Chapter Four -- Ball Games
(Story so far: The varsity squad is initiating new members of the team. Varsity: Jennings 18, the captain, Chet 18. Ben Stone 17. A newcomer: Josh 16. Water boy: Matt 14. Former player Troy 19, Josh's brother).
Chet drove Josh to Matt's. On the way they had a chance to talk. Neither had known the other very well, but now they had something in common: Josh's brother.
"He really did you bad with that initiation" Josh said. He had been impressed with how Chet took the hazing. On the other hand he did feel a twinge between his legs when Troy had described Leroy shaving Chet's pubic hairs with a dull pocket knife.
"It was rough to go through, but what actually scared me most was Lee-Roy's eyes. He would lean in so close on my crotch I could feel his breath as he shaved me. He would squint at what he was scraping and say dumb shit like he was talking to my hairs. `Gotcha, curly' or 'Lets scrape you off, little one.' I think he could be dangerous."
"That must have hurt real bad."
"Damn right." Then Chet grinned and said, "I'll be glad to demonstrate on you some time."
The two guys felt closer by the time Josh got out. They agreed to talk again about ways to get payback on Troy.
When Josh knocked at the door, Matt answered right away and took him up to his room. As they went in, he carefully locked his door. He told him nobody else was at home so they were safe in looking at the pictures.
Meanwhile Chet parked next door and found Jennings as usual working out down in the basement.
"Whew! The while place smells like cum and crotch."
Jennings grinned back at him. "Oh there was a nice little session this morning. I can fill you in on it sometime."
"Wouldn't you want to open a window?"
"What, and lose all that good testosterone in the air?"
"Well what I think is that you've been whacking off all day and that's what's making this smell. You always were married to that dick of yours."
"No way, man. Not me. You're the one who used to beat off so much you made a sore place on your dick when we were 12. Remember at school how you'd try to shield your dick when you were taking a piss?"
Chet flushed. "One time. That was just that one time."
"Once? The summer you went away to camp, guys in your cabin said you beat off so much it made your spine stick out."
"That's not true. I mean they just said that, but it wasn't true."
"Well you must have been doing something to get a reputation like that."
Jennings could always get Chet flustered. Once he had him on the run, he'd throw in anything he could think of. "Even last football season in the showers you were trying to keep people from seeing how you had worn a fresh sore place on it. That proves how much you go at it."
"What are you talking about? Nothing like that ever happened."
"Right, but you almost fell for it, didn't you? You had to stop and think whether what I was saying really meant anything. It shows you couldn't be sure, because you and your dick are at it all the time. You can't leave that pecker-pole alone. You never could."
Chet was embarrassed. Then he retaliated, "Me? Me? It wasn't me who got his dick stick in a milk bottle when I was 12 and had to call on his best friend to come over and save him before his folks got home."
Jennings blushed. "I had to get help, man. I got it jammed in, and then when it swelled inside the bottle I couldn't get it out. And since it was glass, I couldn't smash it. It could rip all the blood vessels and I'd bleed to death."
"Yeah, bleed to death and never finish jacking off."
"Some help you were. You couldn't figure a way either. So we sat there, me with my bone in the bottle, and waited for it to go soft. And then when it finally did, you made me beat off in front of you as payment so you'd never tell anybody."
"And I never did tell anyone."
"No, but you sat there and criticized my technique while I was jacking."
"Well we were 12. What the hell do you expect from a 12 year old?"
"Anyhow you were a good buddy to do that, to pay your debt."
"Well the head was so sore after being caught in that bottle. That's why it took so long for me to shoot, I couldn't hardly stand to work it."
They were quiet for a minute, lost in recollections of the past. Then Jennings roused himself. "Since you're here, I want to fill you in on team stuff. It's another week before we can legally begin fall practice, but how about getting the team together next week for a pick-up scrimmage at the field? I'll clear it with Coach; under the rules he can't be there. This will let him know what we're up to."
He went on to tell about picking Matt to be an assistant manager.
