What's in a Name?

As an introduction...

The year was 1973 and the college was in upstate New York. This story is based on a long rambling conversation I had late one night at a party with a college classmate who had never been very talkative with me (or the rest of the world I believe) before that night.

We ended up talking in a quiet corner and he began a confessional of sorts that was triggered by a rude remark from a passing female and fueled by excessive consumption of a bottomless keg. He was a nice guy and an absolutely brilliant student, but had trouble coming up with the answer to a pretty important question.

***

What's in a name? When parents name their children does that determine the way they look, or what they become? That's a question that has always fascinated me because it seems that some people have names that, when you hear it, you can immediately form a mental image of what you think the person looks like.

Like me, Miles Carmody. What do you think of when you hear that name? A brusing linebacker, a bricklayer, or a weightlifter? Of course not. The image that most always comes to mind is of a skinny nurd with taped up broken glasses and a pocket protector who is socially awkward.

Except for the broken glasses part, you know me. Now that the introductions are over, I can tell you a little more about myself. I'm eighteen years old, soon to turn nineteen years old. I've always been told that I'm very intelligent, having been hustled through high school so fast I don't even remember much of it. That's just as well though, because I have a feeling it would have been just more of the same.

Now I'm a junior in college at eighteen, at least three years younger than my classmates, which is the way it's been most of my life. Friends? Virtually nonexistent. Relationships, especially those of a physical nature? Don't ask.

I had a date once, last fall. There was a girl in the neighborhood who was really cute. She was a senior in high school and had just turned eighteen. This was my problem all my life, being grades ahead of people my own age left me lost in my own little world.

Anyway, since I had known this girl as a neighbor much of my life, I managed to summon enough courage to ask her out for a date. She accepted, much to my surprise, and I figured she said yes because it would make her look cool to go out with a college guy. I got dressed in my "coolest" clothes, sans pocket protector, and drove over to pick her up.

We went out for dinner and a movie and I drove to a deserted area that I had heard guys took girls to make out. I had no idea how to kiss a girl or anything, but thought I was doing okay for a first time. I knew it wasn't something new to her. After a few minutes, I felt her feeling around in my khakis.

All my dreams were about to come true. My pants came down a bit, and she pulled my underwear down. The moment I had waited for all my life was here at last. I was as hard as blue steel when her hand found my eager member.

Therein lies the problem. Four and a quarter to be precise, and precision is part of my nature. Measured it often, waiting for that growth spurt to come. Pulling on it didn't help lengthen it any either, because I've been tugging on that baby relentlessly since I discovered it. Four and a quarter inches, and did I mention that it wasn't very thick either?

Back to my date. She wrapped her tiny hand around my little pecker and two things happened. The first was that my date looked down at what she was starting to stroke and giggled. The second was that I came like a jackhammer. Semen wildly flying all over the place while my date sat there in shock, her hand and arm dripping with every ounce of pent up passion I had in me.

I apologized profusely and looked around the car for something to clean us up with before taking my date home. To no surprise, my future requests for a date were rebuffed by the young lady.

Not that it was a total loss however, because a couple of weeks later she was walking past my house with some girlfriends of hers as I was getting out of my car. I waved sheepishly to her and she returned the wave. The girls were all giggling until one of them turned around and yelled "Hey Oscar Mayer, how's your weiner?"

Delightful. Nothing like a good joke, especially at my expense. Apparently the story of my date was now common knowledge in the neighborhood, as was the extent of my physical endowment it seemed. It would have been less painful if the description didn't fit so well.

My parents had taken me to a doctor when they became concerned that I wasn't blossoming quite like my peers in terms of the secondary sexual characteristics. It was like puberty had started and then gotten bored, abruptly stopped and headed elsewhere. My virtual lack of body hair and voice change were all my parents knew about, as I certainly kept my jewels covered at all times.

The doctor looked me over from head to toe and pronounced me fit as a fiddle, although he suggested I work out and lift some weights. He took me aside and told me that size wasn't all that important, and that I should not let it bother me in the least.

