All rights reserved. Copyright held by the author. If you are underage or are offended by gay fiction, containing graphic sex and explicit language, please exit now.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
As you begin this chapter, please don't think you've been hit by a bolt of deja vu. It will be familiar to you if you read my "Autumn's Leave".
This particular story which I posted at Nifty was written at the same time as BOOK FOUR of "Whence Cometh My Help", but wasn't read by many "Whence" regular readers. Those of you who DID read it kept sending me email asking when was I going to finish it. (I thought I had). However, in reexamining it, I realized I could have added a few more chapters. So, this is a basic rewrite and since it does take place in Briarwood and Father Cliff does appear in the later in the story. I decided to incorporate it into the Briarwood Saga and give it a home. I hope the new readers will enjoy it, and if this is your second time through, there are enough changes to make it new for you. R.C.
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"BRIARWOOD"
aka "Whence Cometh My Help"
Revised Version
A dramatic saga
by
Ritch Christopher
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BEGINNING OF BOOK SIX
"BRIARWOOD U"
Chapter-Fifty-five
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The final score was Atlantic 35, Briarwood 7. It was the University's third consecutive loss. Jim Kerr's job as head coach wasn't on-the-line because he had Richard Connelly, the Dean of Briarwood College, over a barrel. The Dean was not able to afford a Biology teacher AND a football coach for the meager salary Jim was receiving while filling both jobs. The team's defense squad did its best to keep the opponent's score as low as they could. It was the offense with which Jim had his problems, as most of the points scored against his team were attributed to fumbles and pass interceptions while the defense was sitting on the bench.
Every Friday night, Jim's assistant coaches, Buddy Waters and Dan Mansfield, and Jim would go to the Rabble Room, a beer bar, and hash and rehash the same things over and over. "We could do this..." and "We could do that..." IF only they had a quarterback who could think and was able to execute the plays any of the three of them sent to him from the sideline. The coaches' three wives had heard all this before and always chose to sit at a different table from them.
Nina, Jim's wife, taught French at the same college as he. Mabel Waters and Becky Mansfield were housewives. The highlight of Mabel's and Becky's week was to attend the games during the fall. The two of them had more in common and were closer to each other than they were to Nina, although the six of them, Buddy and Mabel, Dan and Becky, and Nina and Jim, all attended the same church each Sunday, St. Genesius' where Father Cliff, their rector, and his house mate, Roger Cole were both avid fans of Briarwood U's athletics.
Mabel and Becky, each had two children, a boy and a girl, approximately the same age range...ten, eleven, and twelve. Nina and Jim were childless. Jim had gotten Nina pregnant while they were both attending Baker U. Being engrossed in their studies while, at the same time, trying to survive on part-time jobs and the little bit of money they each received from their parents, Jim and Nina opted for her to get an abortion, which she did. From that time on, their sexual encounters were more careful. They married a year after they both graduated and soon got jobs at BU. That had been nine years ago. Both of them paid very little attention to sex now. Neither had been exposed to the 'seven year itch', meaning they'd never had any extra-marital affairs...no cheating...no nothing, which pretty much described their current sex life. In the eight years of marriage they'd gone from once-a-month to what it was now...'only on special occasions' such as birthdays, anniversaries, etc. If and when Jim ever got an unexpected erection, he took care of it by himself, usually in the shower, while Nina was in the bedroom reading or sleeping.
On their ninth anniversary, they became pragmatic about their life together and bought a set of twin beds to sleep in. This way, the usual snoring, tossing, turning, or under-the-covers farting, didn't bother either of them. Nina liked to watch Lifetime Television for women or the Lifetime Movie Channel for entertainment when she wasn't absorbed in a Taylor Caldwell novel. Ms. Caldwell had written over thirty novels, most of them nearly 1,000 pages long and Nina had read all of them at least once and was on the second or third go around on the ones like, "Great Lion of God", "Pillar of Iron", or "Captains and Kings". Jim didn't read much fiction as a biologist, and he would let Nina tell him the story of the chapter she had just finished. Late at night was when Jim became Nina's 'little boy' and she would tell him bedtime stories until he fell asleep...just like a kid. Jim thought, 'Hell, when sex between us was out of the question, what better way was there to drop off to sleep?'
The closest Nina and Jim ever came to breaking their marriage vows was in Nina's second and Jim's third years of teaching. They both had separate incidents where a male student of hers and a female student of his became over-infatuated with a 'teacher crush'. Nina and Jim were understanding when these episodes occurred. The boy actually felt he had fallen in love with Nina. Jim couldn't hold that against him because he had done the same thing, years earlier. Jim's incident involved a young vixen who assumed if she lured him into having sex with her, her GPA might go up. She was disappointed when neither her grade nor Jim's penis arose.
For many months after the 'crushes' were resolved, Nina and Jim would joke whenever they had a disagreement and say they could still get divorced and give in to the two people that really loved them. It was all in fun, because Nina and Jim never argued...not in the dozen years they'd known each other. Their marriage was complacent but not really exciting to Jim's dismay.
Buddy and Dan, the assistant coaches, didn't have teaching jobs at the university, but were hired full time to assist in other athletic programs during the football off-season. Buddy doubled as coach of the basketball and baseball teams, as both teams were small without a demanding schedule. Dan, on the other hand, coached wrestling and gymnastics. Buddy's and Dan's sports took a back seat to their football coaching positions, for, however great or small the crowds were that attended the Friday home games, these were the events that made money for the school and the athletic department's general fund.
Briarwood U was the heart and soul of the town of Briarwood, just as Father Cliff's church was the center of religious activities. The university had been founded in 1920 with housing for only the students and there were a few small shops to supply their immediate needs. It was discovered that this was an ideal place to advance winter sports as there were a couple of mountains in the county to attract skiers. Soon the town grew and built itself around the college. Eighty years later, there were many businesses and stores, and the town had its own city government, comprised mostly of Democrats, as the town was very liberal minded, full of free spirits who liked to 'get away' from the hustle and hubbub of larger cities. However, the most notable thing about Briarwood was the Cole Institute for AIDS research. It was world famous as was Roger Cole, a multi-billionaire and Father Cliff's long-time companion.