Chet nodded in approval. "When I saw that white-ass butt yesterday, I figured you'd find a way to get him with the team. You always were a butt man."
"Come on, Chet. I just think he's a good kid."
"Yeah? What do you want in return? And does he know you'll want something?"
Jennings laughed, scratched his balls through the loose shorts, and changed the subject. "Let me show you something I just bought on the Internet."
He produced a small packet with red lettering on it and flames and explosions. Chet handled it and gave him a puzzled look.
"It's called `Fire Balls.' I got it from the same place I got the blue pills. This one doesn't make your dick stay hard for hours; it burns the hell out of your balls. It's great, man. You sprinkle the powder on. Now if you or the guy rubs his balls when it starts to burn, it hurts that much more. But even better is that say his hands are tied and you leave him somewhere like tied to a tree, well if he sweats then the water makes his balls itch as well as burn. I bet it could drive a guy crazy."
"What are you going to use it for?"
"It could be for varsity initiations. Also we could secretly coat a guy's jock strap. He'll get to sweating during practice and it'll set the burn go going."
He paused as if thinking of something, smiled, and then got serious. "Let's move on. More important thing is we need to think about Grove Hill. They're liable to try something before school starts. They'll want to pay us back for last year."
As rivals, the two schools always tried to out-boast and out-mock each other. The previous year, when they had kidnapped Brock, the team captain, and dumped him at the truck stop restroom stripped, bound, and gagged, it had been up to the Stallions of Hinson High to get revenge.
Grove Hill High School ("Home of the Grove Hill Rattlers") was located 30 miles away in the next county. As retaliation for what they did to Brock, the team kidnapped three Rattlers, stripped them and used handcuffs on their ankles. The cuffs were hooked so each guy had one ankle with a cuff and one ankle cuffed to the next guy's leg. As a trio they were let out on the road at night far from home, and had to make their way back. Truckers honked and motorists waved at them. Girls leaned out of car windows taking their picture with cell phones.
"I know they'll try something, and I'm sure it will be big."
Chet nodded. "Should we warn guys to not go walking down the road alone at night? Or if they go out for snacks to make sure one or more guys go with them?"
Jennings thought about it. "Maybe just tell them to be careful. When we have our scrimmage we can go into detail about what they did to Brock and what we did to them."
"Where is Brock now?"
"Supposed to be playing ball up at the University in Tuscaloosa, unless they red shirted him."
BROCK: Up in Tuscaloosa, Brock sat alone in his dorm room. His roommate was out for the afternoon, and the athletic dorm was unusually quiet. Brock looked out the window. It was at times like this that he started to remember the things he would prefer not to think about.
He was remembering again the night the Grove Hill players got him. They must have been watching him for a few days to learn his habits. They wanted to catch him at a place where no one would see and try to help. Surprise was the other part of their weapon.
It was payback for the Stallions crushing victory over the Rattlers. They wanted to humiliate the team by humiliating the team captain. It was like saying "Yes they beat us, but look what we did to your mighty captain."
He always jogged after dark, usually along the same route. It took him past an overgrown vacant lot where bushes and trees shielded any street lights from lighting the area. They leaped out from behind him, out of the shrubs, and someone held a damp towel across his face. Somehow it smelled like hospitals. He heard a roaring in his head, and he came to in the back of a car. His arms had been tied behind his back, a sack pulled over his head, and they had gotten all his clothes off. He was lying face up across two guys.
He started to shout "What the hell!" but someone grabbed his balls and held on tight. He groaned.
"Red Rider, is he coming to?"
"Right, Captain Crunch. But I've got his balls and although they aren't much compared to ours, I think he'll follow orders now."
There was a lot of laughter.
"Well Red Ryder, make sure we get his pecker hard before we leave him tied up. We want his public to get a good view of their captain."
Brock felt the hand gripping his dick.
"I'm trying but he hasn't got much down there to begin with, and it's staying in hiding right now."
"Pull it good, man. We don't have much time."
