Sunday, May 5, 2019

Documentary: The Staircase

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If you have not watched The Staircase and intend to, you may want to skip this post
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I've mentioned before the fact that I tend to watch documentaries as I do my daily treadmill work.  It isn't to say that my wife doesn't enjoy docs, but she does tend to get bored, especially when they are somewhat dragged out.  So, I put on Netflix or Hulu or whatever and go from documentary to documentary, and if I get bored with one, I just move on to the next. 

I had finished that heartbreaking story on the disappearance of Madeleine McCann (if you haven't seen it, I highly recommend it, but be prepared to be both frustrated and heartbroken), and I was looking for something that would catch my eye.  Sure enough, The Staircase popped into my queue, and off I went.

The gist of it is, this guy, a veteran military guy who served in Vietnam, is a writer, mayoral candidate, and outspoken critic of the local politics in his town, calls 9-11 one night to report that his liquored up wife has apparently fallen down the stairs.  By the time the police and one of his adult kids shows up, she is dead.  If you follow the logic, this is most likely an accident and everyone is devastated. 

But, the police come up with a different idea.  Murder.  They turn the home into a crime scene, confiscate his computer, and eventually charge him with killing his wife by repeatedly beating her over the head while she stood helpless in the stairwell.

Turns out, Michael Peterson, the husband, was in fact a bisexual and had a lot of military gay porn on his computer, had conversations with other men including at least one male escort.  The police concluded that his wife must have found this info on the computer, confronted him, and in a rage, they fought and he killed her. 

Okay, there is more.  Turns out that when Michael was stationed in Germany, they had a neighbor couple Mike and his first wife were close with.  The husband of that couple dies during the war and they are all very close.  That woman has a fall on a staircase in her home, German authorities believe to be the result of a brain aneurysm, and that death is ruled an accident.  But, Mike and his then wife adopt the two young girls and eventually, they move back to the states.

During the course of the current trial, the prosecutors learn of this first accident in a staircase, and they pull strings to open up the case and here in the states, they conclude that the first accident was also murder, committed by Mike. 

I simply cannot tell you how easy it is for a prosecutor to whip together a bunch of "facts" and come to a conclusion.  Add in what was a series of perjuries and prosecutorial misconduct, and you now have a guy sitting in prison for nine years. 

So I've laid all this out and if you ignored the spoiler alert, I still recommend going back and watching it.  What I want to address is the way that we allow prosecutors in this system to take what is otherwise unrelated information and use it to sway a jury to convict someone. 

There is an Assistant DA in this case, the late Freda Black, was in my mind the epitome of using something that is a minor detail (Mike's bisexuality), to sway the jury into concluding that he must be guilty, after all, he's a gay.  Yes, the man obviously had a hidden life going on, but compare that to him having gone out and seen an occasional female prostitute.  In an otherwise (by all accounts) perfect marriage, does that turn him into a murderer? 

I worry about this redirection all the time.  As someone who has written a lot of very personal stuff over the years and posted it here for people with similar interests, I wonder just how much of this stuff would be used to make some irrelevant point against me.  The man has sucked a dick so he must be fill-in-the-blank.

The interesting thing was how they showed clips of Nancy Grace discussing the trial as it happened and they would show the actual court case, and then show how Nancy and her guests just completely reported the opposite of what was being said in court.  At one point, Mike's attorney calls Nancy (I guess they know each other) and says, What the actual fuck? He complains to her that her guests are sitting in the same courtroom as he is, yet they are spouting off factually incorrect information.

My concern about this is that for the prosecution, it is all about winning at any cost, and for the media, it is about reporting the most juicy bit of news they can, neither of them showing any bit of interest in truth or justice.

Look, I don't know if Mike Peterson killed his wife or the other lady or both.  But given the amount of misconduct in this trial, even the judge said at the end that if he had been on the jury, he would have had reasonable doubt.  Yet, we have seen over and over cases where DNA has proven that a person sentenced to life in prison or even death row, could NOT have been the killer.  We see cases where the police or the DA have hidden evidence that would have shown the accused could not have committed the crime.  But there is this win at all costs attitude. 

