All The Young Punks Pt. 11

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On 11/3, All The Young Punks Pt 10 was moved to the erotic couplings category by the Lit admin. It appears the brief sex scene in that chapter violated the boundary of this category. This chapter, part 11, was rejected over a few lines of dialogue.

There is so little and such limited sex in this story, that I'd hate to post it where many readers are looking for strokers. I'd be wasting their time and subjecting myself to their unholy wrath. Why would I do that to my story? My goal was to remain in the realm of the non-erotic with Joe's formative sex life as a minor part of the tale. I'm currently reassessing.

Based on the indifference Pt. 10 received in erotic couplings, relative to previous chapters, I can safely assume a few readers missed it. If interested, you'll have to venture over there to catch up.

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All The Young Punks Pt. 11

You're So Vain

---- Spring 1979 ----

Joe lay in bed, unable to sleep, his school day fast approaching, thinking of the times he had just spent with Claire over the past few weeks. She had opened his eyes. He never knew sex could feel this good emotionally. He wondered if he was in love with her, which worried him. They fucked, but he felt there were moments when they were making love, not just fucking. It was more than physical. He wondered if Claire felt the same.

He had not considered that he had never been with a girl he had true affection for long before they slept together. It was different. It was fantastic. He was too young to know there was this other level of sex. Sex is fun. Sex and love were indescribably better.

Everything they did was the best Joe knew; the sex, the conversations, she was fun and passionate. This deal they had was fine for now. Joe wasn't going to ruin their fun by trying to make their relationship more than it was, which was pretty great. He sensed that Claire felt the same as he did. She was jealous of other girls. That was a good sign, right?

After the school morning chaos with his sisters, Joe walked alone, lost in the same thoughts he had in bed, except this time he wanted to punch himself in the face for being a romantic sap. Of course, she's just fucking him. Nothing had changed except for the fact they were finally fucking.

He turned east on Broadway thinking, 'Don't screw this up by being a romantic sap.' He heard a yelp behind him.

Joe turned to see the Washington Twins were closing in fast. Nicole and Monique were a pair of perky gymnasts a year behind Joe at CHS.

"How's my favorite white boy?" Monique smiled with her eyes as they caught up to Joe who never stopped walking.

"I'm good," he said, as he was suddenly sandwiched. "How are my favorite black sisters?"

"We're fine," Nicole said, bumping against his leather.

"Yes," he smiled. "Yes, you are."

She shoved him, "Don't flirt with me."

Monique laughed at her sister, "Pfft, you love it."

"Awww," Joe frowned. "Are you gonna tell your boyfriend?"

"No."

"Hey, are you going to the prom?" Monique asked.

"I don't do proms."

"You should go," Nicole said. "I think you'd have fun.

"Nope."

"Ya know," Monique looked up at him. "you've become so popular I bet you'd be Prom King."

"Are you talking to Betty McDonald? Did she send you?"

The girls looked at each other. "We don't know what you're talking about, but we heard some kids saying..."

"Saying bullshit. That's all it is. I'm not going to the prom. Forget about that dumb talk." He smiled down at them. "My only regret is I won't see you in your gowns."

Monique smiled. "I'll give you a picture."

"Me too," Nicole said.

Joe smirked. "And I will cut your dates out of them."

"Well," Monique said, "I would love to see you in something other than this thing, like a tuxedo. I bet you'd be very handsome."

While only juniors, the twins were dating seniors on the basketball team. They would be at the prom Joe was skipping. The girls pressed Joe for the last few blocks to school. They practically begged him to go. Still, he sensed this was not a request from them. They were agents of the Class President.

"Are you girls scheming with Betty? You can quit now. It's not happening."

The twins played dumb, but Joe knew this Prom King joke was Betty's and she was probably whipping votes to get him a crown he didn't want. When he reached the stoop, he called Betty over.

"What's up?" She asked.

"You can stop with this prom crap. I'm not going. The twins just worked on me for ten minutes telling me how much fun it would be and that I could probably be Prom King. That's how I know you put them up to it."

Betty scrunched her nose, not denying it. "How about your band playing the prom? That's not me talking, that's Steven Conte and Marisa, and Judy."

"Who's Marisa?"

"Good & Plenty."

"Oh, funny. I never knew her name." Joe made a 'duh' face. "They already have a band."