Excellent advice. The people that tell you not to worry about things are invariably the ones that don't need to themselves. I was the one that had to live in this body, and I hated it.

Funny thing about being abused and humiliated is that it never fails to hurt you. As for the people who also endure treatment of a similar nature for whatever reason and say that it doesn't bother them and that they never pay any attention, you're full of it. I know that, because I'm one of those people that always says that. Total bullshit. It never stops hurting.

***

My parents got me a membership at a local health club in response to that doctor's advice, so I went down and gave it a try. The guy in charge gave me the tour and instructed me on how to use the equipment. It was as comical as you would imagine it to be, me getting thrown around by equipment, trying desperately to lift things that refused to budge.

I found some things that I could use without killing myself physically or emotionally like the treadmill, and started going regularly. I gradually became more comfortable using some of the things, and discovered it wasn't so bad after all.

The only area I avoided was the showers. I would change my clothes in the locker room as quickly as I could, and would scurry out without showering. I had so many painful experiences in showers at school previously that I was terrified at the prospect of being naked in there with men.

Not that I didn't look, mind you. I've always had a healthy curiousity about the human body in both models, so I would occassionally glance at the other guys. Okay, more than glance. I envied them as they padded off to the showers, some modest like me, others showing their bodies off freely.

Not all of them had great bodies, of course. Some of them were skinny like me, others were pot bellied. I could figure out the guys that were probably modestly endowed because they were the ones that held the towels close around them like I would, until reaching the sanctity of the stall.

The guys that didn't cover up, they were the ones who had been blessed. They would march into the shower with towel in hand, or no towel at all with their cocks swinging wildly from side to side as they walked around totally unashamed. Arrogant bastards all.

Truth be told, if that were me and I was hung like a horse I would be like that too. Hell, I'd probably never have pants on, and just wave my schlong around in everyone's face. But I'm not, and so I don't.

One day I went to workout and on a whim brought a towel with me, thinking I might take a shower like one of the guys. Maybe I would and maybe I wouldn't. Most likely I wouldn't, that I knew. At the end of my workout I headed into the locker room and began to quickly undress as was my usual custom. It wasn't nearly as crowded in the locker room as it usually was, and so when it came to decision time, I took the plunge.

I walked out of the locker area with my trusty towel wrapped tightly around me, and turned the corner. To my shock, there were no provisions made for privacy at all. No little metal stalls or separations whatsoever. Just a bunch of shower heads along the walls along with a bunch that worked from pipes in the middle of the room. You were supposed to stand there and let everybody see you? I wanted to see, not be seen!

Just then I realized that I was standing in the doorway and people who didn't have bizarre concerns such as mine were trying to get in around me. I spun around frantically, stumbling back to my locker, where I dressed as fast as any human being possibly could. I ran out the door and haven't gone back and likely never will.

***

It was at that point that I considered the fact that I might be homosexual. I had never really thought about it very much, since that was something that was not exactly approved of. I knew I liked girls, but the feeling was obviously not mutual, and I was very wary about subjecting myself to that again.

Men, now that was another thing all together. The more I thought about it, the more convinced I was that I might be attracted to men too. Was that possible? I know that I did look quite a bit at other guys in the locker room at the club, a lot more than I would ever admit. Was it possible to be attracted to both men and women?

Was I just envious and simply looking in admiration? Probably in part that was true. Still, I remember many times throughout my life that I seemed to be more than a little curious about guys.

Quite recently, for an example, there was that time that I watched this guy undress at the health club. I had been working out next to him for much of that night, and I remember admiring the way his muscular body performed so effortlessly the things I only dreamed of being able to do. I worked my way around the equipment so I could keep an eye on him. He wasn't much taller than I was and I tried to imagine myself ending up with a body like that if I kept working out

When he came into the locker room as I was hurriedly dressing that evening, I deliberately found reasons to loiter around. He shed his clothes quickly and I watched in awe as he headed into the shower; his leg muscles rippling as he walked, his long flaccid cock dangling in front of him. No need to hide that piece of work, and no way any amount of exercise would help me there.