As a society, we need to do better.  I'm not going to lie, I have in the past had this attitude that if you got arrested, there was probably a good reason.  It isn't on the police to convict you, they simply arrest based upon what they see at the moment.  Very often, they learn there are more facts and a good DA should consider those facts before moving on with a prosecution. 

Final disclosure,  do know that this documentary was biased toward Mike Peterson and I get that.  I just know that if a family member of mine is killed, I want the truth, not some fabricated, perjured, and innuendo based prosecution.  We have got to do better.

Saturday, April 27, 2019

Viva Fiesta! So Long Comfort Zone...

In spite of the fact that I've written here for a number of years about being Bi and even included details of some Bi sexual antics, this week I realized just how much out of my comfort zone I was stepping by attending a very LGBT Fiesta party.  For those of you not aware, Fiesta is San Antonio's annual ten day party with multiple parades, parties and events.  Think of Mari Gras or Carnevale, but done in a way only the people of San Antonio can do.

This particular event was held at a private home.  The friend who invited us was one of the sponsors and though we've been invited a number of times, this was the first year we committed to going. 
While there were lots of straight people attending, this was definitely a gay event.  Just prior to the party starting (we showed up unfashionably early and helped set things up) I witnessed some of the funniest banter between older gay men.  It was one insult after another, many references to dicks, blow jobs, and lube, all in a very good natured and playful way.

Once the party started, it was as if floodgates opened and the large backyard of this home was transformed into a sea of gays, all wearing festive hats and grabbing mimosa's from one of two bars set up on each side of the yard.  There had to be three hundred people, mostly an older crowd, packed shoulder to shoulder. 

There were lots of men I could see myself being attracted to, but it made me realize that while I enjoying the sex part of gay things, I'm not sure I fit the gay part of being gay.  I certainly was not uncomfortable being around a bunch of gay men, but I just didn't feel sexual in any way.  Does that even make sense?   Let me answer that.  It doesn't make sense. 

After the party ended, we headed down to San Antonio's historic Bonham Exchange, the main gay nightclub.  But it was only 1PM and everyone had been drinking since 9:30 in the morning. 

My wife has been to the Bonham, but I never had.  I was both excited and nervous.  Not gonna lie, it was thrilling to be around so many gay men in that setting.  People were dancing and drinking and every bar in the place was shoulder to shoulder with people trying to get a beer.  It was great fun just people watching.  Yes, I made eye contact with more than a few guys while keeping my wife close by my side. 

In spite of the fact that there was so much hot action going on inside, I didn't see any of the naughty stuff I might have stereotypically expected to see.  Yes, they had a seriously musclebound guy dancing in his underwear, getting wads of dollar bills tucked into his waistband, but for some reason, I just thought there would be some sex.  Maybe this is why straight people are so intimidated by gay clubs.  We just assume there are blow jobs happening everywhere.  There weren't.

By three in the afternoon, we were checked into our hotel and I had a several hour nap before heading out for the evening with my wife. 

Wednesday, April 24, 2019

This is Sort of Icky...

I was listening to Dan Savage on my ride into work yesterday when a caller stated that her boyfriend had revealed that he occasionally enjoys porn with the topic of incest.  She didn't get too specific as to say what category, but I think for the majority of us, we hear that word and it sends the ick-factor up quickly.  We either imagine incest as assault of a young child by a predator, or we imagine some stereotype of uneducated brother and sister living in the backwoods, French kissing one another while waiting for Sunday-go-to-meetin' to start.

The caller didn't indicate that she was disgusted by his porn interest, but she did have a concern about whether or not she should mention that she had been a victim of an incest type assault as a child.  That would certainly put a damper on watching Game of Thrones.  In the end, Dan told her she should tell him. You can't unwire the things that turn you on, but you can certainly be aware of the impact they may have on your partner's feelings.

