To this point it was just another "treatment" session (as described in previous post, "Ball-handling drills", 8/6/05): Me, naked, and Garvey in only a t-shirt and dark socks, I lie on top of him rotating my hips under his direction. As he has instructed me, I have my tongue in his mouth while simultaneously I roll his testicles in my hand. After a while of this repetitive monotony, he tells me that this activity has gone on long enough. Then comes the upper-body strength/wrestling portion of what has come to be our routine. This is when he would grab me from behind and restrain me and I was supposed to try to escape:
I twist my body around, violently, trying to extricate myself from his grasp. I am tugging at his forearms and wrists, pulling with all my might. Meanwhile, Garvey has wrapped his legs around me from behind and locked them at the ankles making it nearly impossible for me to do much but wriggle and squirm. I'm praying that I can escape and end this. I just want it to end. Please. I just want to go. Pleeeaase. I flail an arm out to the side as I manage to get it free and my hand lands on the far side of the bed. It hits something. Lands in, on, something that has mostly soaked into the topsheet. There is something on the sheet that feels cool, and vaguely damp but… I reach to feel it again and there it is. A portion of the topsheet is wet, but feels like it’s only a relatively small area … and its feel is smooth and somewhat silky... kind of cool... Is that wet? Or what?
Before I can do anything else, I am wrenched back to the middle of the bed and Garvey wraps his arms around mine, again pinning them to my sides. I manage to break a leg free and I throw my weight back towards the far side of the bed. I reach out again to try and feel around for that spot. I am curious, intrigued. It’s different than our sweat… In my mental wanderings, as I try to direct my thoughts away from this place, away from this predicament, to help me get through the seemingly more and more bizarre bedroom antics with this man, I have stumbled upon something. Something weird. Something that doesn’t belong here. The sheets usually get pretty soaked with the sweat that pours off my body during "treatment" sessions. But this is different. It seems specific to one small area, and more concentrated somehow, I think. I only felt it for those briefest of moments. But the texture is different. Different than anything I have ever felt before. It's kind of like mucous, but not... When I manage to get free enough to try and investigate further, it is gone. The topsheet is crumpled up and finding the mysterious damp whatever is impossible.
I don't say anything about my discovery and I'm not sure that Garvey is aware that I found anything of interest or out of the ordinary. But he must have wondered why I kept reaching over there. He would have to be aware that something was there, wouldn't he? If I didn't have anything to do with it, it must have come from him, right? He must know about it. But Garvey doesn't say anything either, which just makes this more and more weird.
When the treatment session is over, he asks me if I would like a shower, and as I always do, I decline. This time, though, he asks me again. Again I say no. I just want to get out of there. Get some distance. Get on with being a kid. A kid with not so much to think about. A kid without so many damn pressures and obligations, that in truth, I just want to get out from under. A kid without so many demands and questions. What was that in the sheets? I wasn’t imagining it. There was something there alright. There was no denying it and of that I was certain. I just didn't know what. And nothing I currently knew was bringing me any closer to answering any of my questions. I was just too young. I didn’t yet have a clue. And quite frankly, I didn't want to think about it. I didn't want to think about Garvey. He troubled me. It all troubled me. And as much as possible I tried to leave it behind any time or way that I could.
As I have said before, I was terribly unhappy about basketball and my involvement with Garvey. I felt trapped. I dreaded my encounters with Garvey, on and off the court. His behavior towards me was so unpredictable, and mercurial, and erratic. Alternating praise with ridicule. Encouragement with derision. Public acknowledgement with indifference. And it seemed to center around the frequency of our activities in his bedroom, or lack thereof. But what could I do about it? How do I fix everything? Get everything to be OK again? Get me to feel OK again? What can I do?
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