I remember going home that night and taking myself in hand and slowly stroking myself to climax. That time, instead of thoughts of Jan and Marcia Brady, Karen Valentine or Raquel Welch running through my mind, there was the image of that man walking past me toward the showers.

***

My mind was made up. I had to find out exactly what I was. Most importantly, I had to really have some interaction with somebody, anybody. I had already jerked off enough to need glasses, and at this rate I would be shopping for a guide dog real soon. Somebody... anybody had to be out there for me.

There was a bar way out in the suburbs, at least a fifteen mile drive from my house, that was notorious for being a place where "that kind" of men went to. It was always supposed to be an insult when people would ask if you went to 'The Bat Cave', because everybody knew what that meant. Well, I made up my mind that I would go and find out for myself.

I dressed in my hippest Sears bell bottom jeans, deciding against the nehru jacket that had hung in my closet unworn since I bought it. I tried to comb my short light brown hair in a way that would disguise the fact that I looked like Wally Cox, but gave up eventually and went back to my usual style.

I looked in the mirror at the reflection staring back at me. Five foot six, one hundred and twenty pounds if sopping wet and carrying a bowling ball. No pocket protector tonight, and I made a mental note to leave my glasses in the car before I went in the bar. I needed them to drive there, because otherwise the possiblities were frightening for me and everyone on the road.

It was a Thursday night, and why I picked that night I have no idea. As I drove there I went through every scenario that I could imagine. In the end, I realized that in my heart of hearts, I would drive out to the bar, sit in the parking lot for a while and then drive back home and jerk off while imagining what might have been.

I got to 'The Bat Cave', which was as isolated as could be, and looked around. There were only about a dozen cars in the parking lot, and at first I drove through and checked out all the cars, making sure there wasn't anybody here that I knew.

As I reached the end of the rows of cars while doing my detective work it suddenly occurred to me how incredibly stupid this was. Goes to show you, an IQ of 151 doesn't mean you don't have your head up your ass as often as anybody else.

I got out of the car and wandered toward the door. Just casually inspecting the premises, listening to the music bleeding through the walls. 'Magic Carpet Ride'. Hey, I knew that one. I don't know what the hell I was expecting, 'Cabaret' maybe? For some bizarre reason, Steppenwolf gave me all the courage I needed, and to my surprise I grabbed the door handle and walked in.

I paused at the doorway, trying to take in the scene. It was safe to say that the rumors about the sexual orientation of the people that freqented this place was true. There were about twenty people in the place, all male.

It appeared that every eye in the place saw me come in the door, and it didn't help any that I stood there frozen like a deer in the headlights. I had a decision to make. Either bolt back out the door, or go over to the bar and get a drink.

Ninety nine time out of a hundred I would have been back in the car by then. This time... I didn't bolt. I walked over to the bar and hopped up on a stool that was as far away from everybody as possible. It was tough to see through all the smoke hanging in the air, but it seemed to be a pretty tame crowd.

The bartender came over toward me and before he could ask I already had my license and draft card out. He looked at the proof with all the confidence of someone handing him a eighteen dollar bill, and I couldn't blame him. After giving it the eye a few times with double takes and looking at the cards and me, I was able to order a Bud. Not that I was partial to the stuff, but I saw signs for it all over the place so it seemed safe to say they sold it.

I sucked down some of the brew and wondered what would happen next. I didn't have long to wonder, because over the next thirty minutes half of the guys in the place came over to say hello to me, or came up to the bar to get drinks and looked at me long and hard.

Friendly bunch, that much I had to admit, and I was certainly more popular here than I was anywhere else in my life. Faint praise indeed. Of course, the fact I was staring straight ahead and stuttering and stammering like a fool when I did dare to open my mouth was not helping matters. I didn't really know what to say to people anyway, and even in a situation like this were I was fairly anonymous I was at a loss for words.

