The Augusta Trip, Chapter 1

I got off of the train in Augusta. The platform was bustling with people from all sectors of life. I could hear the train’s engine relieving itself of over pressured steam, overriding all human conversation. I always liked to travel in the most forward private compartment car as I enjoyed being as close as possible to the engine. I was glad the American Medical Association had decided to hold their 1942 convention in Georgia as I enjoyed making such trips by rail almost as much as I enjoyed the medical profession itself.

In another life I would have liked to have been a railroad engineer, an operator in control of such a beast of a machine. A dream I’ve had since I was a boy, but a dream that’s remained a boy’s dream as real life has taken me in a much different direction.

I had traveled down from New York by myself. For the past three conventions I traveled with Dr. Henry Morton. But a few months prior to the 1942 convention Henry contracted tuberculosis, and so was in quarantine. I wasn’t glad for that because I really like Henry. But to be truthful, I also liked traveling alone. It gave me a chance to think, to ponder my plight in life, to even dream of what could have been.

At 38 I wasn’t married, and so I had no wife or children. I didn’t even have a dog that depended on me. The closest thing I had to a dependent was my maid, and she only depended on me for her weekly pay check. Of course I had my practice and patients, but I had colleagues who were always more than ready to stand in for me should I have other business to attend to. So it was with such thoughts that I waited in The Augusta Union Train Station for a porter to bring my luggage. And when he came I took a quick inventory, just to make sure nothing had been left on the train.

The station agent had summoned a cab for me, and so the porter carted my luggage to the far end of the Spanish style building where cabbies pulled up to pick up their fairs. Upon stepping from the building I was immediately struck with Augusta’s hot humid air, something that had to expect that late in July. So I waited in the shade of the station’s ornate iron framed sidewalk overhang for the arrival of my cab.

That’s when I first saw him. He got out of his cab and called out, “Doctor Ridgeway”. I acknowledged and waved him over. He got back in his cab and pulled up in front of me. And when he got out of his cab that second time he was close enough that I saw he was a young man whom I presumed to be in his early 20s. He had light brown, almost blond hair with truly beautiful blue eyes. He was thin and pail, but he had good facial structure that was strikingly accented by dimpled cheeks and well defined facial muscles. All I can say, is that I immediately knew that I was looking at the most handsome man I had ever seen.

I chose to ride in the front seat of the Nash Ambassador taxi, where from his photo ID I saw that his name was Arthur Benning. And from his birth date I determined that he was 20 years of age. From my experience of examining patients I tried to look through his tan slacks to imagine his slight build. But what stuck out in my mind was his curvy muscular buttocks that I first noticed when he loaded my luggage into the cab’s trunk. I could tell, that although he was thin and wiry, his buttocks were muscular, well formed, and likely as defined as his facial features.

After a scenic ride through town we arrived at The Vanderbilt Hotel, the site of our convention. The Cabby got out, opened the trunk, and started handing my luggage to a hotel porter. I couldn’t help watching the muscles that formed his buttocks work in that stooped position, furthering my desire to see him again.

I know this will read strange for a doctor, but from the look in his eyes I knew that his anus and rectum would grip my finger with a sexual awareness that I craved to feel if I could find a reason to do such a thiing. It’s hard to explain, and maybe it was just my own hopefulness, but I felt that if I could find a reason to intimately penetrate him, I could bring him to an anal/rectal carnal experience that could hold us together for life. An experience I sensed that he wanted to experience, whether he knew it or not.I had to think fast as I knew I only had a moment before he would be gone from my life forever. But before I could develop a useful thought, the cabby handed me a piece of paper with his first name and telephone number on it. Then, while looking into my eyes he said, “You look like a man who will be in need of further transportation. I have my own car, and can give you a lift anywhere you want to go after 5:00 pm today. And I can promise you that it will be cheaper than any cab you could summons.”

“Oh,” I said. And then I asked, “Why is that?”

“Because I just lost my job, Sir.”

“Oh,” I said again, and without thinking I asked “And why was that?”

With a sad look on his face, he said, “Because I’m of military age, Sir, and I’m not in the military. The owner of this cab company says that’s bad for business because after Pearl Harbor everyone thinks that all men my age who are worth their salt should be serving in the military.”

Not expecting such an answer, I asked, “So why aren’t you serving?”

“Because I had rheumatic fever when I was eight, Sir, and it left me with a weak heart.”

Arthur was a small man, maybe 5’ 6” and around a 100 to 110 pounds. But with his boyish good looks and manly charm my mind wouldn’t let me think of him as having a weak heart. Then he went on to say, “I know it may not seem right to you, but I know my way around this town, Sir, and I really need the money.”

“Okay,” I said while looking into his eyes, “How much for tonight, say for the use of you and your car for about four hours?”

Arthur thought for a second, and then said, “How about ten bucks, Sir?” And then after a short pause, he added, “No, I could go lower.”

“No.” I said, “That sounds about right to me. You meet me here at 6:00 PM and you can show me the town.”

“Yes Sir, and thank you. I’ll be prompt. Should I come to your room?”