Monday morning, after Friday night's loss to Atlantic U, Jim got a note from Dean Connelly asking Jim to come to his office. Jim presumed it was to get a dose of ribbing and tongue lashing for the football team's pitiful performance. Sometimes the dean did this in jest. At other times, Jim felt the dean was being halfway serious in his chiding. Connelly's secretary, Ruth, told Jim to go on in to the dean's office as he was being expected. Jim entered the office and began his usual spiel of apologies before Dean Connelly could even say 'hello'.
"Now, Dean," Jim said, "before you start, I have no new defense about the way the team played. I've used all the excuses I know. As a matter of fact, I should just write them on a sheet of paper and assign them numbers. That way when you ask why we lost I can just say, 'excuse number 14' and we wouldn't have to go into details."
"Sit down, Jim, please," the dean said. "Excuse number '14', eh? I didn't know that your excuses went that high numerically."
"Oh, sure, I have dozens of them." Jim replied.
"Hmmm, maybe I SHOULD have you make a list. Maybe I could use one or two of them when I'm trying to get additional money from the board...but, no, that's not why I asked you to come see me."
"It's not?" Jim asked, "Then I suppose you've finally decided to fire me."
"No, no, no, quit being so damned paranoid." the dean said.
"And just when I thought my new medication was working," Jim joked and the dean laughed.
"Jim, I had a call this morning from Ted Summerfield. I think you've met him. He's on our board of directors here at BU."
"Yes, I've met him. I see him occasionally on Sundays at St. Genesius. He doesn't attend that often, but he makes an appearance when he's about to make a large donation." Jim replied.
"He called me over the weekend, asking me to do a favor for him. That was just a nice way of saying that it was something I HAD to do for him. It seems he has a nineteen-year-old nephew who was going to the state university and got into some kind of trouble. He didn't say what kind of trouble, but apparently it was bad enough to get the boy expelled."
"Uh oh, I think I know what you're going to say. He wants you to enroll his nephew at BU." Jim said.
"You got it!" he added, quickly.
"And you're going to tell me he's a science major and you want me to do some private tutoring in Biology."
"No, you're off track, now."
"Oh? What then?"
"It seems the boy, his nephew, was very good in high school athletics...football, basketball, baseball,...the works! Then this past summer before the beginning of the fall term, his parents were both killed in an airplane crash. The nephew, being an only child, tried to make it on his own, but something had happened to him with the loss of his parents and he lost all interest in school...well, in life in general."
"Was he involved in sports during his freshman year?"
"No, that's just it. He never went out for any sports when he got to college. I suppose he must've been tired of competing and wanted to concentrate on academics. But now that his parents are gone, his grades had dropped tremendously. He seldom went to class which made him far behind his peers in his studies. Well, to make a long story short, Ted asked if I would let him enroll here and do everything in my power to see if I could get him involved actively in sports once again. He broke several high school records in football, also in track."
"Ah hah! And this is where I come into the picture." Jim said.
"Very perceptive, Jim. How in the world did you guess?" he kidded.
"Do you know if the kid was on drugs or anything?"
"No, that's what Ted suspected, but somehow, Ted had a screening test done on him and his urinalysis came back clear. No drugs. No booze. I mean, on the surface, it sounds like some form of depression. Maybe he NEEDS to be on drugs, but on prescribed medications."
"Incidentally, what WAS the boy's major at State U?"
"He didn't declare one. He was a liberal arts, general ED."
"With no goal or purpose, I presume."
"Apparently. One of the subjects he had been excelling in was Biology. Of course, when I heard this, I naturally thought of you...plus your being coach of the football team. I won't put the demand on you that Ted put on me, but I WOULD like to ask you to help me with him."
"What's his name?" Jim asked.
"Tom. Tom Summerfield."
"Is he here already or when can we expect him to arrive?" Jim asked.
"According to Ted, Tom has a court appearance scheduled Wednesday and if everything goes according to plan, he'll be arriving in Briarwood late Friday."
"Just in time to see us play Wingfeld Academy Friday night."
"A victory over them might be an advantage in your corner in trying to win him over." the dean said,
"If he is as you say, it'll take more than winning a football game to impress him."
"Maybe so, but it'll help at least. A substantial win might not hurt your reputation any, either."
"I've been holding my breath ever since I came into your office for you to throw a dig at me."
"Good, then you're not disappointed," Connelly retorted, smiling.
"Just how do you suppose I get young Tom interested in sports after such a long lay-off?" Jim asked, sincerely.
"I'm leaving that up to you. See if you can interest him in being a football manager...a stretcher bearer for when one of your guys gets hurt... something!"
"Oh, I'm sure he'll be jumping up and down with enthusiasm, wanting to be the water boy."
"It would be doing me a big favor if you and Nina would invite him to your house one night this weekend for dinner. You might even invite a few members of the squad to join you. That way, he'll get to meet a few of the guys and maybe he won't feel so unwelcome."
"OK, I'll do my best, but I'm not promising any miracles." Jim said.
"I'm not asking for a miracle. All I want you to do is DO your best. I won't ask for anything more."
"All right, is that all?"
"That's about it. I just want to wish you good luck on your game."
"I need more than luck. The best thing to happen would be for the offense NOT to show up. I'd just play my defense all night, doing both jobs," Jim said as he headed for the door.
Jim left the dean's office feeling reprieved. At least Connelly didn't lash out about how poorly they played against Atlantic. Jim thought he'd wait until he got home after his classes to inform Nina she was going to have to prepare a big meal one night this weekend for the rich troublemaker. She took the news better than Jim expected. She wanted to make it a bigger evening by inviting Bud and Mabel and Dan and Becky. Jim called four members of the team and told them he wanted to discuss some plays and strategies Saturday night for the upcoming games, after Friday's game with Wingfeld A. Jim chose his two wide-receivers, Phil Dickers, who was also the team captain, and Howie Jernigan, plus the center, Harmon Lewis, and the fullback, Wiley Hammersmith. Jim didn't tell them they were being invited to a full-fledged dinner, he just told them that there would be plenty of snacks.
