One day, I went to the Bethpage Memorial Gardens, a cemetery just a "stone's throw" from the American Academy of Dramatic Arts which I had attended. I walked down the rows of mausoleums, stopping before the building which housed all the remains of people whose last names started with the letter "M". Entering the building, I looked up and down at all the names, coming to a stop before a very familiar name...Patrick Joseph Michaels.
Yes, I was standing before the crypt of my beloved gym teacher, who had taught me how to love and respect my legs and how to get sexual, as well as sensual, gratification from them...and how my friends could, too.
I looked at the inscription on the plaque...Patrick Joseph Michaels...Born: June 15, 1956...Died: June 15, 1985. "Lived life to the fullest".
I gazed at the date of death. Mr. Michaels had allegedly committed suicide on his twenty-ninth birthday! I couldn't believe it! His death was timed so perfectly. But, as to his "committing suicide"? That I know for certain he did not do, because Mr. Michaels loved life. He loved life so much, ending his own would have been totally against his scruples. I know for a fact that he had to have been murdered...then hanged by the neck so as to make the police think he committed suicide. But, the slashes across his naked arms and legs...and the fact that he was found in only a tee shirt and boxer shorts...shouted out "MURDERED" to me.
Standing there before the crypt, I began to think about all the ways Mr. Michaels taught me the true meaning of gratification.
The True Meaning of Good Taste
One night, Mr. Michaels and I met in the school gym, where he was "tutoring" me on several exercises using the rings. As I grabbed hold of the rings and raised myself into a "cross", Mr. Michaels approached me. Opening his mouth and extending his tongue, he began to run it up and down my bare thighs, calves and kneebacks, smacking his lips with satisfaction. Normally, any other boy in the school would have felt disgusted and mortified by what he was doing...but not me.
I loved it!!!
I relished the feel of his warm, wet tongue as it sloshed back and forth and up and down my naked legs. I exalted in the feel of his cool saliva as it dripped off his tongue and lips and landed on my thighs and ran down the length of my kneebacks and calves...stopping only as it reached my socks. As he did this, I was able to feel the tightness about the creases of my kneebacks, which were stiffening with delight at every wonderful lick that my gym teacher was giving them.
It was then that I realized that it wasn't my thighs or calves that interested Mr. Michaels the most about my legs. Itwas my knees...particularly my kneebacks!
I could understand why. I had looked at my kneebacks in a mirror as I lay face down on my bed and saw just how beautiful they truly were. I mean, even though I was still a young man of fourteen, I had very strong, well-built legs... proportioned with just the right amount of muscle in my thighs and calves to make my kneebacks the center of attention.
As we finished for the night, Mr. Michaels asked me about my waist measurement. I could not fathom why he wanted to know this particular bit of information about my physique. It was only after he gave me his address that I realized why. Mr. Michaels told me to look inside the closet of his completely furnished guest room.
You could imagine the surprise I received when I opened the door. Hanging from wooden hangers were pairs of shorts...about fifty of them...of all lengths!
I was floored!!!
Mr. Michaels went shopping at the nearest clothing store and purchased all these shorts in my size. I couldn't believe it!
Mr. Michaels asked me to try on each one. Whichever ones I liked the most, he would keep them hanging there in his closet. What I did not like, he would return to the store to get his money back. But, Mr. Michaels was indeed a shrewd and calculating man. He knew I loved wearing shorts and showing off my legs. All the shorts he purchased were perfect. Tennis shorts...walk shorts...Levi denim shorts...even Bermuda shorts! His closet was a beautiful treasure trove...a wonderfully veritable cornucopia of leg-showing designs.
Of course, though, it was Mr. Michaels's choice as to which socks I wore with what shorts. If I wore shorts which ended an inch or two above the knees, he demanded I wear knee socks...just to accentuate that part of my legs which he loved the most.
I made a deal with him. I would wear whatever shorts and socks he wanted me to wear...but on one condition: he had to do the same!!! After all, it just wouldn't be fun if I were wearing knee-length shorts and knee socks...and he wasn't. He nodded...and as I dressed in a white long-sleeved shirt, black knee-length shorts, black knee socks and dress shoes, so did he. Let me tell you this...he looked utterly fantastic and his kneebacks looked totally delicious!!!
One thing about this guest room..there were two full-length mirrors hanging on opposite walls. If I was facing one and Mr. Michaels was facing the other...we were able to see each other's back. As Mr. Michaels gazed at the reflection of my bare kneebacks, I was doing exactly the same. Even though he was twelve years older than me, the fact that he had almost no hair on his legs made them look as if they belonged to a teenager!
