? Come on, show me. Get naked with me." We wrestled in the sand and he tugged my cut-offs lower and lower. My resistance made it all the more fun for Paco and all the more exciting for me. When he finally got them off of me I had no choice but to chase him. Soon we were running, racing and tumbling together. Eventually I forgot all about my cut-offs. Paco fell down laughing. He pointed at me and said, "Look, look." I became insecure. "Look at what?" Paco laughed more, "Look how white your culo is." He patted his own to show me he meant my behind. He was right, it was snow white and now I am embarrassed again. He laid out flat on his back facing the sun to catch his breath. I did the same. We were both quiet and I watched while he handled, pulled and squeezed his cock until it stood up on its own. I don't ever remember seeing anything more fascinating. He was proud of it and made it move up and down without touching it. Paco encouraged me to imitate him but I was too enthralled to focus on my own. He put his arm around me, hugged and then he laughed. "Come on kid, don't be so white. You and me are the same inside. You just don't know it." He tugged on my cock. At first I pulled away a little. Paco said, "Don't you have brothers or uncles? They are supposed to teach you all this stuff. If you leave it to the girls, you will be a slave to women your whole life." I didn't have any brothers or uncles so day after day; he taught me how to love myself. At the end of the summer I returned to the city with my parents. I never saw Paco again but I have never forgotten him. Today, I don't have children of my own but If I did, I would release them down onto that rocky Pacific beach. If they were left alone, they might hunt for scallop shells and sea stars. If they were very lucky, they might meet a boy like Paco.

My grasp of this principle is so fleeting that I'm not sure if my work is showing or telling and is there a difference between 1st person and 3rd omniscient in regards to show don't tell? There there is intentional omission where you leave out physical particulars so that they reader can plug in their own preferences making the character their own. .

Well I was please to hear that rule was not cut into stone.