One
It was summer: that blinding slow kind of summer that dominates the Southeast between June and September. Mornings started steamy as rain from the day before baked off the lawn. By 10, the breeze was gone and the sunlight was so intense that you had to squint when you went outside. The air was punctuated with the uninterupted sound of insects buzzing around the clock; their song was like the flat-line static of a poorly constructed electrical device. By mid-afternoon, there was little motion; the dogs were curled up in cool concrete carports, sometimes under cars, and white bed sheets hung motionless from back yard lines as if frozen in a photograph. The sky began a slow motion explosion of billowing clouds that would bring in the day’s thunderstorm. There was one every afternoon, between 3 and 7 or so. They were short but intense, often producing hail and a blast of strong wind. Sometimes there might even be a tornado or two. But they would depart as quickly as they arrived, leaving an opressive muginess for the dinner hour in their wake.
These were the days JC usually spent sprawled on the sofa in the Florida room with the window air conditioner cranked, watching TV until his parents returned home from their jobs. He was 13 and the idea of exerting any physical effort against such a steamy day was out of the question. He’d be sure to be up and out when his folks got home and would have tales of adventures throughout the day to share over dinner so they wouldn’t berate his laziness. But right now, sipping a Coke and watching Dialing for Dollars seemed the only sensible thing to be doing.
JC was beefy. Not fat; but substantial. Muscled but not muscular. At 5′ 5,” he was broad of sholder and chest and powerfully compact in his lower body. From the neck down he looked like a kid you’d call ‘Butch.’ But from the chin up, he presented the smoothe and awkward face of a younger child, sweet and almost feminine; that is until he smiled. Then a comical elasticity took over and his thin lips turned up to reveal a mouth full of shiny metal braces. ‘I look like a Buick,’ he thought each morning as he grinned at himself in the bathroom mirror. Beautifully tanned, he drifted through the 90 days between school years in cut-offs and swim trunks, rarely wearing a shirt and never shoes. The soles of his feet were thick with calouses and could withstand a remarkable amount of abuse, even standing up to the heat of the blacktop streets that fried in the mid day sun.
During commercial breaks in the movie, Dialing for Dollars Debbie announced the names of people who had sent in a post card. If they called the station they’d win a money prize. JC kept thinking he ought to send his name in but he didn’t have a post card and couldn’t remember to ask his dad for one except when he was on the sofa and
Debbie was reading another name. Today’s movie was ‘Tarzan Finds A Son’ starring Johnny Weismuller and Johnny Sheffield. Although the television set was an expensive color console model with built in record changer and radio, the movie was in black and white which seemed to make the fantasy of it all the more real.
He rubbed his chest and belly, looking down as he flexed his muscles, imagining that he was bulging with power, running through the jungle, almost naked, beside Tarzan and Boy. Jane would have been left behind to tend to the treehouse and to Cheetah while the brave men roamed the escarpment in search of danger and adventure. At the end of the day the three of them would build a campfire and curl up in each others arms to sleep soundly through the night.
He was jarred from his reverie by the wall phone in the kitchen ringing loudly.
Two
“Hullo?’ JC asked the caller.
‘Let’s get to gether, yeah, yeah yean, why don’t you and I combine? Let’s get together, what d’ya say, we’re gonna have a swingin’ time’ was the immediate singing response. The song, from the Hayley Mills movie, The Parent Trap, had become the standard form of greeting between JC and his friend Walter. In the movie, Haley plays twins who work to reunite their divorced parents. JC and Walter weren’t working to reunite anybody, except perhaps themselves, but the playfulness of the song was an apt description of their relationship.
‘Hey, buddy!’ JC said. ‘ What’s going on?’
‘Nothin nuch . . . watching Tarzan, you know . . . the usual.
‘Yeah, me too; it’s so hot outside.’
‘Uh-huh; about as hot as a date with Nina Ogdon.’
‘Ewwwww!’ they chimed in together. Nina was one of the more gangly members of their class and suffered endless insults from both boys and girls.
‘I wouldn’t touch her with YOUR dick!’ said JC. Actually he’d had a few brief conversations with Nina and thought she was really ok. But everyone teased her so, he almost had to chime in.
‘Not mine!’ said Walter and they both laughed. JC, holding the yellow telephone receiver against his ear wth his sholder, walked over to the refrigerator and absently looked inside as if to make sure the food was still all right.
‘Look,’ said Walter. ‘Why don’t you come on over and goof off with me? My sailboat is fixed and we can take it out for a spin if you want?’
JC closed the refrigerator door without taking anything out. ‘ Hmmm . . . sounds good . . . let’s see, it’s about 11 . . . I can be there in about 30 minutes?’
‘Heck with that! I’ll be by for you in 10 minutes!’ Walter, who was also 14, had a small Honda motorcycle that his dad bought for him. 
