allowing an uninterrupted trust in each other. He had become Bobby's confidant, advisor and self-appointed guardian.

A chuckle came from the bronze figure curled in the alcove as he amusingly called himself a mammy and thought of his lil white chile whom he had protected as a mother hen her chicks.

He remembered the day Bobby came in. He was eighteen then.

"Thomas," he asked, "why do men like to dress in women's clothes?" It startled Thomas. He lied and said he didn't know, but asked why?

"Well, Jock, myself and a couple o' others faked our age and got a few drinks in a joint and Jock said the waitress that waited on us was a guy."

"How did he know?"

"Jock had been in there b'fore," answered Bobby, "and saw the guy showing some of his pals the falsies he was wearing." Thomas knew of the joint-the bar; he had slipped in there many times on his nights off and also knew the waitress or the guy.

He walked down the hall and saw the movers were only half through and thought of the coffee that was left. The pot boiled softly as he sat on the stool, lost again in the memories of the echoing house.

He thought of the time he was in Bobby's room. Bobby came in, towel around his waist, the youthful flesh brightly glistening from a shower. He pushed Thomas gently on the bed, his laugh filling the room as the springs gave way to the weight upon it. Thomas didn't sit up but drank in the beauty of the form before him. He wanted to touch the well-developed shoulders, clasp the youthful exhuberant body to him. and tell of the strong impulse that was surging through him.

"Going out with the girls?" he asked.

one

"Naw," Bobby answered, "the boys." A laugh came from him as he sat in the chair and began putting on his socks. "The boys." He laughed again.

"Big joke," Thomas said, wondering if it was true.

"No joke, Thomas, really..." One sock on, he busied himself with the other.

"Don't think you know what you're saying," Thomas said, trying not to show jealousy in his voice.

"Oh, but I do . . ." cooed Bobby, putting on one shoe, "and since you're my private confidant, Thomas, my man, I will tell you." A chuckle came from the bended form. "Jock 'n' I met a couple o' queers and made a date w' them.

A bolt of lightning shot through Thomas. He sat upright on the bed. "And, what are your intentions?" he blurted out.

"Don't know," answered Bobby, slipping into a cool summer shirt. A pair of gabardine trousers covered the muscled legs as he tightened the belt. "Anything for the first time. A night's fun 'n' a lil extra dough.'

"The lil virgin goes out," cracked Thomas, sarcasm in his voice, lighting a cigarette, leaned on the dresser, watched smoke rings form.

"What the hell," laughed Bobby, "half of 'em are nuts... all screwed up."

"What a way to talk," Thomas said. He wasn't startled by the opinion he had just heard. It would. have been wishful thinking to expect anything different. Bobby, the same as so many others had been caught in the web of thought. He dared not look at the blond figure for fear his eyes would give him away.

"Hell, Thomas. Don't tell you're a queer sympathizer."

"I try to think the best of everyone," Thomas said calmly. His hand shook with the cigarette and he

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