"It's a disc jockey and a lot of kids are pissed off about it." Betty leaned closer. "They're petitioning the Prom Committee for a real band."

Joe shook his head. "Good luck to them, but it's not my prom and not my problem. I'm not going under any circumstances. You'll have to suffer through disco without me."

"I'm not on the committee, Joe. I just know they're going to ask you."

"I have a gig at the University of Connecticut that night. You can save your friends some embarrassment by stopping this before they make fools of themselves. My band is not available, and honestly, I doubt they would agree to do it... because I don't want to."

"Why are you so against the prom?"

Joe shrugged, "I don't know. I'm just not interested in all that pomp and circumstance. It's lame."

"It's an important night."

"Not really," he opened his book.

---- NUMBSKULLS ----

Three days later, lying in Claire's bed in the late afternoon, after a quickie because Donna had a lecture, she lightly scratched his chest with her nails, that attention was mixed with light kisses on his neck.

"I made the mistake of telling the guys I spent the night here," Joe said. "I'm so dumb."

"Are they giving you shit about it?"

"I never tell them anything about girls. I just don't do that. I know they'd be dicks about it, especially Nate. He's a ball buster. Joey and Caire sitting in a tree... K I S S I N G."

"Did he really sing that?"

"Yeah, and Sal joined in."

"Your friends are idiots, and Nate's not my favorite guy at the garage."

"They can be."

"Joe, you realize that you're the leader of three numbskulls, right? You're the guy who runs the carnival, sets the stage, does the show, and you run the business. They're just tagging along for the ride and..."

"That's not fair," Joe cut her off. "Yes, they can be idiots, but they're not deadweight. We're a band and we need every part of that band to function."

"Some parts are more functional than others," Claire said flatly. "That's how most bands are, and sports teams, businesses... and even families."

Joe didn't entirely disagree with Claire, but he didn't like her tearing down the guys. She wasn't overly harsh, but it felt like she didn't respect his bandmates.

"Without Sal," he said. "None of this is happening for me. Everything we're doing, he's the muscle. We live in his Dad's place, use his van, eat his food, and Sal's our driver.'

"I don't dispute that, but the creative and business vision is all yours. It's your band, Joe."

Joe didn't respond. He didn't want to discuss his band, who does what, or how much. He let it drop, and so did Claire. He wanted to talk about other stuff. One of his favorite things about being with her was the talks they had in bed. They discussed many things, music and film, places they'd like to visit, food, everything... including sex. Joe thought that was cool because he had never fucked and talked about it afterward. He wondered if other people do that, discussing the stuff they just did to each other's bodies. Claire was way more open and willing to talk about personal stuff than Joe could have imagined. She was not the goodie-two-shoes Nate had her pegged for.

"Are you okay?" Joe asked after noticing Claire was moving her jaw from side to side.

"I'm fine."

"What's with this?" He mimicked her mandible movements.

"If I tell you you're only going to tease me, and it might go to your head."

"I promise I won't tease you."

"I enjoy giving head," she reached down and touched him. "This is a lot to handle. I'm working down there, doing the best I can. It's fun but it's not easy."

"You seem to be doing okay to me. I'm impressed by your eagerness and tenacity. Some girls just play around, but you mean business."

"That's because I enjoy it. Those other girls do it because they feel they're obligated to suck a little dick, but they're not really into it. They want a hard ride so they'll do what they must to get what they want."

"I may be just a dumb high school kid, but I already know the difference between foreplay oral sex and honest-to-goodness blow job."

"And I can't tell the difference between a guy who loves going down on me and the pretenders. You hardly come up for air."

"I like doing you as much as you like doing me." He paused. "Ya know, I think oral sex is my favorite, but we should keep doing everything, and maybe try some new stuff... just to make sure."

"For Science," Claire snickered.

"Yes. You're the master and I have the Johnson."

She laughed, hugging him tighter. "I love talking to you."

"Did you get my joke?"

"Yes, Joe. I get it."

"I was just thinking that I like talking to you too. This is one of the best things about us."

"You know what's weird," Claire lifted her head to look at Joe. "I can't say I've done this before, not a lot."

"Your summer boy doesn't chat you up after a fuck in the woods? What's his name, Keith, Ken... or is it Kyle?"

Claire punched his chest. "Don't be a jerk."

"Is it Kris?"

"I'm comfortable with you. You're easy to talk to. I feel I can say anything."