Many readers here recall my fellow blogger Curious Rob who, as an adult found out he had a half-sister, and eventually, had a thing with her.  No question, in the way he unfolded the story, it was very, very hot.  I'll leave it to you to come to your own personal judgements, but I know Rob to be a normal guy that just happened into that situation.

My own confession is that as pre-teens, my sister and I, along with other kids our ages, engaged in all sorts of exploratory behavior that involved nudity, touching, kissing, and general dares including streaking (oh, the early 1970's), and innocent things like that.  As adults, my sister and I have never, and will never discuss the things we did.  There are no scars aside from the idea that we both probably feel awkward about it.  And in case any of you are wondering, she is the older of the two.  I don't view our curiosity at that age any differently than I do the playing of Doctor by children throughout history, or the show and tell games kids have always done.

But when you say the word incest, it just seems so creepy, so icky.

I have more than once clicked on those PornHub videos that are labeled as Step-mom blows son, or Mom Teaches Son.  In a way, it is like being an observer in someone else's taboo world, all the while knowing you wouldn't participate in that in your own world.  And Dan Savage made similar statements.  That while many, many people are somewhat turned on by this taboo idea, the majority would never consider it for themselves. 

I think we need to come up with some caveats for the term.  I mean, there is the assault kind of incest which, in my opinion, we don't have enough prison cells to lock up all the sick bastards who need to be castrated and locked up for that.  But there is also the consensual, Game of Thrones kind of incest where either Jon Snow didn't know he was fucking his smoking hot aunt, or The Kingslayer found his sister entirely to irresistible to have great sex with.  Those kinds aren't all that bad when everyone is cool with it.

Thoughts?

Saturday, April 6, 2019

My Mental Rolodex: Erin...

I walked into the bedroom with the intent to grab my phone from the charger.  I could see the door leading to our master bath and walk in closet was closed which was unusual given the restroom is in a separate water closet and we just normally have the sliding door to that common area open. 

I slid open the door and saw that my wife was in the bathroom, her bra sitting on the counter top and immediately realized she was getting ready for sex.

Every Friday afternoon we head out to one of our local restaurants for drinks and dinner.  Recently we’ve taken Dan Savage’s advice about fucking first.  So I stripped down to my watch and my socks and I laid down on the bed to wait for my wife to enter in whatever outfit she wanted to show off, and basically started fondling my cock to get an erection.

I don’t have ED issues, per se, but to be honest, I often have questionable interest in sex.  Imagine a woman with her tits swinging in your face and pussy eagerly grinding on your cock, yet you don’t seem aroused.  A minute or two later you imagine the female newscaster on TV and your dick begins to rise. 

Don’t make any mistake in thinking my wife is not sexually attractive or undesirable.  Hell, she attracts men nonstop.  But there is a disconnect in my desire based on a number of mental factors.  First, I'm an absolute believer that no matter how attractive you find someone, you can become so used to that appearance that it becomes bland.  I also believe that personality plays a role.  That is, if you find someone attractive but you are put off by their personality, it can lessen the desire.  In our case, we've been married well over thirty years.  You become siblings it seems like.

So all of this in mind, I began laying there trying to come up with a presentable erection to surprise my wife when she came strutting out the door in some sexy outfit designed to give me an immediate hard-on.

I started thinking about Erin. 

Long time readers recall Erin was one of several inappropriate friendships I had a few years back during my so-called mid-life crisis, played out right here on the blog.  Erin is about 30, certainly an adult if any of you thought "inappropriate" meant something grosser than someone being a lot younger than me.  She is no wallflower and she certainly isn't someone I could be accused of taking advantage of.  No, Erin is her own woman, but the problem is, I've known her most all her life.

Erin exudes sexuality.  She is book smart but is even street-smarter.  I like both those things.  She can hold an intelligent conversation and has a real sense of humor.  I've never had sex with her, but I feel like she'd be really good at it.  When I see her in person, I'm aroused.  When I look at the nude pictures she sends me, I jack-off to them.  We have had many online conversations that were deep, emotional, sexual, and funny.  But in person, we both seem to filter it all and engage in respectable, friendly chit-chat.  Yes, I want to fuck her.  But that might ruin it all.