Nina was aware of how athletes liked to eat beef, so she blew the month's grocery budget by buying enough prime rib to feed around a dozen people. Normally, she would only buy this meat cut once a month for Jim and her. Jim was all but stunned when she brought the groceries home from the store. She bought twelve potatoes to bake and fixings for a Caesar salad. Dessert for college guys could only be chocolate, so she decided to make a huge chocolate mousse. The guys Jim had invited were old enough to drink legally, so he bought a half dozen bottles of Mondavi red wine, a case of Coor's beer, and two twelve-packs of Diet Coke, just to be on the safe side of variety.
Friday night's game was not as big the disaster as Jim expected. The defense held Wingfeld to one field goal for three quarters. All BU had to do was make one score to either tie or win, but as usual fate was not on BU's side. The home team remained scoreless and lost three...zip. It was goddamned frustrating Jim, his coaches, the team and its fans. After the game, Jim went to the locker room where the guys were trying to shower off their depression and anger. He wanted to compliment the defense on the job they had done and tried his best to avoid saying how disappointed he was with the offense. Bud and Dan had already gone in to give their notes while Jim lagged behind. He was really in no hurry to say what he had to say, or rather what he was in the habit of saying...bullshit like "Good game, boys", or "Just wait, we'll get 'em next week." As Jim started down the long corridor leading to the changing room, he saw a shadowed silhouette being lit from behind by the stadium lights, at the end of the tunnel. Jim didn't recognize the person by his size and build. Then, as Jim approached, the stranger's looks became more visible. It was a good-looking kid, about nineteen or twenty years old. He was wearing jeans, a turtleneck sweater, and a lettered sport jacket with the initial 'C' sewn on it.
"Coach Kerr?" he spoke.
"Yes?"
"Hi, I'm Tom Summerfield. I was told by Dean Connelly that I should meet you here."
"Oh, yes, I've been expecting you. Did you see the game?"
"Yeah, I saw it."
"I don't need to ask you what you thought of it," Jim said, defensively.
"It wasn't all that bad. Your defense was terrific, but very frankly, you're in dire need of a quarterback." he said, very matter-of-factly.
"Tell me something I DON'T know," Jim replied
"If you don't mind my saying it, I've seen better high school quarterbacks than the one you have."
"Oh?" Now Jim wanted to see the wisdom of his youth.
"Yeah, your guy's just wearing a uniform and filling a blank space. He has no feeling when he throws a pass. There's an art in knowing just when and how to release the ball."
"Really? Did you ever play quarterback?"
"Sure...in high school. We were state champions all three years when I was playing." he said.
"Do you still play.?" Jim asked.
"Nope, not any more," he replied,
"Why not?"
"Let's just say I retired from the world of sports."
"...and you're how old?" Jim asked.
"Twenty."
"You mean you were satisfied with your legacy enough to just walk away and quit?"
"Something like that."
As the two of them talked, they moved closer to the door entrance where the light was better and Jim could see him better. Tom had medium brown hair and heavy brows that matched. When Jim looked into Tom's green eyes, it was as if Jim could see on and on, like some spiral that led to a long dark passageway. He had the same forlorn look that Anthony Perkins had in "Psycho", as if he was filled with a combination of loneliness and rage. His physique was taut with small but well developed muscles which Jim assumed he had acquired from his high school sports. He was just slightly taller than the coach but Jim did have to look up when he spoke to him. Tom had a habit of looking down and shifting weight from one foot to the other. Jim got the impression Tom was meeting him because he had to, not because he wanted to...probably to please his uncle or the dean.
"Are you all settled in your dorm?"
"Sure, I got in town around one this afternoon. I went to see Dean Connelly first thing and he had one of the guys show me to my dorm and to my room. I got unpacked and spent the rest of the afternoon walking around town to sorta get a feel of the place."
"Did you like what you saw?"
"Not really. There's not too much to do here, is there?"
"Sure, if you don't expect too much."
"I only saw two movie houses, four or five department stores."
"There's a lot more out in the suburbs, including several shopping malls and there are few movie multiplexes if that's what interests you."
"Not really. I didn't want to come here in the first place, but it was at my Uncle Ted's insistence that I enrolled at Briarwood U."
"Maybe I can be of some help. What kinds of things do interest you?" Jim asked.
"Watching paint dry or grass grow...listening to the mating calls of pterodactyls, waiting for the Robert E. Lee...The usual things most guys like myself do." Tom replied.
"Do you like clubs? Dancing? Eating good food at nice restaurants?"
"Nope," he said. "I like to read. That's how I usually spend my extra time when I'm not doing school work."
"I...uh...have to go in and give my team a pep up talk. Would you like to come in and meet the guys?"
"No, thanks," he replied.
"A bunch of us usually go down to one of the local pubs for a beer or soda after the game. Would you like to join us?"
"Not really. I should get back to the dorm and finish unpacking... maybe watch the 'Letterman Show' or something, although there's usually a rerun on Fridays."
"Did Dean Connelly mention to you that my wife and I are expecting you for dinner tomorrow night."
"He said something about it..."
"You ARE coming, aren't you?"
"I suppose."
"There are a few of the guys from the team coming also. They, too, live at the dorm. I'll have one of them come by your room, say about 7:30, and you can come with him."
"That'll be fine."
"What's your room number?"
"307," he said.
"The guy that'll be calling on you is named Harmon Lewis, or Harm, as his teammates call him. He's plays center on the team."
"I got a look at him when he took his helmet off. He's the one with almost white blonde hair."
"Yes, he's the one."
"OK, just tell him to knock. I'll be ready,"
"Fine. It was nice meeting you, Tom," Jim said, putting out his hand to shake Tom's. Tom took Jim's hand but Tom's grip had no firmness to it. It was almost if he wasn't in the habit of shaking hands. Jim released Tom's hand and opened the door to leave him. Tom didn't walk away. He just stood there watching Jim as if he didn't want to go back to the dorm, or anywhere else for that matter.
The only noise in the locker room was the sound of showers. None of the team was talking. It was an embarrassed or shamed silence. The defense was feeling animosity toward the offense, but they were keeping their anger subdued. As they noticed Jim's presence, they gave him one look and turned back to do something facing their locker...combing their hair, getting dressed, wadding up their uniform to be washed, etc. Jim broke the silence once he was in the center of the room.
"Well, guys, what do I have to say...or have you already said it to yourselves?"
No one replied. They just looked at each other halfway in disgust.
"We just couldn't seem to get that one score on the board, could we?"