Although it was technically illegal for him to drive the vehicle, Walter took it out on occasional trips around the neighborhood, never leaving the sidewalk. He’d been stopped by a policeman only once and escorted home where his father took the officer aside and convinced him that the infraction maybe wasn’t as bad as he thought. Walter got off with a warning from the cop and a promise to his dad that he’d watch for cops more carefully in the future.
He’d be pulling up to the carport in a few minutes, so JC checked to make sure the door was unlocked and walked down the hall to the bathroom he shared with his brother. Stepping out of his shorts, he looked at himself in the large over sink mirror. 
He flexed his arms across his chest, examining his biceps. They were not large, but growning and looked good on his compact body. Then he flexed his chest and watched his nipples rise with the tightening muscle, first the left, then the right. His eyes traveled down to his hanging dick, and he filled with pride at its length and girth, and crown of dark black hair. He had matured quicker than most boys in his class and he was glad. He had been overjoyed when he bagan to grow down there and imagined that the growing would continue for years to come. There was no telling how big that thing might become! He grabbed it and gave a gentle tug, producing a slight stiffening.
The shower was cool and refreshing as he stepped into it, just right for a day like today. And he quickly lathered up: face underarms, chest, belly crotch. It was the most basic of baths, designed only to minimize odor, not to necessarily clean. JC himself was miles away, still running through the jungle with Tarzan and Boy, except that now they were all naked.
He startled when he heard the knocking at the bathroom door.
Three
‘Walter?’ he called
But Walter was already in the bathroom, pulling the shower curtain back and reaching for JC’s left nipple, trying to give it a twist.
‘Quit it! ‘shrieked JC, his voice cracking and returning to its pre-puberty range. ‘Stop it you stupid bastard!’
‘I vill get dat tittie-twist! I will maka youa scream!’ cried Walter in his most confused European accent, a combination of German and Italian. His thumb and forefinger pinched down on the nipple but quickly slid off, thanks to good old soap and water.
‘I am slime man!’ JC came back. ‘You can’t get to me!’ He grabbed the wet bar of soap.
‘And if you try I will slime you with my secret slime weapon!’
Walter reached for the target titty again, but this time JC planted the dripping and gooey bar on the side of his face. Walter was so startled by the move that he lost his balance and tumbled headlong into the shower, pulling down the curtain and JC in the process. The two boys lay in a tangle at the bottom of the tub while the shower continued to run, drenching Walter and splashing water everywhere. Their laughter echoed against the tiled walls of the bathroom.
‘Oh shit!’ said JC. ‘Are you ok?’ Walter was laughing and rubbing his forearm at the same time.
‘Yeah, I’m ok, but I really hit my arm . . . ouch . . .’ and more laughter. Slowly he lifted himself out of the tub then turned to help JC up. JC turned off the shower and together they surveyed the disaster the bathroom had become. Everything was wet and the shower curtain hung by two rings. JC picked up the curtain and realized that the grommets had broken away from the vinyl, rendering it useless. They both burst into laughter again.
‘My mama’s not gonna like this,’ clucked JC between giggles. ‘Betcha I have to buy a new one.’
‘Oh, forget the shower curtain. Why don’t you just hose off in the backyard from now on?‘ said Walter. ‘Like a dog, you know?’
‘I’ll hose you off right here!’ bellowed JC, grabbing his wet dick and aiming it menacingly at Walter’s leg. ‘Now, get out of here and let me dry off and clean up this mess.’
‘Yess, master,’ Walter said as he backed out the door. ‘Got anything to eat in this place?’
‘I don’t know . . . check the refrigerator.’
A few moments later, JC emerged from the back part of the house, dressed in cutoffs and a white undershirt. He picked up his old pair of Keds by the front door and sat down at the dining room table to put them on. Walter was finishing up the last bite of a fried chicken leg.
‘Where’d ya get that?’ asked JC.
‘’Fridge, of course,’ Walter mumbled through the mess of food in his mouth. ‘And it’s really good too! Want some?’
‘Yeah, Ill have a piece.’
Walter took a couple of steps over to the refrigerator and opened the door. ‘Awww; too bad,’ he said. ‘Looks like somebody ate all the chicken there was.’
‘Why you smelly old butt hole!’ cried JC. ‘You mean to tell me you ate all of it?’
‘Three pieces, ya.’
There was really no problem with Walter eating the chicken. It had been in the ‘fridge for a couple of days and would probably turn into chicken salad or some other concoction in short order if someone didn’t eat it; and JC really wasn’t hungry anyway. Still, he gave his friend a stern look as he tied a bow on his second shoe.
‘Come on; lets’ go.’
They walked out the carport door, Walter in front, and stopped instantly on the stoop. A menacing figure stood next to Walter’s motorcycle.
Four
The sun was so bright that it washed the detail out of everything not in the shade. The person standing in the carport before them with sholders set and hands on hips was merely a blurred shadow. As his eyes adjusted though, JC began to make out an older kid from down the block.
Ronnie was 16, smoked cigarettes and was often in trouble. 