With my dick still in my hand contemplating an erection, I began to imagine a menu of things involving Erin.  As if I had an hour to spend alone with her one workday afternoon.  The two of us in her townhome, laying on the bed. 

I have this weird desire to have Erin teach me how she kisses.  I'm laying there, she rolls on top of me and begins with instructions.  Do this, don't do that.  It is slow at first.  We giggle because we've never kissed before.  Before long, tongues are involved.  And of course, there is twitching in my penis area.

In my mind, it can't be too quick.  I can't get hard and suddenly want to get physical. There is so much conversation I want in such an exposed moment.  I want details.  I want her to tell me about all of her sexual history.  I know a great deal of it. 

I know about that time in high school when she took off with one of her friend's father.  They partied in a hotel and then the man fucked her.  Yes, she knew it was wrong, that the man was a criminal for what he had done, but she doesn't regret it.  And I have to admit, when she told me the story, I wanted as much detail as she would share.  As much as I had this urge to track down this man and inflict harm upon him for his sins, I had to admit to myself that I envied his ballsy move - fucking his daughter's friend.  What does that say about me?

Once I was at a college football game when I momentarily locked my eyes on a cheerleader.  My daughter, several years older than the beauty queen in my view, interrupted the moment with, "Dad! Don't be a creeper."

Erin has told me about her experiences with rich business owners and doctors.  Men who will gladly shower her with gifts and cash for the benefit of her company.  Dinner and a movie.  Sometimes more, sometimes not.  I want all the details. 

I want to know the details of her sexual adventures in the bed of a man who sent his wife away on vacation, just so he could spend time with Erin at his house.  The neighbors would never see through the tinted windows as his Ferrari pulled directly into the garage, door closed and the two of them free to do whatever this man desired, for as long as he was willing to help Erin make a few car payments, and keep his wife on vacation.

The voyeur in me wants to know the sizes and shapes of the cocks she has fucked.  The numbers, the threesomes, the sex clubs and the most incredible times versus the most horrible. 

All these thoughts raced through my mind, imagining just laying there with Erin and me talking, kissing, laughing.  My dick was hard.  Very hard as my wife walked out of the bathroom in sexy panties and a bright red corset that pushed her large breasts nearly out of the top.  She was surprised to see me ready for action and pleased with the erection that awaited her.

When you've been married to the same woman for as long as I have, you have to figure things out.  My wife has no need to know exactly how my penis came to life for her, just that it did.

Thursday, March 21, 2019

Being Better People...

I found myself engaged in conversation with a colleague in the presence of several other coworkers where the topic of a former member of our team and his lifestyle arose.   I had written about this young military officer a few years ago and how I was impressed with his and his wife embracing an open lifestyle.  Now, in this conversation, those details were coming to light.

For my own moral growth, I’ve made it my mission to avoid any situation where I’m hypocritically taking a negative view on others in order to hide my own actions.  I regret years in the military of hiding my bi side and my marital arrangements by “playing along” with the general view that gays were not supposed to be in the military, or all marriages were strictly monogamous (unless, you know, what goes TDY...).  

To be clear, I defended gay people and even openly supported political efforts to allow gays to serve, but what I never did was step up and use myself as an example of a different sexual orientation getting along fine in the military or participating in a marriage that was not strictly monogamous.  

In recent years, I’ve vowed not to giggle with the group when topics like this come up.  I’m usually that guy who is quick to defend the person or group being persecuted so to speak, and I’m proud of that shift.  

So when I could see the conversation going in the direction that it was bound to go, I started mentally wondering if this would be the day that I said “me too” without the hashtag.  

