BeeBe and I lived out Aristotle's definition of friendship: "A friend is one soul which dwells in two bodies." For a bit over 6 decades we were best friends and best lovers-the kind that knew everything about each other. I'm not exaggerating a bit by using "everything!" We knew each other's best and worst moments, our embarrassments and joys our habits, our phrasing, our weaknesses and strengths. We could communicate as much with a moment's glance as others did in hours of earnest discussion. We were the kind of friends that, even after being apart for years, were instantly at ease and read each other like a book.
Beebe is gone now. My heart aches. What follow are a series of stories about the adventures we enjoyed together. Writing about them is bringing cherished memories back fresh, and I'm alternately overjoyed and overcome.
Neighbors, we'd played together since before memories began. BeeBe was a year older; his sister was my age. She was then and still is my best friend-female friend, anyway-and an absolute tie for the intimate friendship BeeBe and I enjoyed. Our families had the kind of open-door, community parenting that wasn't all that uncommon in the 50's and 60's. Both moms were at home until we were in high school. From an early age, we only had to say "I'm going out!" and out we went. When it was time to come in, someone yelled for us. Of course, "Out" meant the front or back yard, or the sidewalks in front of our houses. It included each other's houses, and any parent had equal reign over any kid.
Dene (Denise) and I were thick as thieves and ever the co-conspirators. Until we started grade school, maybe even for a while after, we included BeeBe, but as we grew he gravitated to boys in the neighborhood and didn't want to associate with pesty little girls. We, of course, forbade boys from being within our sight! They became mortal enemies and the targets of our plots. We'd spy on them from Dene's room, listening through the registers. We'd sneak into their "fort" under the lilac bushes along the back fence and leave notes about their shortcomings. (You know, eloquent things like "Boys Stink.)
BeeBe's real name was Chad, short for Chadwick Preston and it was hard to tell whether "BeeBe" or "Chadwick Preston" made him madder. Dene could use both in the way little sisters have perfected: "Oh CHAAAAAAAADWICK! Chadwick PRESSSSSSSSTON! with a "nyah nyah nyah" overtone. That usually resulted in Chadwick Preston trying to clobber her, but getting caught and punished before he could land any blows. Dene was good at the setup.
The nickname couldn't be used around grown-ups or SHE was the one who caught it. BeeBe was an acronym for Booger Brain. Not original, but she loved the alliteration. She'd over-used it in front of their parents and they'd finally instituted punishments for saying it. If they were alone, or only kids were around, she'd use the full phrase-Booger Brain-to taunt or as a retort to one of his teases. "BeeBe" was usually hissed out under her breath when she didn't dare use the whole thing, and he couldn't dare retaliate.
Chad and I were always able to talk about anything and everything. He and I were as free and open in our conversations as Dene and I were, even as we approached puberty, and surprisingly without reservation or embarrassment. We dished on who was doing what, with which and to whom, and giggled over the differences between a guy's description of an encounter and the girl's. He was glad to learn that his friends were pretty much lying about their exploits. We each had our own dating lives and girlfriends/boyfriends. I always told him that having him for a friend was like talking to a girlfriend with really excellent info on boys. He thought the same of me, in reverse. It was like having a spy in the enemy camp and we were careful not to let on how we knew "secret information."
Things got hot between us eventually. They were bound to, I guess. That sequence began when Chad was in Jr. College and I was a high school senior. Dene scored a book titled "Candy." We were 18 by then, still resolutely virgins even though we were on the pill, but pretty naive about anything past french kissing and letting guys get to 2nd base. "Candy" was a send-up of Voltaire's "Candide" and featured a really clueless but gorgeous girl who met a series of guys. All of them wanted to fuck her, always by convincing her with some outlandish story. It made the rounds through all the girls in our group-the first we'd seen of erotic writing. One of the guys in the story claimed that there was no danger of making Candy pregnant because he could control his sperm. To prove it, he made a drop of "pre-cum" appear at the tip of his dick. That was the first I'd heard of "pre-cum." I'm not sure why I fastened on it, but I got a little obsessive about finding out what it was.
I asked my sister first, but she said it was probably just regular cum that leaked up before a guy had an orgasm. That didn't quite satisfy me and I headed to the library. I had to ask for the sex book from the reference desk (thought I'd die) and learned about "Cowpers Glands" and that pre-cum wasn't really cum (OK-seminal fluid and sperm) at all. I asked Chad if he ever got pre-cum.
"Well, maybe" he said. I've never heard it called anything, but when I jack off, or sometimes just after I've been hard for a while, like during afternoon Trig class, I get this slick, kind of sticky clear fluid that comes out. Not much-just a couple of drops."
"Wait," I said. "You get hardons in Trigonometry?"
"Yeah-don't know why, there's nothing exciting or anything, but about 2:00 I'm likely to get a pretty good one. Sometimes it doesn't go down before passing period and I have to walk kind of hunched over for a while. I can feel that stuff on my underwear afterward." Then he grinned and added: "You want to see?"
I froze. Of course I did, in fact I had thought about asking him for a look, but he was teasing, I could tell.
"Hey" he said, "Chill! I'm only teasing."
"Well" I said, mustering my courage "I think I would, if it wouldn't embarrass you."
"Christ! Really?"
"Yeah, I think so. To be honest, I know so, but I really don't want to screw up how comfortable we are with each other."
"If you did something to make it even, I think it'd be OK with me."
"Making things even" became our inviolable guide. Just like the the bathroom surprises, we were in partnership.