Brock had no idea where he was. He was determined not to let them get him up a bone. He decided to try something. "I'll tell you this, Red Ryder isn't getting anywhere with my dick. Maybe he's too dumb to even know how to jack off." The hand working his dick gave it a twist and Brock almost rolled down on the floor.
The voice up front said, "We tried to do it the easy way. Now we do it the hard way. You had your chance, team captain." After a dramatic pause he said, "One of you, poke your finger up his ass while Red Ryder jerks his meat for him."
A voice beside Brock said "I sure as hell ain't poking my finger up his dirty butt."
"This is the time to step up. Take one for the team, Night Rider."
There was a lot of jostling about: pulling, separating his legs and then hiking his feet up.
"Glad we got the tinted windows" someone said, "otherwise the neighbors would see a real show. We got him reared up high now, ready for the magic finger."
"Well when I pull it out he's gonna have to suck on it because I ain't putting no shitty finger back in my pocket."
"Just get on with the job."
That was when he felt it going in: dry, tough, and fierce. He groaned, and it wasn't sexual. But it got that way after a few minutes with one hand going full speed on his bone and the other his hole.
When his groans got too sexy, Captain Crunch called back "Don't let him shoot! We want that thing up rock hard, not going limp and drooling."
The car pulled in somewhere and parked. The bag on his head was lifted just high enough to put a big patch of duct tape over his mouth, and pulled closed again. They waited a few minutes to be sure the coast was clear, then hustled him out and into what turned out to be the restroom at the truck stop near the freeway. They got him into a stall, spread his legs wide, then taped each ankle to the pipes on the back of the commode. His feet didn't touch the ground, but the tape held his legs wide to make sure anybody had access to his dick and balls if they wanted them.
Taking a felt tip pen, they wrote something on his chest. He found out afterward the message said "Here's your captain. Have fun. Everybody welcome." Then they drew a long arrow pointing down to his crotch.
With the bag still on his head, they ran out leaving him there. Just before they left, they gave his bone a final pull.
It was Elmer Peavy from the lumber mill who found him, just a short time later. He removed the bag, untied him, and went into the truck stop to call for help from the police.
People agreed afterward Brock was lucky someone found him before any harm could come to him. The police said he must have been knocked out with something on the cloth, possibly ether. His nose and lips were burned slightly from the chemical. Since he had never seen his attackers and only knew them by their code names Red Ryder and Captain Crunch, there was not much to go on.
But, everybody told him, the one bright spot was that nothing bad happened while he was in there, that he was lucky old Mr. Peavy was the first person who found him.
Except...except...except -- Mr. Peavy was the second person, not the first.
When the attackers had left, everything was silent. Brock hoped he wouldn't have to wait long. Then he heard someone come in. After a moment he realized the person must be standing in front of him. Without warning a hand grasp his dick by the head. He gasped. The fingers started playing with it.
"Hmmm. Nice. You want to have some fun, team captain?"
He shook his head violently to make sure the person knew he meant no. He didn't recognize the voice, just that it was an adult male.
"Oh I think you do. You're getting my fingers nice and wet just from my touching you. Think how much more fun it will be when you and I really get started."
The voice was so calm it was scary. He hoped someone else would come in and find the man doing that to him.
The fingers kept playing and Brock's bone kept jumping in response. Then the fingers stopped and the man pulled the bag off Brock's head.
The man was plainly dressed in the rural style of the area. Brock was no good at guessing ages, but he figured he was about the age of guys' parents or teachers at school.
The man gripped his dick by the head, pushing in with his thumbnail and pushing up with the first finger, as if he wanted to remove the head from the rest. Brock's eyes went wide in terror.
"A dick without a head wouldn't do you much good, would it?"
Brock shook his head.
"No girl is going to let a guy get in her when she sees that thing with no head. It'll be a pole with a gap at the top. It's like a hose with no nozzle. Not only that, you'll never have any feeling in it. Shooting off will be like taking a leak, and maybe not even as much fun as that. A lifetime of fully loaded cum filled balls and nothing to do about it. It's a living nightmare, right?
Brock's eyes were so wide he was almost out of focus.