Thankfully, the guy talking was respectful in the way he was about to share the former co-worker's situation. Yes, technically gossip but it was germane to the conversation explaining what has happened in trying to stay in touch. The guy being talked about has since left the military and many of us have tried to remain in touch both professionally and socially. 

I learned a new term today.  Apparently this former colleague is in a polyamorous constellation.  I’ll Google it for clarification. 

I noticed the guy talking in this case, a very smart engineer that I have great respect for, kept looking at me for non-verbal clues as to gauge my feelings.  Meanwhile the other people in the area, all older men were making comments like you’d expect.  Mostly shock and horror over the idea of an alternative lifestyle.  But I maintained a very neutral face.  I wasn’t shocked because I already knew and I certainly wasn’t shocked by this lifestyle. What I considered was that this engineer had heard of my situation and he was perhaps looking for me to pipe in and say, me too.  

If it were he and I talking alone, I may have been more open to that but I simply acknowledged that I knew about this former colleague’s marriage arrangement and I wasn’t phased by it.  

I want to approach this thought from two directions. First, there was a recent episode of John Oliver’s show where he had the topic of Internet shaming.  His point was that if a politician or a public person is caught being hypocritical, you know, anti-gay senator hiring a gay escort, then shaming is fine.  But the Internet shaming of some random person who became part of some viral meme when the facts aren’t even accurate is just wrong.  

He gave the example of a woman who was forced to sue her nephew, and this was with the full consent of the parents and the nephew.  The mischaracterization of what happened, Worst Aunt Ever, got so bad that this lady had to actually change her identity so she could get a job interview.  

When we don’t know the full details about a person’s chosen lifestyle yet we make these casual judgments about it, it can end up being potentially devastating to that person’s reputation and livelihood.  With that in mind, I’m really working on myself and my friends not to make those blanket judgments.  

The second part is, dismissing people for a sexual choice you don’t understand or agree with.  I’m bi.  I was having a conversation with a reader here about the bias against bi people at sex clubs.  I should better state, against bi men because let’s be honest, a bi woman is acceptable universally!   

I’m fairly anonymous as a bi guy.  Those who I share with are usually well vetted and plus, I don’t really put myself in situations where sexual orientation is a factor.  But yes, even I have had some stumbling in early MFM threesomes where the other male partner didn’t want any contact, incidental or planned.  That is a very acceptable demand that needs to be stated up front.  I don’t want to suck your dick if it would gross you out.  (But I bet if you shut your eyes and let it happen, you’d be happy afterwards). Just saying. 

Either way, to tie this back around to the conversation about this former colleague and his constellation of sex partners, I want to be more proactive in standing up for people when they aren’t there to defend themselves or they are there and they need someone else to support them. 

We can all be better at this.  We just need to have the balls to do it.  

Thursday, February 28, 2019

IGHIH: Showing Off...

A couple of interesting things happened during the weekly get together with my wife and JD.  First, he arrived about twenty minutes before I did but my neighbor was also getting home from work at the same time.  This makes twice that the neighbor has seen JD show up to visit without me being home.  I realize of course that most people probably don't give it a second thought, but there is that idea in the back of my head that perhaps he wonders.

When I pulled in to the driveway, JD's truck was parked across the street so I decided to be quiet about going in the house.  I prefer the quiet entry, hoping to catch a glimpse of something new.  I guess that's the voyeur in me.

No need to be all that quiet, the music from the living room sound system was on fairly loud, I could see an empty beer bottle at the kitchen bar, and JD's suit jacket hanging from a stool.  My wife was screaming loud enough for the neighbors to hear, I'm sure, through what turned out to be her second orgasm, brought on by JD's talented tongue.  When I peered in the bedroom, there he was completely nude, head between her legs.  He was fingering her with one hand while he pawed at one of her breasts.  The loud screams turned to moans then giggling.  

"That's two." she laughed. "I think there is one more in me."

I stood there for a moment and my wife looked up and saw me and smiled.  When she said hello, JD lifted his head from my wife's pussy and looked up at me and smiled, saying "You made it!"

