My Debate Partner
Chapter Nine
One of the true blessings of my life has been the love I received from my father. He wasn't a man of many words, but he made sure that I always knew how much he loved me. He was so obviously proud of me that I worked hard to ensure that I never disappointed him.
My father was a very strong man, and he was in great shape. At times, I have thought he could run forever. I was definitely no match for him, and I had to struggle to keep up on the cool Sunday evening that October. We usually didn't talk much while we ran. It's a little difficult to run, breath and talk at the same time. But I wanted to talk to my father. After several miles, I asked if we could just walk for a while. He smiled and slowed down.
"What's on your mind, Son?" he asked.
To my father, I was always "Sport," "Son," or even "JY," but never just "Joel." I liked his nicknames for me. It was one of the ways he showed me that he loved me.
I told him about the Debate tournament - in an edited version, of course. I had no idea how my father felt about boys falling in love with boys, and I wasn't ready to find out, either. I wanted to talk to him about Kettering and the way they had defeated David and me. In addition to being athletic, my Dad was very smart. I wanted his help in figuring out what I could do to make sure that next time, we didn't fall into a similar trap.
"There's really no way to avoid all failures," he said. "Life is full of ups and downs. Sometimes, you just have to roll with the punches."
"I know you're right, Dad," I said. "But there's got to be a way to prepare for situations like that, especially if you know you'll probably face them again."
Dad stopped walking and sat down on the side of the deserted road we had found. "Tell me more about exactly what this team did."
I sat down, too, and explained about Kettering's arguments, their evidence which included the deathbed recanting of our expert's economic philosophies and their personal attack on David.
"What bothers me is that I know they could do the same thing to us again," I said. "They could pull some great piece of evidence out of the air and leave us looking liking idiots."
The implication of my father's next words stuck with me for the rest of the night. It wasn't that his advice was so original, for I had heard the old expression he used many times before. But, it opened up some new possibilities that I hadn't considered.
"Well, just remember," my Dad said, "if it seems too good to be true, it probably is."
With that, Dad stood up and said it was time to get going. It was at least three miles back to the house, and we jogged - hard - all the way. I thought about what had happened during our Debate with Kettering as I let Dad guide us home. By the time we arrived, I had formulated my plan. I went up stairs, showered for the third time that day, and forced myself to spend the rest of the night on Chemistry and Math homework.
Chapter Ten
I have always been the kind of person who experiences emotions intensely. If I'm happy, I'm joyous. If I'm down, I'm seriously depressed. Some people say I'm too sensitive. That may be true, but it doesn't help me to change. I simply feel what I feel, and controlling my feelings, including my sexual excitement, has never been easy for me.
I didn't see David until third hour the next morning. As he came in the room, confident as ever, I was struck once again with how handsome he was. I fell in love with him all over again. Just looking at him made me short of breath. "Get a grip," I though to myself.
He took his normal seat next to me and pretended not to notice I was there. No one was paying any attention to us, nor was anyone close enough to hear us. I let him play his game.
Finally, he turned toward me, and in mock formality said, "Hi, I'm David. Do I know you?"
"Yes, but primarily in the Biblical sense," I answered.
"That's where I know you from," he exclaimed in a dramatic, but hushed tone.
"You're that cute guy with the runny nose from Sunday afternoon."
I wanted to hit him. Instead, I covered my blushing face with my hands and tried unsuccessfully not to laugh.
"Don't choke, now," he said.
"Stop it," I pleaded with my hands still covering my face. "Not here!" I took a deep breath and forced my self to stop laughing. I finally succeeded, but I was left with the mental image of David's beautiful, erect cock rubbing against my face. I was flushed and hard before the bell ever rang. "Look what you've done to me!" I complained.
He noted my red face. He looked at the bulge in my pants. He noticed I was short of breath. Then, he held his right hand up and bent his four fingers forward as if to inspect his fingernails. He raised his fingernails to his mouth and breathed on them before lowering his hand to his shirt and pretending to polish his nails. He smiled at me with a smug, satisfied grin, the meaning of which was clear: "See, I can do that to you anytime I want."
I managed to call him an arrogant bastard under my breath before class started. Although I pretended to listen to Mrs. Weber lecture on the finer points related to the rules of evidence, I couldn't concentrate. Half way through the class, I decided I must be a sex addict. Try as I might to focus, one look from David and I lost all of my ability to function academically.
I managed to get through the day, and finally the last period ended. Unfortunately, I had a major test to prepare for in US History the next day. David and I walked the mile and a half to our subdivision, and he invited me into his house. Both of his parents were still at work.
We were barely in the door when he attacked me. We made love in his living room on the floor. This time, he wouldn't let me touch him intimately until he had ravaged my body completely and left me almost unconscious - a pulsating, exhausted animal barely able to think. I decided to return the favor. When we were done, and cleaned up, I had to go home and study.
By 8:00 p.m., I had finished dinner, and I was done with History. My mind couldn't take anymore studying, and I was fairly sure I'd do well on tomorrow's test. Having attended to the necessary business of the day, I allowed my self to start work on the plan I'd thought of while running with my Dad the previous night. I wasn't sure if my plan was a stupid waste of time or an inspired idea, so I kept it to myself. If it worked out, fine. If it didn't, no one would be the wiser.
I called both the local and college libraries and inquired if they had copies of the New Paradigms Newsletter. Neither subscribed to the publication, and they had no record of any Michigan library having it in their collections. The college library, however, was able to give me the name and address of the publisher. I hand wrote a letter asking for information - what libraries in my area subscribed and the availability of back copies. I mentioned my particular interest in their issue that included the interview with the former Director of the US Treasury, and I included a self-addressed stamped envelope. I was hoping the publisher might send me a photocopy of the article. I mailed the letter on my way to school the next morning.
I didn't hear from the New Paradigms Newsletter in October, nor in November. Finally, my letter drifted to the back-burner in my memory, and I stopped thinking about my plan.
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