"Well, they didn't seem to do much better." Buzz Craven said.
"That's because of the tremendous effort on the defense squad." Jim said. "You should be very proud, keeping them to only three points. That in itself is quite an achievement."
"Hey, Coach!" Bobby Frazier, yelled.
"Yes, Bobby?"
"Why don't you let the defense play offense for a series of downs next Friday to see if WE can get some points on the scoreboard?"
"You think that would do the trick?" Jim asked.
"Shit, yeah!" Bobby answered. "It seems the offense can't do it!"
That's all it too to start a row. They had needed some word to release their pent-up frustration. Three members of the offense team rushed Bobby, tackled him on the concrete floor and started beating him in the face with their fists. Within fifteen seconds, there were over thirty players involved in a two-fisted free-for-all. Benches were toppled over. About a dozen guys who were showering came out stark naked and jumped on the pile of brawling athletes. Blood was beginning to pour from six or eight noses. Bud and Dan joined Jim to start pulling team members back away from the flailing group. Phil Dickers, the captain, ran from the ruckus to grab a whistle on a wall hanger. He began tweeting it full blast, trying to maintain some order by his authority.
One by one, Bud, Dan, and Jim got them separated. The three coaches weren't aware until they'd finished that they had placed all the defense against one wall and the offense on the opposite wall. No one had crossed lines when it came to battling. When they were fairly calmed down, Jim stood in the center looking at both sides.
"Jesus Christ!" Jim screamed, "Why didn't you use that kind of effort against Wingfeld on the field tonight? You guys are not playing together as a team. What's it gonna take?"
"A fucking quarterback who can pass and a couple of wide-end receivers who can catch, for starters!" Randy Webb yelled.
"Now, let's don't start that. We've had all the fighting in the locker room that I want to see tonight," Bud screamed. All eyes had turned to Steve Wilborne, the quarterback to see how Randy's remark had affected him. Steve was all but shaking with anger and hurt.
"I have the solution for you, Coach." Steve said, his voice quivering. "Why don't you just look for that quarterback...you're gonna have to, because I quit!"
"No, you're not quitting," Jim said to him, firmly. "Now just cool off!! I MEAN IT!!! ALL OF YOU COOL OFF!!!" Jim shouted.
"I AM COOLED OFF!" Steve yelled back at him, "AND I FUCKING WELL AM QUITTING...AS OF NOW!!!"
Steve slammed his locker shut, grabbed his jacket and left the room, slamming the door behind him. That was enough to quieten the entire team. Each looked at the others in blame and disbelief.
"Now we're in a fix!" Dan exclaimed.
"Looks like the job of saving the team falls on your shoulders, Sammy," Phil Dickers said, aiming his remark to Sammy Thompson, a freshman who was the backup quarterback.
"Goddamn!" Randy said, "We just went from bad to worse."
"Randy!" Jim yelled at him, "Calm down, please, Sammy's gonna need your support, not your negativity."
"He can have my support right now," Randy replied, throwing his jock strap at Sammy who looked like a scared kitten in a rainstorm. Every one laughed at Randy's action.
"Well, it looks like we're gonna have Saturday and Sunday afternoon practice out of desperation," Jim said.
This announcement precipitated an abundance of expected moans and groans, but everyone agreed to show up, hoping that Steve would go home, cool off, have a change of heart, and rescind his quitting the team. Very frankly, if Sammy, the second string quarterback, had been an improvement Jim would've been delighted that Steve was gone. Randy was right. Steve was the major clog in the cogs. It really wasn't Steve's fault, he just didn't have the talent needed to be a college starting QB. Of course there was always the possibility of an earthquake or an iceberg melting to create a flood, causing BU to cancel the rest of the season. Then again, if they forfeited the rest of the games, Jim would be out of a job, but the team would be safe from bodily injury on the field. As a coach, Jim shouldn't have been so damned negative, but fact was fact, the offense was pathetic!
Due to the narrow loss, the fight in the locker room, and Steve's exit, Dan, Bud, Jim and their wives, all decided to dispense with the rally at the Rabble Room. Jim wasn't too keen on drinking...not tonight. He had to find some goddamned rabbit to pull out of the hat by practice time, the next day. Maybe he could audition the rest of the guys. Who knew? Maybe one of them had had a secret desire to play quarterback and had never been given the chance. Hell, if one of them could catch the snap from the center, that would be an improvement over Sammy. Jim remembered when he was a kid, EVERYONE wanted to be a quarterback. It was a dream in the back of every kid's mind.
Nina realized Jim was troubled and did her best to cheer him up in the car on the way home. She must've really been worried about him because she suggested they have sex, just to relax him. Jim kissed her on the cheek and politely declined. Tonight Jim had no sex drive whatsoever. Instead, he went into the den, opened a cool bottle of Smirnoff Ice, and put on the DVD of Oliver Stone's "On Any Sunday". It was like a busman's holiday, watching the pro players' frustration. Between the beer and the movie, Jim nodded off to sleep in an easy chair and stayed there all night. The next thing he knew, Nina was tugging lightly at his shoulder asking if he was ready to have breakfast. Jim told her he'd rather shave and shower first, as he was due to be on the field by noon.
Jim wasn't sure how long he stayed in the shower, letting the hard beads coming from the WaterPik spray head, pound against the base of his neck. It was almost like a nerve orgasm. Speaking of which, Jim thought he might as well masturbate and do all he could to relax before confronting his impending depressing afternoon. Jim delayed his climax as long as possible. It was so much easier for a man to control his sexual dynamics while he was alone, rather than during the act of sexual intercourse...even with his wife. The opinion of masturbation had changed since the sixties and seventies when Masters and Johnson, proselytizing 'the Kinsey Report', made masturbation acceptable. Prior to that, no one could even say the word in the classroom, much less discuss it. After their report, it became a topic most people could talk about at cocktail parties. The early figures were staggering when they said 99% of all males and 74% of all females either had or still did masturbate...and that it was normal for the majority of husbands and a large percentage of wives to continue the practice after marriage. So Jim had no shame or guilt whenever he felt the urge to pull his pud. He always assumed that Nina did the same thing when he wasn't around. It was during their fourth year of marriage that they experimented with mutual masturbation, or they would sit on opposite sides of the room and watch the other get off by himself. That still didn't stop Jim from having his private sessions in the shower. That was one rightand privilege every male seemed to afford himself. Jim had never heard a man say that he'd ever had a partner that could satisfy him the way he could during solo sex. When Jim was fourteen, his best friend and he used to pass an old wrinkled, semen-stained, "Playboy" back and forth during an all-guy jerk-off session. Jim never touched his best friend, nor he, him. Jim always figured though that another male could do a better job getting a male 'off' than a woman could. Jim thought the same thing's true about a woman. A man never knows just how to find and touch 'that spot'. Yes, he was certain, a woman could get herself 'off' better, too. Jim felt he must've been depriving myself, because when he ejaculated, it shot all the way across the shower and hit the glass door with a thud. He shaved, he showered, he came, and he felt better...ready for breakfast and then off to meet his woes.