It has been several meetings where I simply did not get home from work in time to catch the action first hand.  I immediately loosened my tie, slipped off my shoes and began to undress. The two of them continued what they were doing and while I unbuttoned my shirt, I walked to the kitchen and grabbed a beer.  

Back in the room, I sat on the sill of the bay window naked and casually began stroking my rock hard cock while  watching JD just go to town on her pussy.  My wife looked over at me, admiring how turned on I was.  Every minute or so, JD would lift his head, look in my direction and then go back to work.  

There was some mumbling, giggling, and playful chatter between them, and eventually instructions from my wife for JD to bite her.  On the first scream, he intensified his efforts and once again, the house was filled with the loud sounds of my wife's third orgasm.  I had to stop stroking my own cock for fear of dropping a load right there on the carpet below.

As I sat there in the nude, dick throbbing with excitement, I realized that JD truly has a gift that I just don’t give her these days.    Yet, I was so hard that later she told me she thought I was showing off.  The fact that I can get rock hard and stay that way.  

There was a moment as the two of them changed positions so my wife could reciprocate the oral pleasure that I realized I was the outsider here.  Don’t get me wrong, I think it is fairly normal in these situations.  The outside lover is always going to be a special treat, otherwise, why bother.  But for me, I’ve never been that sort of cuckold who is in it for the humiliation. I’m genuinely turned on by watching other people have sex and especially watching my wife with another guy.  

In this case, it was no longer about them putting a show for me, though they certainly are both respectful of my feelings.  Now, this was the two of them having hot afternoon sex and I was simply an observer.  Funny thing is, I’m really okay with that.  It is freeing in a way that is unrelated to the sexual turn on.  It is as if I’ve said that after more than thirty years of marriage I’m just bored with our sex, but I don’t want my disinterest to stop you from having pleasure.  If only we could get JD’s wife to feel the same way.  

My wife climbed in between JD’s legs and asked him how he wanted it.  Did he want a blow job, did he want her to ride his cock, or would he like to titty fuck her?   He was excited about a nice titty fuck and I was happy to watch, erection still at full glory.  

She started off blowing him to take his cock from semi-erect to very hard in a matter of a minute or so.  Then she looked over at me and scooted her body in a way that allowed me to see his cock slide between her large breasts.  

JD was laying flat on the bed and my wife rocked her body in a motion that glided his dick between her hanging boobs while he pressed them together.  She encouraged him the entire time. 

“You love my big tits!”

“Oh yeah, baby. I love your fantastic tits!” He’d reply.  

Eventually the inevitable came and JD fired off his load, coating her breasts and chest.  In a moment he just laid back exhausted.  I watched his thick dick begin to deflate.  In my mind, I wanted to suggest I clean his dick, but we still are not at that level of openness yet.  

My wife was now beside him, on her back and I stood up and pulled her toward the end of the bed.  She looked over at JD and said, “You forgot to say it.”

“Oh, that’s right”, he giggled.  “Clean it up, bitch!”

They both laughed, as did I.  

I grabbed his cock between my thumb and index finger and quickly said, “Oh, you want me to clean you off?”

“No, no, I’m not ready fort that!”

At least it seems like a future possibility. 

I am a fan of the visual site of a load sprayed across skin.  It adds to the experience of licking globs of cum from the breast.  There is no mistake about the taboo of reclaiming your wife’s breasts by cleaning the other man’s load, and this is an act that I very much enjoy.  

But in the instance where the load has been rubbed back and forth between the tits, it turns into little pieces of drying come that looks almost like little balls of glue.  But it tastes the same.  

After cleaning her off, I pulled my wife closer and entered her still soaked pussy.  It took all of two minutes of hard fucking to unload in her.  

“Damn!” JD said, “This really turns you on.”

I lingered with my dick slowly sliding in and out and my wife just let out a sigh.  “I am soaking wet.”

Showers were taken, teeth were brushed, clothes were put on and in a few minutes were were walking JD out to his truck.  No sign of the neighbors to put out a signal that I was aware of my wife’s weekly visitor.  

