horrified had a cat dropped a headless bird in my lap.
I knew pretty much what it was, this stirring down below. For some time Iâd heard boys my age talking of similar seismic activity. Jonny the Spinâs first erection had leaped unexpectedly from the flap of his pajamas almost two years earlierâin front of his grandmother, as he told it. So the shock I was experiencing wasnât fear of the unknown. No, it was the mortifying thought that my mom might notice my interest piquing. Which meant that, while trying not to move a muscle, trying not even to breathe, at the same time I desperately wanted to leap out of the armchair and run up to my room.
Thankfully, if she did notice, my mom didnât say anything. The fight ended with stern words for both women delivered by a handsome gray-haired man (Blake Carrington). And as the show wound down, eventually so did my first ever erection.
That night in bed, and with some success, I tried mentally to re-create the frisson Iâd experienced during the lily pond scene, going over it again and again in my head. Blond, brunette. Brunette, blond. And it was a tough choice but before too long Iâd come down firmly on the side of the brunette, an allegiance I suppose Iâve retained to this day.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
DONâT ALL BOYS ASSUME THAT theyâre clever? At least until some point in their lives? And although I wasnât exactly top of the class, my grades at school were decent. I thought maybe I might be an intellectual late bloomer, just as I had been a late bloomer when it came to matters of puberty and heightâthe broccoli thing having never quite worked out. Plus, Iâve always beengood at math. Numbers feel right to me. If I can quantify something, I feel I have a better chance of understanding it.
But at fifteen years of age, two years after our move to Portland, I realized I wasnât clever at all. No, worse than this, I was in fact stupid. This became rapidly and dazzlingly clear because, smarty-pants me, I had continued to believe all this time, as I had done my whole life, that my parents were blissfully and ceaselessly happy together.
And they were not.
When, one Sunday afternoon after church, they told me and my brother they were divorcing, the news totally scrambled my head. How could two people so clearly in love, my parents, be splitting up? I had never glimpsed so much as the shadow of a sign, not even for one second, that there was anything but an undying love between them.
Later that day, speaking to my brother about this bolt from the blue, he laughed disbelievingly at me. Are you a dumbass or what? he said. They argue all the time, Patch, right in front of us. Especially since we mooh  ⦠And then in a rare display of sensitivity Sean put me in a headlock and gave me a noogie instead of finishing the sentence.
It took about one microsecond of reflection to realize what my brother had said was patently true. My God, how could I have failed to notice? The information was all there being fed into me like data, only what came out the other end wasnât just the wrong conclusion, it was a table lamp. A swordfish.
When the day came for my father to move out, Iâd been dreading the farewell scene for some time. It wasnât that I couldnât stomach the thought of him not living with us anymore. I could, the idea even held some appeal. It was the thought of the final exchange that made me feel queasyâthe handshake, the hair ruffle, the words of wisdom from a man who was running away from us. Now you look after your mother, boys.
It went as badly as Iâd feared. Then it got worse, because when he wound down the window of his car to wave one last goodbye, my father looked me square in the eyes. He didnât actually sayanything but I could hear the words in my head as clearly as if heâd spoken them out loud. This is all your fault, Paddyboy .
And then, following an almost
I knew pretty much what it was, this stirring down below. For some time Iâd heard boys my age talking of similar seismic activity. Jonny the Spinâs first erection had leaped unexpectedly from the flap of his pajamas almost two years earlierâin front of his grandmother, as he told it. So the shock I was experiencing wasnât fear of the unknown. No, it was the mortifying thought that my mom might notice my interest piquing. Which meant that, while trying not to move a muscle, trying not even to breathe, at the same time I desperately wanted to leap out of the armchair and run up to my room.
Thankfully, if she did notice, my mom didnât say anything. The fight ended with stern words for both women delivered by a handsome gray-haired man (Blake Carrington). And as the show wound down, eventually so did my first ever erection.
That night in bed, and with some success, I tried mentally to re-create the frisson Iâd experienced during the lily pond scene, going over it again and again in my head. Blond, brunette. Brunette, blond. And it was a tough choice but before too long Iâd come down firmly on the side of the brunette, an allegiance I suppose Iâve retained to this day.
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
DONâT ALL BOYS ASSUME THAT theyâre clever? At least until some point in their lives? And although I wasnât exactly top of the class, my grades at school were decent. I thought maybe I might be an intellectual late bloomer, just as I had been a late bloomer when it came to matters of puberty and heightâthe broccoli thing having never quite worked out. Plus, Iâve always beengood at math. Numbers feel right to me. If I can quantify something, I feel I have a better chance of understanding it.
But at fifteen years of age, two years after our move to Portland, I realized I wasnât clever at all. No, worse than this, I was in fact stupid. This became rapidly and dazzlingly clear because, smarty-pants me, I had continued to believe all this time, as I had done my whole life, that my parents were blissfully and ceaselessly happy together.
And they were not.
When, one Sunday afternoon after church, they told me and my brother they were divorcing, the news totally scrambled my head. How could two people so clearly in love, my parents, be splitting up? I had never glimpsed so much as the shadow of a sign, not even for one second, that there was anything but an undying love between them.
Later that day, speaking to my brother about this bolt from the blue, he laughed disbelievingly at me. Are you a dumbass or what? he said. They argue all the time, Patch, right in front of us. Especially since we mooh  ⦠And then in a rare display of sensitivity Sean put me in a headlock and gave me a noogie instead of finishing the sentence.
It took about one microsecond of reflection to realize what my brother had said was patently true. My God, how could I have failed to notice? The information was all there being fed into me like data, only what came out the other end wasnât just the wrong conclusion, it was a table lamp. A swordfish.
When the day came for my father to move out, Iâd been dreading the farewell scene for some time. It wasnât that I couldnât stomach the thought of him not living with us anymore. I could, the idea even held some appeal. It was the thought of the final exchange that made me feel queasyâthe handshake, the hair ruffle, the words of wisdom from a man who was running away from us. Now you look after your mother, boys.
It went as badly as Iâd feared. Then it got worse, because when he wound down the window of his car to wave one last goodbye, my father looked me square in the eyes. He didnât actually sayanything but I could hear the words in my head as clearly as if heâd spoken them out loud. This is all your fault, Paddyboy .
And then, following an almost
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