When Jim arrived at the field, he presumed Bud and Dan had had a rough night also. They had been there thirty minutes before Jim got there. Dan was the first to speak when he came running up to meet Jim at his car.
"Any word from Steve?" he asked.
"Nope...you?"
"Nothing." Dan replied.
"Me, either," Bud echoed.
"What are we gonna do?...Any ideas?" Dan asked.
"A couple." Jim said. He told them about having the entire team show off their passing skills to see if we had hidden talent we'd overlooked. They agreed there was no harm in trying.
When the team assembled, Jim told them he wanted to try a few maneuvers and techniques...some things he might be able to use in combination plays, like where the quarterback snaps the ball and hands off to another player to pass down the field. Primarily, Jim just wanted to see who had the best passing arm. He didn't let them know that he and his assistants were actually auditioning for the QB position. One by one they each took their turn, there WAS more passing talent on the squad than Bud, Dan, or Jim had realized.
Two hours passed, and in their desperation, the coaches kept trying to find what they were looking for. Phil Dickers actually looked better than Sammy, but Phil was the best pass receiver on the team. Jim could not sacrifice one area while he was sacrificing another. In spite of the temperature being in the low 50's, they all were sweating...mostly out of frustration. Jim stopped and gave everyone a fifteen minute breather. It was also his chance to take some Excedrin. He walked back across the field toward his car to get the headache medicine, when he noticed a figure sitting high in the stands above the fifty yard line. It was Tom Summerfield. Jim walked and thought, then he thought some more. Hell, there was no harm in asking...He remembered how the prince had tried the glass slipper on every lady in the country and decided he had nothing to lose to let Ella in the cinders try it, too. Oh! What the hell!!
"Tom!" Jim screamed up toward the grandstand. "Tom Summerfield!"
"Yeah?" he replied cupping his hands around his mouth.
"Can you come down and meet me?" Jim yelled.
"What for? Am I breaking a rule by being here?" He answered back.
"No! You're fine." Jim replied, "I just need to ask you something."
Tom got up and walked down the double-step passageway through the seats and met Jim by the railing next to the field.
"Whassup?" he asked.
"How long has it been since you passed a football?"
"Are you serious?"
"Quite." Jim said,
"Oh, about a year or so..." he replied.
"I..uh..heard a few things about your high school passing record from Dean Connelly and wondered if you were up to giving my guys a few pointers."
"No way, man."
"Come on, just a couple. Whaddya say?"
"You want me to make a fucking asshole out of myself in front of the whole team?"
"Well, if you've been watching closely at what we've been doing, I don't think you'd be making too big of an asshole out of yourself."
"Yeah, I saw and had a few laughs," he said. "Where's your quarterback? I didn't see him get hurt in last night's game."
"He..uh..couldn't make it to practice this afternoon and we're really in a bind by not being able to practice catching...Look, I don't care where the ball lands after you throw it. It'll be the receiver's job to watch the ball and catch it."
"Hell, I don't know where it'll land myself, I'm so out of practice."
"Well, you can't do any worse than we are right now...Just a couple...whaddya say."
"All right...just a couple, but the first guy that laughs at me...I'm walking off the field."
"I DARE 'em to laugh. The first one that does'll be doing pushups 'til sundown."
"All right...but just remember..."
"I'll take my chances." Jim said.
Tom took off his lettered jacket and followed Jim back to the center of the field. Jim introduced Tom to the guys as a new student who might be going out for the team next year and Jim wanted him to see what it was like to play with the varsity. A couple of the players looked at their coach suspiciously. Bud and Dan thought Jim had lost his mind, but the teams assumed play position... offense against defense. Jim warned the defense not to tackle Tom as he was not suited up and he wanted no lawsuits if they should decide to blitz him.
Tom walked behind Harm and slid his hands beneath Harm's crotch for the snap. Jim'd told the wide receivers to run as far down field as possible and await a rocket. Harm snapped the ball to Tom. Tom took four steps backward to take his aim at Phil. Tom pumped the football until Phil was practically on the ten yard line...and then like a bullet, Tom sailed the most perfect pass to Phil any of them had ever seen. Phil didn't have to move. The ball headed right at him. Phil caught it and ran the extra ten yards to make the mock touchdown.
'Was that talent or luck?', was on everyone's mind at the same time. Never had Steve come close to this feat. There was only one way to find out...Do it again! Same setup, same play, only this time Tom set his sight on Howie Jernigan. Only Howie had pretended to fall which meant he would be late on arriving at the ten, the best he could manage would be the thirty yard line. 'Thirty' was even better for Tom as he sailed the ball right into Howie's arms. Tom was satisfied with what he'd shown Jim and started to walk back toward the stands.
"Hey, hey, hey, where are you going?" Jim yelled.
"You said, 'a couple'. THAT was a couple!" he replied and again started going off the field.
The team and Jim's two assistant coaches were almost in shock from what they had just seen. Who WAS this guy and how did the coach know him? They wondered if Jim had been plotting some scheme to get rid of Steve so that he could bring in his own replacement. Then again, they knew Jim better that that. If he had had a secret weapon, Jim wouldn't've waited till after four losses for this surprise element.
"Tom, what you did just now was unbelievable. What would it take if I asked you to stay the rest of the practice just to help the other guys out?"
"Nothing...because I gotta go."
"May I ask where."
"I gotta go meet this guy in the dorm about buying some textbooks from him. I'm gonna need them, come Monday, and he's got quite a few, almost brand new that he'll sell to me second-hand."