Sunday, February 24, 2019

The Camper...

When I was around seven or eight, probably the first or second grade, we lived in a small neighborhood on Florida.  Next door, there was this kid my age named Lee.  He may have had a smaller brother or sister, but I don't recall the details.  I just know that he father was in the military, he had a mom and this kid Lee and I would hang out fairly often.  There were other kids our age on the street, but as I recall, he and I became fast friends. 

By this age, I was already interested in exploring naughty things.  Prior to moving in this house, I had already been involved with playing doctor, the "I'll show you mine if you show me yours" game, and other activities that took place behind rows of bushes in military base housing.  So it was not a shock that I would be instigating more of the same with this friend, Lee.

By now I've lost a lot of the memories of the house, that neighborhood and the year that we lived there while my dad was away in Vietnam, but this particular incident will never leave me, it seems.  Lee's dad was an outdoorsmen and had a garage full of fishing gear, a boat, and just piles of other sports stuff.  In the driveway, he had sitting on silts one of the old style campers that you could back up your pick up truck, tie down and drive away like an RV.  Of course, to me, this camper would make an ideal clubhouse.

After lengthy discussion about Lee's father not allowing him to go into the camper, somehow I convinced him to get the key so we could at least go in and check it out.  I'd never actually seen the inside of one of these campers, and I was actually curious.  Once inside, I was amazed at how much shit the father had packed in there.  Just more sports gear and camping equipment.  It was hot given there was no ventilation and it was cramped.  But we found a place to sit and we chit chatted for a bit. 

I guess we had no concept of time because in our minds, Lee's father was at work, and both our mom's were in their houses watching soap operas or doing whatever moms did in the middle of the day.  In my mind, it was the perfect opportunity to play games without anyone catching us. 

Out came the dicks.  I don't have any memory of what we did short of the usual comparisons and dares.  You know, I dare you to rub your dick on this blanket, or I dare you to touch my dick with your dick.  Beyond that, c'mon, we were in first or second grade; it is all curiosity, not sexual.

The next thing we knew, there was the sound of Lee's father pulling into the driveway.  We quickly gathered ourselves and sneakily planned to wait for him to go in the house, then we would easily slip out of the camper, lock it and Lee could slip the key back in the house when he could do so unseen.  Brilliant.

Moments later, his father comes storming out the front door, still in his military fatigues and he is in a rage.  Lee immediately crumples to the ground and cowers in fear.  I stood there somewhat surprised because I had no earthly idea what was about to transpire.

"Give me that goddamn key!" the father roared.

Lee, already in tears pulled it from his pocket and held it out.  The father swiped it from his hand and in a single move backhanded the boy across the face and head. Lee rolled over to hide his face in the grass. 

I stood there expecting to be beaten by this man next, too afraid to move and too shocked to fully appreciate his anger.

With Lee laying crying on the ground, the father kicked him with the full force of his combat boots repeatedly,  The child balled and would be moved several inches along the ground with each blow.

There was continued shouting from the father, words about not going into that camper, words about disobeying rules.  The man was truly in a rage.  It was nothing I had ever seen in my family.

I don't think this whole thing last more than a minute or so, but it seemed like a lifetime.  I felt so bad for causing this for my friend, and at the same time, I just fully expected to be next. 

Lee's mother came outside and was crying and finally, I looked over to see my own mother come out the front door of our house. 

"That is quite enough!" my mother yelled authoritatively. 

Even though my father was off in Vietnam, he outranked this man by several grades and I think that somehow gave my mom a level of control over the situation.

Lee's father stopped the assault and stood back.  My mother called me over to her, and Lee's mom went to help him get up off the ground.  The last thing I saw before going int my house was Lee's father opening the camper, presumably to inspect for anything we may have broken or taken from there.

Lee and I continued to be friends until one of us moved (I don't recall which), and we continued to play those show and tell games, but never, never in that camper again.