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talk was getting into dangerous territory. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
    “Do you really?”
    “Sure I do.”
    “Then tell me,” I taunted. I saw the look of panic which flitted across his face quickly replaced by an uncertain attempt at casualness. I pressed on: “I bet you never even did it.”
    “Did what?”
    “You know. With yourself.”
    He hesitated, then—as if offended—shot back, “Sure I did.”
    “Oh yeah? Then how do you do it?”
    “The same way as everybody else, I guess.”
    “How does everyone do it?”
    “I don’t know how every one does it. You’ll have to ask everyone.” Then he countered triumphantly: “How do you do it, Guy?”
    Now it was my turn to hesitate. I was weighing the alternatives: to keep him in the dark and continue to needle him, or be the one to divulge the mystery, to initiate him into the secret brotherhood. My choice was clear.
    “Do you really want to know?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Then listen.”
    My throat was dry and my stomach felt cool and weighty. I could almost feel Bobby’s trembling excitement as if we were linked by invisible sparks jumping across the space between us. I swallowed, then went on in a low voice:
    “You know how your dick sometimes gets hard and points straight up, like this?” With my index finger, I imitated a penis coming to erection with a series of short, quick jerks.
    “Yeah?”
    “Didn’t you ever touch yourself when it was like that?”
    “I guess so.”
    “I mean,” I said impatiently, “touch yourself in the way they call ‘beating off?’ You know….”
    Ringing my fingers around a phantom penis in the air before me I demonstrated with a rapid up-and-down jogging of my wrist.
    Bobby’s face blanched. He wore a look of awe and horror mixed with fascination, as if he were witnessing something sinful and forbidden. In the silence we could hear the children in the next yard calling and squealing to each other.
    I tisked with scorn. “God, I can’t believe how dumb you are. All the kids do it. That’s what they’re talking about. Didn’t you know ?”
    He remained silent with a look of queasy stoicism.
    “You keep doing it like this, and pretty soon it starts to feel real good. That’s when it shoots out.”
    “It shoots out?”
    “Yeah.” I made a rasping noise with my lips and traced the arc of a trajectory with my finger, landing on his lap.
    “Gross!” He drew away in disgust.
    “It doesn’t feel gross when you’re doing it. It feels good.”
    “How does it feel? Sort of tickle?”
    “I can’t describe it. It…it’s just the best feeling in the world. There’s nothing in the world like it. Nothing even comes close.” Then with a suggestive grin I added, “Why don’t you try it?”
    He shook his head and backed away a little. “No way. Forget it.” He looked shocked and embarrassed, even slightly sick—and I felt a twinge of cruel delight.
    “Do it tonight in the shower,” I urged confidentially. “No one can see you.”
    “No way. I’m not a sissy like you are.”
    “What do you mean? Everyone does it. Besides…I thought you said you did it, too.”
    “Not like that,” he said in a last desperate attempt to regain his dignity. “I do it different.”
    “Sure you do….”
    “If you don’t believe me, I’m leaving.”
    “Don’t worry, I believe you. Who said I didn’t believe you?” But the look on my face must have clearly indicated skepticism, for his expression turned defiant. “Okay, Bobby, forget it. I was just kidding you. Come on, let’s read these comics. Just like the old days.”
    “All right.”
     
    *
     
    That night as I sat on my bed, Bobby came running from the bathroom where he’d been taking a shower. With a look of wild joy on his face, he came bounding over to me like a playful puppy, almost bowling me over in his exuberance. Dancing, laughing, he threw playful punches at my face, slapping and pounding my back so happily that I had to fight him off.
    “So you did