"Because you can."

"Oh shit," Claire saw the clock. "Her class is out. She'll be here any minute. We gotta get dressed." She flung the sheets off.

Joe lay there, naked, legs wide open, dick hanging, "Maybe if Donna walked in on this she'd..."

Claire threw his levis at him. "Get dressed, now."

---- BOOTS AND SKATES ----

It was an unusual Saturday practice. Because the guys played every Friday and Saturday night, Saturday was usually an off day between shows. Joe often stayed away from the garage. It was Mom's day off so he'd make a show of being home with the sisters. Today they had to work on some new songs.

Months ago, Sandy had promised she'd attend a gig when she turned eighteen. Her birthday was coming and Joe wanted the band to learn two of her favorite songs. One was another track no one would expect a punk band to play, a super-popular hit. It fits perfectly into his setlist of oddities. Joe knew the lyrics. He played the original on the stereo twice. The band listened and then tried to perform it by ear, stumbling along the way. It was a long and tedious morning, and it wasn't going great. Joe played the recording a couple more times to get through rough patches. They were getting close, but Sal had enough.

"I'm done. I need a lunch break. Are you in?"

Johnny nodded. "Sure, I can eat. I'm sick of this."

Nate was too. "Yeah, and I'm not doing this shit when we get back."

"Whatever," Joe said. "He was sick of them complaining more than the process."

"Where are we going?" Johnny asked.

"The Olney. It's right there." He pointed south. "We can walk." Sal put his bass down and looked at Joe. "Are you in?"

He didn't answer. Joe fiddled with his Butterscotch Tele while the guys gathered by the door. He wasn't sure he wanted to go out for lunch. He had a history at The Olney.

"Hey, are you coming?"

"I don't think so. There's leftover pizza in the fridge."

"Pizza again?" Sal shook his head. "C'mon, we can talk about your show."

"If you do that," Nate said. "I'll stay here with the cold pizza."

Joe inhaled deeply, held it briefly with his eyes closed, then exhaled slowly; a deep cleansing breath. It was a helpful tool he learned in therapy.

"What's wrong with you?" Sal asked.

Joe opened his eyes, set his Tele down, and walked toward them. Johnny opened the door. The bright sun shined in, transforming the bandmates into silhouettes as they passed through the portal to the outside world. The Olney Diner was a hundred and fifty yards from the garage, at what was once the main gate to this hulking industrial complex. It served factory workers for a century before the Strand Textile Company moved south. Now, like the factory, the Olney was a shadow of its old self but still did good business. It was a greasy-spoon institution.

The four young men walked quietly with Joe bringing up the rear.

When Joe and his sister Janie were little, Dad would take them to the Olney Diner on Saturdays for breakfast or lunch, depending on how late Dad slept in. Janie would beg him for coins to play the jukebox, every time the same few songs; Any Monkees song, 'Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head', and her first favorite song, Nancy Sinatra's, 'These Boots Are Made For Walking'.

Janie would put on a show, dancing, and singing along, much to the delight of the old-timers who frequented the diner. When she found a new favorite song, 'Brand New Key' by Melanie, a huge hit in early '72. She played those two songs back to back for months, Dad called it Boots and Skates. The last time she did this was the morning of the accident that took her life, Janie's last meal.

Neither Dad nor Joe had been to The Olney since.

Every day Joe went to the garage he had to walk past the old metal rail car style building. It conjured memories, over and over. He had contemplated going inside for a burger basket, to exorcize the demons and reclaim a place of his youth, but each time, his boots just kept on walking.

Sal shouted back at Joe who was falling behind. "Hey, Jail-bait. Are you coming or not?"

He looked up. "Yeah, give me a minute," thinking maybe it'll be easier to do this with friends.

"Are you okay," asked Johnny. "You're kinda pale."

"I'm fine, let's go."

It was less than a two-minute walk, halfway around the garage, across the factory's rough asphalt parking lot, and past The West End Tap, a stinky old man bar. The Olney shared a parking lot with The Tap, and the lot was full.

When they entered the diner, Joe's heart sank. It was like a time capsule. He could see his sister standing between the counter and the row of booths, strutting back and forth, pointing at her snow boots, and singing.

"These boots are made for walkin', and that's just what they'll do. One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you."