I was just getting ready to finish my beer and leave when somebody came into the bar. After walking halfway down the bar, he looked back and settled on a stool next to mine. We exchanged greetings and after a few minutes started talking. He talked, while I mostly listened.

He bought me another beer, and talked about the weather. I responded as best I could while keeping my head down and speaking into my drink. I didn't even know what this guy looked like at this point, but I tried to peek into the mirror behind the bar to get an idea. Heaven forbid that I turn and face the guy when we spoke.

He seemed to be in his thirties and had red hair. That was all I could tell. I ordered another beer and told the bartender to get my conversational partner another. As he did, my new friend put his hand on my thigh under the cover of the bar.

"Say, would you like to come over to my place after we finish this drink?" he said while squeezing my thigh under the shelter of the bar.

"I... ah... er... umm... I don't even know your name" I said laughing a little. I think there were more umm's and er's involved but you get the drift.

"My name's Tom" he said laughing, offering a freckled and meaty paw to me, which engulfed my bony and sweaty one as we shook.

"Miles, my name's Miles" I said, completing my longest coherent sentence of the night thus far.

"Okay then Miles," Tom said while still chuckling, "now that we know each other's names, the offer still stands. You seem a little nervous here, that's why I offered."

"Nervous?" I squeaked. "Does it show?"

"A little" Tom admitted, and then leaned over to me and whispered. "How'd you get in here? Fake ID?"

"No" I said. "I'm eighteen, really. I got proofed by the bartender almost down to a cavity check" I told him.

"That's something I can handle if need be" Tom said chuckling. "It's just that you look really young, but I'm sure you're used to hearing that" Tom conceded before going back to his drink.

I nursed that Bud as long as I could, until Tom finally started getting up.

"Coming Miles?" Tom said. I said I would join him but needed to go to the men's room. After draining some beer, I went to the sink and threw cold water on my face before looking at my ashen face in the mirror. Still time to back out.

***

Tom said that he lived only a mile or so away so I got in my car to follow, almost forgetting to put on my glasses as I pulled out of the lot blindly. Tom drove slowly on the winding road before he pulled into the driveway of a modest little cottage. I pulled in behind him and got out, still not believing I had gone this far. Still not too late to get in the car and back out, I reminded myself.

I followed Tom up the steps and into the neat and tastefully furnished home. He offered me a beer and as I followed him into the kitchen, I got my first look at him outside of the smoky bar.

He was probably around thirty five or so, and about four or five inches taller than me. His hair was a little long but he was thinning a bit on top. When he came over to me with the beer I was leaning back on his kitchen counter trying to act casual and probably failing miserably.

He handed me the beer and looked at me in an amused way, almost sizing me up. His hand went to my shoulder and I jumped a little. I tried to look him in the eye but my gaze only went as far as his neck, as I was hypnotized at the wild spray of chest hair peeking up at me through the neck opening of his shirt.

"I have to ask you, because I don't enjoy being made a fool of, but is this some sort of fraternity prank or something? Some kind of initiation you're having to go through?" Tom asked.

I had told him back at the bar that I went to college, but I assured him that I was not in any fraternity, even if there was one that would have had me.

"Okay" Tom said. "It's just that you seem too good to be true. If this IS a joke of some kind, well, please just leave before I come out of the bathroom. No hard feelings here and no harm done, okay? Otherwise, look... I have to admit that you're really turning me on."

I gulped and nodded in response. Turning him on?Tom went around the corner to the bathroom. Me? Turning someone on? I stood and spun around a couple of times, went to the door and then came back.

"Still here?" Tom said suggestively when he emerged from the bathroom. "I guess that you're for real then" he said coming up next to me.

"Yes... but I'm... nervous. I don't know what I'm supposed to do" I admitted. as I felt the sweat that had been beading up on my brow begin trickling down my face.

"You've never been with another man before?" Tom asked. "You mean this really isn't an act or anything?"