He usually had nothing to do with JC and others his age, unless it was to abuse or humiliate them in some new and creative way. JC hated him, but not enough to start a territorial war. Since he was 16, he’d be driving soon and would probably not be around much.
‘Whose Bike?’ he challenged.
‘Mine,’ answered Walter, proudly.
‘Yours? You drive it here?
‘Every day and twice on Sundays.’ Walter was teasing, being flip with the bigger boy, not a good strategy, thought JC.
‘How old’r you anyway?
‘Old enough ‘
‘No, seriously: are you old enough to drive this thing?’
‘Yeah; I’m 16’
‘Well that’s a load of bullshit if I ever heard one. Not only are you not big enough to be 16, you’re not pretty enough either.’ The challenge had turned hard. ‘ If youy’re 16, lemme see your drivers license.’
‘I left it at home.’
‘Yeah, sure you did.’ Ronnie shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and took a step closer. ‘Tell you what I’m gonna do, boys: I’m going to take me a short motorcycle ride and when I get back, you’re going to thank me for not beating the fuck outa you.’
‘Oh no you’re not! Cause I got the key!’ JC said dangling his own set of keys from his index finger. A plan had come to him and he could see that Walter understood when he looked over and gave a very slight nod.
‘Well, give ‘em to me, then!’ barked Ronnie
‘Make me!’ JC hollered breaking into a run around the side of the house and into the back yard. Ronnie was in hot pursuit and the bigger boy was gaining. Glancing over his sholder he could see Ronnie, blood in his eyes, tearing after him. He had about 20 seconds left before the brute would catch him and pound him into dust. He turned right at the opposite side of the house and headed back to the front yard. Just then he heard the motorcycle start; Walter was revving the engine and was behind the forks, ready to gun it as soon as JC got on.
‘Come on, JC! Come on! ‘ he shouted.
‘You little faggot!’ growled Ronnie. He was right on JCs heels .
It appeared that he would be going down after all, but just as the two emerged from the side of the house, a brown streak shot across the yard straight for Ronnie. Jack, JC’s faithful 7 year old Boxer had been snoozing on the cool of the carport concrete. Now he was bearing down on Ronnie, a collision inevitable. Ronnie saw the dog, but didn’t have time to change course. Suddenly, the dog was all over the boy, nipping and snarling. He had Ronnies pantleg and the boy was dragging him across the lawn away from the motorcycle.
‘God Damnit!’ cried Ronnie as JC slid on the back of Walter’s bike, Hopalong Cassidy style. ‘Call off your Dog, you asshole!’
‘Come on, Jack!’ JC called. The dog would not have hurt Ronnie; not really; but JC wanted no future retaliations from the punk for himself or for Jack. The boxer, smart and well trained immediately let go of Ronnie and backed, sharling toward the boys.
Ronnie was standing, bewildered in the yard.. ‘I’m gonna get you guys!’ he hollered.
‘Sucker!’ Walter called out as he popped the cludtch and the motorcycle sped off, Jack in pursuit.
‘Whoo – hooo! ‘ bellowed JC. ‘Yah- hooo !’ answered Walter, as the ride became a celebration.
‘Did you see that big old pansy ass!’ Asked Walter. ‘It was like he ran into a wall or something.’
‘Yeah; that Jack is a good dog, I’ll tell ya,’ said JC. He could still see the boxer in the distance sprinting after them. He would probably pursue until they were out of signt, then turn to go home. JC was filled with pride for the dog and asked Walter to stop for a minute to let him catch up.
He climbed off the back of the motorcycle and started walking toward Jack, who was now coming with even more speed and abandon. You could see the joy in his eyes as his compadre stooped to the ground, arms outstretched to greet him. In an instant there was a dog and boy pile in a strange front yard, the two tumbling in celebration. JC began to howl and Jack followed suit.. ‘Good boy’ JC said, ‘good Jack!’
Just then, both boys and the dog were startled by a loud banging sound coming from the house at that yard. Three heads snapped to the front door to see an angry woman wielding a large spoon and a frying pan.
‘What’s going on out here?’ she demanded.
‘Nothin’ much,’ replied walter, ‘Just the joy of a boy and his dog.’
‘Well I just put the baby down and if you don’t hush up and get on out of here I’ll be banging your heads with this pan!’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ replied Walter. ‘Sorry, Ma’am.’
JC was holding Jack’s square head in his hands. ‘ Jack, you’re a good dog,’ he cooed.’ But you can’t come. You have to go home.’ He stood up and pointed back towards the house. ‘Go on, Jack; Go home! ‘ The dog looked sheepishly at him and stayed where he was standing. ‘Go ON!’ JC called as he climbed on the back of the motorcycle.
Jack watched, immobile, as the boys pulled away from the yard. A couple of houses further down the street, JC turned and saw him trotting slowly back toward the house. Jack was a good dog.
There’s more to this story, much more, but I haven’t written it yet. When I do, I’ll put a link here.