Everyone loved Janie, the precocious performer. Diners would give her quarters to feed the jukebox. She soaked up their attention, a little diva... kinda like Joe.

On this day, the booths were full. They had to stand by the door and wait. The motif was 1950s, with brown Formica counters and table tops, and metal stools with yellow Naugahyde cushions that matched the benches of the booths. It was exactly as it was when Dad first took Joe there in the mid-sixties. The same jukebox stood in the corner near the restrooms.

Room for four opened up at the end of the counter, where it turned ninety degrees. As they sat on stools, Joe felt lightheaded, and his appetite faded. A young waitress handed them menus. Joe could barely read the text. Luckily, he knew what he liked at The Olney.

"I'll have three wieners and a vanilla milkshake," he said. "And fries."

"Cheeseburger basket." Sal handed his menu to the girl. "And a Coke."

"Same thing, rare on the burger," Nate said.

Everyone looked at Johnny. He noticed. "What? I need a second." It took many seconds. "I'll do the meatloaf and mashed, can I have peas instead of corn?"

"Why is everything a special order with you?" Sal threw his arms up. "You always have to make changes and when they fuck it up you whine."

"I can't order what I want?"

"We don't have peas."

"Perfect." Nate laughed. "Now he'll want you to list all the veggies you do have."

"No," Johnny said. "I'll do the corn."

The old men at the counter and in booths were familiar, even if they weren't all the same men as years ago; drinking coffee, reading newspapers, and bullshitting. The Celtics and Red Sox were always hot topics. It was as if no time had passed since Joe's last visit nearly seven years ago. The waitress was new, but the cook wasn't.

Joe was strangely possessed. Without a word, he stood and walked over to the jukebox. A single quarter completed his journey back to happier times. He pressed K-7 and P-4. When Nancy Sinatra started singing, he felt a lump in his throat.

'Why the fuck did I play this song?' He thought. 'Do I want to cry?'

When he returned to the counter, Sal noticed he still wasn't quite right. "You don't look good."

Johnny nodded. "I told ya, you're pale... like you just saw a ghost."

"Heh, funny, that's exactly what happened." He paused for a moment. "The last time I was in here was the morning my sister died."

Sal's face sank. Johnny and Nate shared a glance.

"She played this song every time we came here, which was almost every Saturday; just me, her, and Dad. The little ones stayed home with Mom."

"So that's why we play Nancy Sinatra," Nate said lowly.

"Yeah, and Brand New Key," Joe said. "Those were Janie's two favorite songs."

"You didn't have to come," Johnny said.

"And listen to you guys break my balls? This is less painful."

Nate laughed, just a little.

When the roller skates song started, the owner and short-order cook, Ricky Maldonado, looked up from his grill. Their eyes met. That's when he recognized Joe. He came over, wiping his hands on his apron, and extended his hand.

"It's been too many years kid."

Joe shook his hand, fighting back emotions.

"Look at you," Ricky smiled, "a strapping young man. I remember when..."

Sal put a hand up. Ricky understood, nodded, and went back to his grill.

Joe struggled through that lunch. He choked up a few times as vivid memories of his sister flooded his mind. One day, Ricky let her wait tables for laughs. The old men tipped her quarters. Another time she spilled her milkshake on Dad's lap. It was chaos, Dad jumping around and old men laughing. Every breakfast she ordered the same thing, a single scrambled egg, one pancake, and bacon. Then Janie drowned them all in a lake of maple syrup. Joe managed to keep it together. When Sal complained again about playing the same song over and over all morning, it pulled Joe's mind out of the memory hole.

Lunch was mostly quiet except for a little band talk. They ate quickly to get through the discomfort. Sal paid the tab. As they were leaving, Ricky called Joe back. "I'm glad you came in. It's good to see you. Tell the old man I was asking for him."

"Thanks, Ricky, I will. I forgot how good your gaggers were."

Ricky smiled. "Thanks. I'm surprised you didn't have pie. You kids always had pie."

"Heh," Joe smirked. "Maybe next time."

Janie and Joe shared a piece of pie for dessert, even when Dad took them for breakfast. It was a sibling tradition, but they had to promise Dad they wouldn't tell Mom.

The guys returned to the garage, strapped in, and banged out that new song. Joe realized then that the only three songs they played that were originally done by women were Janie's two favorites, and now Sandy's. They were his two best friends at age eleven. One was taken from him and the other grew up before he did.