Dave was small, wiry, cute as a bug, and an extremely accomplished diver, quite a star on the high-school swimming team. We were inseparable during the last two years of high school, and I was during that time the swim team's virtual mascot, going everywhere with them to swim meets so I could be with Dave.
As for what he thought and felt, Dave was rather difficult to decipher, keeping very much to himself. But he was friendly enough if the other person made the first move, which I did. He acted like he was somewhat girl-crazy, but if that was genuine, nothing much came of it while we were friends. I've always thought he was gay but didn't know it himself at the time. Despite his reserve, he was genuinely warm with me. I can't now conjure up other friends of his, so perhaps he didn't have any other than me. We had a certain amount of physical contact, though it wasn't overtly sexual. We hugged each other often, but not in a very passionate way. We did kiss now and then, as a matter of fact; as I recall this confused him quite a bit.
I've no idea whatever what became of him after we graduated, though it would be intriguing to see him again. One lasting residue of the friendship was that from seeing him compete so often, I got a keen appreciation of the many elements of good springboard diving, and that has led to much enjoyment ever since, though for some reason I was never very taken with the idea of doing it myself. It was from him that I learned to appreciate the tightly-coiled bundle of nerves that star athletes must deal with. In addition, I could easily relate the athlete's performance aspects to myself as a musician, in fact that music performance (the piano especially) is quite an athletic undertaking.