Before I left for the night, Mr. Michaels sneaked a paperback book into my pocket, telling me not to look at it until I got back to my dormitory. When I got into bed that night, I took out the book. It was a copy of "Typee" by Herman Melville, an author who journeyed throughout the South Seas as a sailor. It told of two shipwrecked sailors who were befriended by an island tribe. When one man "supposedly" died of a brain fever, his body (which mysteriously disappeared) ended up on the natives's menu. Mr. Michaels highlighted several passages throughout the book...but one caught my eye in particular:
"That which the chief had given me for dinner looked and smelled every bit like the meat of a wild animal...yet it was like no meat I had ever tasted. It was sweet, yet stringy and tough on the teeth...almost like leather. It was much later, to my despair and utter disgrace, that I had discovered that my fellow seaman had not died and been buried...but was murdered and cooked by these savages. I was actually eating a piece of he who I had traversed the seas with!"
When I had questioned Mr. Michaels as to why he highlighted this one passage in particular, he told me that, in the nineteenth-century, several native tribes in the South Pacific studied ritualistic cannibalism...eating the flesh not only of their enemies but their weak as well. He also said that, although people who still live on these islands no longer practice cannibalism, they eat a meat called "hufu"...which he said was an alternative to human flesh, yet with every bit the same consistency and taste when properly cooked.
Mr. Michaels further went on to tell me that, as a teenager, he went to one of these islands and tried hufu. One native told him that different kinds of hufu taste like different parts of the human body. Ti-hufu tasted like a steak...which is what the natives made from the thigh. Cu-hufu tasted like a filet mignon, which came from the calf muscle. He also said that nu-hufu came from a part that was not as widely devoured but no less admired...the knee. It was this kind of hufu which Mr. Michaels said he liked the most. It was this kind of hufu which got him interested in the male knee...and my knees in particular, especially my kneebacks!
Was Mr. Michaels thinking of actually killing me to eat my legs?
No, he said, with a laugh...although the very idea is tempting.
He went on to tell me that he was going to ask the headmaster if he could take me...and several other boys...on a field trip to the South Seas. I'm sorry to say, though, he never got the chance. However, he did tell me that the natives taught him the true meaning of...ahem..."good taste".
The Day I Learned of Meat Cuts
One day, shortly before Mr. Michaels died, he invited me to spend the weekend on his fishing boat. I dressed suitably for the occasion...a white short-sleeved sport shirt, blue mid-thigh denim shorts, white knee socks and sneakers. For cool nights, I brought along a navy blue windbreaker.
The first day, we had nothing but bad luck. Neither of us caught one single fish! Yet, foreseeing this possibility, Mr. Michaels fully stocked the pantry with drinks, meats and vegetables.
Mr. Michaels was a real wizard at the grill while he cooked two steaks to absolute perfection. But, he added some special kind of "seasoning"...especially to mine. I didn't question him as to what kind of seasoning he used. The steak was well-cooked and tasted absolutely delicious!
After dinner, I found myself to be more tired than normal...especially since it was only seven-thirty in the evening. I went into my cabin...but before I was able to get undressed and hop into bed, I passed out.
When I had come to an hour later, I found myself tied up face down upon my bed, stripped down to my boxer-briefs. I was anchored down to the four corners of the bed and, as I looked at my reflection in the mirrored ceiling, I saw that I was "marked up". Dotted lines were all over my body, sort of "divvying" me up. A tape recording looped over and over as to what I was looking at.
"Above the ankle is the calf, from which we get the prime cut of filet mignon," said the voice on the tape, which I knew for a fact was not Mr. Michaels. "Beyond the knee lies the thigh, the home of the choicest steak cuts".
It sounded as though I was being described in such a way as to become somebody's dinner. I managed to loosen my bonds and shut off the recording. But, on the other side of my cabin wall I heard the same recording...in Mr. Michaels's room!!!
I darted out from my cabin and tried to gain access to Mr. Michaels's cabin...only to find the door locked. But, on the other side of the door, I was able to ascertain the distinct sounds of somebody smacking their lips. As I unlocked the door, I found Mr. Michaels face down on his bed, tied up in a similar way...but no one else.
Were the smacking sounds I heard just a figment of my imagination? Apparently not...because there, all over Mr. Michaels's calves and thighs, were definitely teeth marks. Then, I became aware of a shooting pain in my legs. I looked down...and noticed that I also had the same marks on my calves. They were also most certainly on my thighs as well. It appeared that somebody else had hidden away on Mr. Michaels's boat...and had bitten our legs!
When Mr. Michaels regained consciousness, we both scrubbed the ink off our legs, dressed and scoured every inch of the boat, trying to find the phantom leg-biter. But, all our searching was in vain...because, although we searched from stem to stern, we could find no hide nor hair of that sick person who had tasted our legs, listening to a sales pitch to market places.
One thing I learned for sure about this weekend. I learned the true value of meat cuts...even though the meat was human!
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