"All right, but is it possible that you would come and practice with the team...same time, tomorrow."
"Maybe...if I'm up."
"You ARE coming to my house for dinner tonight, aren't you?"
"I suppose."
"That was Harm, the center, who'll be coming by to get you."
"OK." he said, with a 'whatever' attitude.
Jim's hope for a winning quarterback was dashed in an instant, unless he could get Harm, Phil, and Howie to work on Tom before, during, and after dinner tonight at Jim's house. Shit, Jim wished he had invited a couple of the cheerleaders to let them charm him with their feminine wiles. Hell, if it was female companionship he was searching for, Jim was so desperate, he would even consider asking Nina to take him to bed. Jim needed the kid and the kid needed Jim, only Tom didn't know it yet. According to the Dean, the kid was all but independently wealthy, so there was no car or boat Jim could offer him to sign on with the team. There had to be something Jim could tempt him with, but Jim decided to leave that up to Harm and the other two guys to find out tonight.
Jim rushed home after practice with so much excitement that he grabbed Nina who was standing by the sink washing lettuce, and he whirled her around yelling, "Whee".
"My God, Jim, what happened? Did they cancel the rest of the season?"
"Nope! But I have a feeling I'm going to be a bigger part of the season than was expected."
"Don't tell me that Troy Aikman has reentered Briarwood U for remedial classes." she said.
"Nope, we have our own Troy Aikman and Dean Connelly gave him to me as a present!"
"Put me down, and tell me what you're talking about." she said, smiling.
Jim sat her in one of the kitchen chairs and talked non-stop like a raving maniac about what he'd seen and everything that had been discussed in his meeting with the dean. Nina almost popped Jim's balloon when she asked.
"Is he willing to play for the team?"
"Not yet! But he will, after tonight." Jim said with confidence. "Now, let me go clean up and I'll come back to help you with the dinner."
"That'll be a pleasant change. I thought you'd be famished for Saturday college football on TV, as usual."
"Not today! I feel like my coaching contract is about to be renewed and that's all I want to think about!"
Jim ran up the stairs, taking off his clothes and dropping them in the bedroom floor before jumping into the shower. He was too fucking excited, but he knew how to tranquilize myself. He grabbed a bar of soap and began sudsing his genitals until he was fully erect. Damn! It felt so good, he did it a second time before getting out and toweling himself.
By 7:30, Nina, with Jim's help, had set a banquet table worthy of King Arthur and his knights. The prime rib was succulent to the whiff. Nina had really outdone herself. Jim was so grateful to her and glad that she was his wife. She could always find the cure to his ailments whether physical or emotional. This was nothing new. Jim'd realized long ago that Nina was the most perfect wife in the world.
Fifteen minutes later, Dan, Becky, Bud, and Mabel arrived in Dan's car. Dan and Bud must've given Becky and Mabel the same treatment and recap that he'd given Nina, for all four of them were chattering like chipmunks with excitement over the White Knight Jim had discovered. They wanted to win, the same as Jim did.
Then one by one, the boys arrived, shortly after 8:00. First, Howie, then Phil, followed by Harm who was by himself.
"Where's Tom?" Jim asked.
"Don't know, Coach," Harm answered. "I went up to his room like you asked, but he wasn't there. I knocked on the doors on either side of his and Barry Crabtree said that he'd seen Tom leaving about seven o'clock. He didn't come back and wasn't there."
A dark cloud descended over the dinner guests with Nina and Jim included. The excitement that had filled the room only minutes earlier had vanished into a quiet propensity of disappointment.
They all ate the meal, but the conversation was sparse among them. The dream they had all had was just what it was...a dream...not real. Tom would not be joining and saving their team. They were farther back than square one without him or Steve, for that matter. After dinner, the nine of them went into the den and watched Notre Dame beat Clemson. They let the TV sportscasters fill in their lack of conversation, for not one of them really wanted to say anything. It was like they all had a big open sore and hoped no one would touch it or interrupt the pain. The game was over by 11:00 and the guests left, thanking Nina for the meal, although no one had eaten much. Nina walked everyone out to their cars and came back, closing the door behind her. Jim remained sitting in the den, deep in thought.
"Leave the dishes in the sink!" Nina said to Jim.
"What?"
"I said to leave the dishes soaking in the sink. I'll wash them in the morning. I'm going to bed and I know you'd like to be left alone."
"Thank you, darling," Jim said to her, "You're always thinking about me...never yourself. Have I told you lately just how much I love you?"
"You don't have to. I know. I love you just as much,"
"We're good together, Nina," Jim said,
"I know...always have been and always will be." she said, as she walked behind his chair and combed his hair with her fingers. She leaned down and kissed the top of his head, the way a mother would to her child. Jim reached up and patted her cheek and then she went upstairs to the bedroom. Jim picked up the cable TV remote control and went through the numerous offerings but none of them seemed to fit his mood until he got to the Playboy channel. Time had changed the fare on the adult channels. When they first started, every sex act was simulated, now the women took the men's penises in their mouths and sucked away. Jim felt myself getting aroused watching this John fucking a blonde's 42 inch tits. Jim felt the urge to jerk off but he had no towel to catch his semen and he didn't want to cum on his trousers or the furniture, so he rubbed myself through his pants. He knew he was getting close to a climax...about three or four more rubs and he would shoot all over himself. His clothing was spared by the ringing of the phone...his real phone, not the one on the TV screen.
"Hello?" Jim answered.
"Jim?"
"Yes?"
"This is Dick Connelly. I hope I didn't awaken you."
"No, I was watching TV. Is something wrong?"
"I'm not sure. There might be. Brian Gleason, one of my old alums, the chief of police just called me and said that they had picked up Tom Summerfield and were holding him at police headquarters."
"My God! What happened. He was supposed to come to my house for dinner tonight, but when one of the boys went up to his dorm to get him, he'd already left."
"I was hoping he had been to your house. I don't know what he did or why they picked him up. I tried to call his Uncle Ted, but Ted's out of town for the weekend. The police won't let him go unless an adult comes to get him. Because of my position, I didn't want to be the one to go to police headquarters at this hour. If anyone saw me, it might appear more serious than it actually is...I was wondering, if by chance, you would go down and get him released to your custody?"
"Of course, I will," Jim said, without hesitation.
"Call me if there's any trouble. Brian said that Tom wasn't under arrest and he wouldn't jail him out of courtesy to me and Ted. He and Ted were roommates when they were in college together. So whatever Tom did can't be that serious or Brian wouldn't be so eager to release him."
"I'll go get him, don't worry."
"Thank you, Jim."
"That's quite all right, Dean. If it ISN'T serious, I'll wait and tell you about it Monday at school."
"Thank you, and good night."
"Good night, Dean," Jim said as he began to straighten his clothes and put on his shoes. He ran up the stairs to tell Nina about the phone call and to inform her where he was going, but her light was out, She was asleep, so he decided to leave without disturbing her.
His mind raced as he drove to the BPD. Hadn't Tom been in court a few days before he arrived in Briarwood? Did he have some kind of criminal habit that he couldn't shake? Why did he have a history of being in trouble? Then again, if it WAS criminal, then why wasn't he being held for arraignment? Jim hoped to have his answers in just a few minutes as he pulled his car into the BPD parking lot.
Jim rushed in to the Sergeant's desk and saw Tom sitting in a chair. He looked a mess. His jacket was covered in dirt. His white shirt was ripped and had spots of blood down the front. There was a tear in the right knee of his black trousers. His handsome face was bruised, scraped, and cut below his left eye. His hair was disheveled. He looked at Jim when Jim entered but then dropped his stare to the floor.
"Tom!"
"Hiya, Coach!" he said, avoiding Jim's eyes.
"What happened, guy?"
"Nothing much. I got hit by a tree,"
"You what?"
"This big tractor trailer ran over me and then it backed up and ran over me the second time. Then the driver got out and threw me against a tree to make sure I was dead."
"What are you talking about? Do you need medical attention?" Jim asked.
"Don't think so. Everything seems to be working...at least all my parts that have feeling in them."
"Jesus Christ, do I have to ask the chief of police what happened to you or can you give me a straight answer."
"Ha! I like the way you phrased that. You ought to be an English teacher instead of Biology."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
Jim went over to the police desk and introduced myself as Jim's teacher and coach and asked what he had to sign to get him released to him.
"I don't think the parties involved are going to press charges, but if you want the real story, I'm afraid you'll have to get it from young Tom, over there." the sergeant said, pointing to Tom.
"Did he break a law?" Jim asked.
"Almost. But if what he said, about being in court last week under similar circumstances is true, he'd better be glad that the chief is an old buddy of his uncle's. Another arrest wouldn't look so good on his record," the sergeant said.
Jim spent the next few minutes signing Tom's release papers and letting them Xerox his driver's license and Social Security card. When Jim had finished at the desk, he turned and focused his attention on Tom.
"Are you ready to go?" Jim asked.
"Sure, why not?" he replied, pseudo-casually.
Jim walked him to his car, unlocked the passenger side for him and he got in. Just before Jim started the ignition, Tom asked, "Where are we going?".
"To my house," Jim said, with determination.
"Oh, you're gonna force me to eat that dinner one way or the other, aren't you?"
Jim paused and looked at him. He still hadn't started the car.
"Tom, what the hell is your problem?"
"Oh, now you're gonna psychoanalyze me. Too late, the pros couldn't find out in therapy sessions, so I don't think a biologist will be able to, either."
"Why all the 'I don't give a damn' attitude?" Jim asked.
"Because I don't, that's why!"
"Are you on drugs?"
"Nope! Not the kind you mean, anyway."
"Have you been drinking?"
"A bit...but not much. I'm not drunk if that's what you're wondering."
"Look, asshole," Jim said, becoming more firm, "did you get into a fight? I mean, why the hell do you look as you do?"
"Don't worry, Coach, I've looked a lot worse."
"Why didn't you come to my house for dinner with Harm?"
"I had other plans,"
"When did you make them. This afternoon on the field you said you were coming."
"Well...I didn't!"
"I know, but why? Where did you go? Dean Connelly called me and wanted me to get the full story about what happened."
"Well, he's not going to like it...that is...IF I tell you."
"Where did you go tonight?"
"I went walking, You know, sight-seeing. I wanted to familiarize myself with my new home."
"That's bullshit! Where the fuck did you go...and why won't you tell me?"
"I have my reasons."
"Well, let me hear one of them."
"The same reason why I can't play football for you."
"That's ONE reason I'd like to hear."
Tom became quiet. His attitude was changing. He was becoming less smug and more serious by the expression on his face.
"OK, here goes...I'm queer."
"Queer or 'queer' queer?"
"QUEER! GAY! HOMOSEXUAL! COCKSUCKER! and anything else you want to call me."
Jim was stunned when he listened to Tom. Jim didn't know if Tom was telling the truth or if this was some lie he was concocting.
"I picked up this straight guy tonight. I thought he was like me. We went to a bar and had a couple of beers and then we went to the men's room. We were standing side by side peeing and then I reached over and grabbed his dick. I didn't think he would mind, but the son-of-a-bitch went ballistic and started beating me all over, He knocked me to the floor and continued to kick me."
"My God, didn't you try to defend yourself?"
"I stopped doing that years ago, right after the first time I got beat up. I'm fucking used to it now."
"This has happened many times before?"
"Many...and always the same thing. I pick up a straight guy who's not willing to let me play the game I want to play with him...Now...are you so fucking enthusiastic to still want me to play quarterback?"
"We'll discuss that later."
"I knew that's what you'd say. Can you see what the members of your team would do to me if I reached for one of them in the shower after practice or a game?"
"They wouldn't have to know," Jim said.
"Oh, they'd know all right, the first time I got a boner looking at them."
"Jesus! Does your Uncle Ted know?"
"I don't think so. He just thinks I'm manic-depressive since my folks were killed. He paid for all kinds of therapies and doctors to cure my so-called bipolar disorder. I've swallowed enough anti-depressants and lithium to rot my liver...when all I wanted to swallow was a nice long dick. Can I see yours when we get home, Daddy?"
"No, Tom! For God's sake, stop talking like that!" Jim said, starting the car,
"I guess you've never talked to a real live queer before, since all your players and coaches are straight, Have you ever so much had a queer to touch you...or you touch a guy's dick?"
"The answers to both your questions are 'no'."
"That's what I thought. Are you sure you want to take me home with you. I might attack you in your sleep, you know."
"I don't think you would, with my wife in the room."
"Oh that's right, you have a wifey!"
"Yes, I do."
" Well, let me tell you something first-hand, Mister, there's nothing like having a guy go down on you. You see, a guy knows all the right places and how to do just the right things. Things a woman would never dream of doing."
It was strange that Jim had had similar thoughts himself, in the shower earlier this morning. He was alarmed that he could feel myself becoming half erect as Tom talked. But it was Tom with the problem, not Jim. Jim had to decide the best thing to do for Tom and also what Jim was going to say to Dean Connelly on Monday. He would have to lie. If he were going to gain the kid's confidence, Jim must keep his secret without the Dean or his Uncle Ted knowing the truth.
"Tom, I'm going to fix the guest bedroom at my house for you. You stay there tonight, but I want you to promise not to try leaving. Is that a possibility?"
"Sure, where else can I go except to the dorm?"
"We'll talk this out tomorrow...just the two of us, and see what we can come up with."
"Suits me!"
Jim drove up the driveway quietly as possible, hoping not to awaken Nina. He was not prepared to offer her an explanation tonight. But then he realized, he would probably have to make up some lie to tell her about Tom's sleeping in the guest room. In the twelve years he'd known Nina, he couldn't recall ever lying to her about anything...and now...this. Jim realized this was going to be a sleepless night. He was too upset. It was going to be an all night TV marathon while he tried to decide what to do and also he could watch the guest room door to see that Tom didn't make an effort to escape before the two of them had had their talk.
I quietly took Tom into the guest room. It was on the main floor of the house while Nina slept upstairs. Jim showed him the adjoining guest bathroom where he could clean his wounds and wash the blood off him. Jim busied myself in the bedroom, getting pillows and sheets while Tom showered. When Tom was finished he joined Jim in the bedroom. Tom was stark naked except for the towel he was using to dry himself.
"Would you like a pair of my pajamas?" Jim asked.
"I haven't worn a pair since I was twelve," he replied.
"Want some clean underwear?"
"Nope, I always sleep like this, in the raw."
"Can I get you something to eat or drink?"
"No, I'll wait until morning, My jaw is a little too sore to chew."
"Is there ANYTHING within reason I can get you?"
"Too bad you had to qualify that remark, Coach."
"It's probably a good thing I did...Well, if there's nothing more, I'll say good night. I'll be in the den, right next door, if you need me."
"I somehow doubt you'll supply what I need, but thanks anyway."
"Good night, Tom." Jim said, closing Tom's door.
"Night, Coach."
Jim's mind was spinning as he left Tom and went into the den. He turned on the TV for company and to get his mind occupied but he found nothing on the channels but early Sunday religious shows. He clicked the set off and went to the bar to make himself a stiff drink. Jim needed some ice from the kitchen so he went down the hall and as he passed the guestroom, he heard Tom crying, sounding like a little boy who had just been punished. Jim put his hand on the doorknob but stopped before he turned it. 'Leave well enough alone', Jim said to myself and went to the kitchen for the ice. Coming back, he stopped for a moment to see if Tom's crying had subsided, but it hadn't. Jim could tell Tom was trying to muffle his sounds by burying his face in his pillow, but Tom's crying was more hurtful now. Jim had often dreamed of having a son and going to his room at night to find out why he was crying...and now, suddenly he had a 20 year old kid, fulfilling his fantasy. Jim couldn't resist his urge. He placed the ice bucket on the floor and went into Tom's darkened bedroom.
"Tom? Are you all right?"
He stopped crying, probably out of embarrassment that Jim had heard him.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
Without fearing any consequence, Jim went to his bed and sat on the side of it.
"Don't worry, guy," Jim said, quietly, "I'll help you get through this, We'll think of something tomorrow when we can think clearer,"
He paused for a long time before he spoke.
"Coach?"
"Yes?"
"Can I ask a favor?"
"What? What is it?"
"Are you man enough to hold me without being afraid?"
"Sure, I'm man enough. Are you man enough to let me hold you?"
"I need someone, Coach. I need someone who cares."
"I know, Tom, I know."
Tom raised up from his pillow and put his arms around Jim's neck and held it firmly. Jim felt a chill. This was the image he'd pictured so many times of his son needing him when he was afraid. Jim held Tom close and unashamedly. Tom broke down and began to cry once again, his tears were wetting Jim's shirt collar. It was like a fatherly instinct that Jim put his hand on Tom's head and began to stroke his hair. Without realizing it, Jim began to rock side to side for many minutes until he felt Tom was no longer afraid and felt secure enough to go to sleep. Jim slowly lowered Tom's head to the pillow and quietly made his exit. Jim picked up the ice bucket and walked back to the den, wondering what had just happened.
The phone rang and it was Father Cliff.
"Hello?"
"Jim, this is Cliff."
"Hi, Father."
"Sorry for calling so late, but I had a call earlier from Dick Connelly, concerning one of your students. Dick said that I might be of some assistance you in handling the situation."
"Thanks, Father, but I think I have everything under control...at least temporarily. The student that Dean Connelly mentioned was in a bit of trouble earlier this evening, but he's here and safe now with Nina and me."
"That's good news," Cliff said, "but just remember, I'm here, if and when you need me."
"Thanks, I'll remember that. See you at mass." Jim said, hanging up the phone.
Jim was very grateful that Cliff had called. Father Cliff had listened to his confession many times and knew secrets he had never revealed to anyone, not even Nina. The other, and perhaps, the most important thing was that Father Cliff was openly gay, not only to his parishioners, but practically to all of Briarwood. He would be the ideal person to discuss Tom's dilemma with. No doubt, Cliff had dealt with this kind of thing or reasonable facsimiles many times throughout his priesthood. He would know exactly what to say or do. But, right now, the problem existed only between Jim and Tom and Jim sure as hell didn't want to do the wrong thing and betray Tom's confidence, plus Jim couldn't understand the feeling he had experienced from holding Tom in his arms.
'I'm a man...a coach...a mentor for young men, but why did I suddenly find myself trembling?' Jim asked himself, but no answer came.
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(to be continued in Briarwood---BOOK-SIX-chapter-fifty-six)