"Then listen. I am going to remove the tape from your mouth. If you scream or say anything, I will pull that head off that bone. You might not think I can, but my nails are sharp. Besides, I would put the tape back on and leave you bleeding and no one would find you until you had bled out."
He relaxed his grip and gently stroked the underside of the head. "That's a good thing you've got there. You can get a lot of years' good use out of it...if you don't `lose your head'. Do you get my meaning?"
Brock nodded frantically, still scared shitless.
As his right hand still grasped his dick, the left hand unzipped his fly. There was a little fumbling inside, some obvious quick whipping, and then he pulled it out. Brock was relieved that it wasn't too long or too thick. Maybe he could handle it without gagging or throwing up.
"OK, I'm getting ready to pull off your tape. Here are the rules: You suck it good. You suck it like you had waited all your life for it. You do a good job and you might get out of this alive. And the most important rule is this: you look up at my face the whole time. And you look up with devotion in your eyes. If you get tears in your eyes, that dick head is gone. Can you do this?"
Again Brock nodded fervently.
"OK team captain, let's see you give me a sample of that look of devotion."
Brock was too scared not to comply but he hated having to do it. He looked into the man's eyes for all he was worth.
"Fine my little brown-eyed boy. Keep that up and you'll get out of here with a usable dick and not a headless horseman."
He gripped the dick head tightly, and with a swift pull yanked the gag off and shoved his dick in. Brock had never done this before. He was glad that the thing wasn't too thick or too long. He began using his tongue to lick under and around it. The man began to slide it in and then quickly worked himself into an in-out fast mode, pulling almost all the way out but not quite.
The duct tape had been temporarily stuck to Brick's shoulder. Brock wondered for a second if it might get sweaty and not really stick when he put it back on him. He just wanted all this to get over. The dick didn't taste as bad as he was afraid it would. Somehow it seemed to be turning him on as well as the man. He kept giving the man the devoted look he wanted. He watched as the man's face contorted, his breath came is spurts, and suddenly he shot off in Brock's mouth.
"Swallow it! Swallow it!" he said in a whiplash tone. "All the way you dumb jock! Swallow my cum! Swallow it good! Swallow now so I won't have to come back and do it again!"
Brock swallowed for all he was worth. He was afraid he would gag or throw up or the stuff would start to come out of his nose. He knew if the man taped his mouth before his nose was clear he could choke or suffocate. He was pulling his dick out now, and Brock gulped air for all he was worth.
"Remember this night. Remember my face. If I ever have any trouble out of you about this, I will come looking for you."
Grabbing a piece of toilet paper, he pushed it up against Brock's nose as one would do to a small child who was drooling. "Here, blow hard. Good boy. Nose clear now? Good. Here comes the tape."
He re-taped Brock's mouth, put the bag back over his head and then stood there quietly playing with Brock's dick.
"Still like having me play with your dick, right?"
Actually what Brock wanted was to shoot off. They had gotten him so hot in the car, then this man had gotten him near the edge before the blow job, and now he was nearing the edge again. He could feel it building up and beginning to tremble.
The man took his hand away and walked out. Brock was alone until old Mr. Peavy found him.
Since that night, he had told no one. But lately he thought he had seen the man's face in a crowd up here at the university. And once he felt like someone followed him back to the dorm at night when he was coming back from getting a hamburger. He hoped that it was just in his mind.
Only one other thing had emerged from his thoughts. The man's voice, his face, his hands didn't fit the plain workman's clothes he was wearing. His hands looked like they had never done a hard day's work. Brock thought that was strange.
He got up and went over to his bed. Taking a pillow, he put it in the center. Removing all his clothes, he lay face down with the pillow at his groin. His memories of that night were still disturbing a year later. The worst part was that although they were scary, they were arousing as well.
Propping his elbows, he began humping the pillow. As he picked up speed and intensity, he kept saying over and over "I like girls. I like girls. I like girls"
JOSH AND MATT Back in Hinson at Matt's house, he and Josh huddled in front of the computer. Side by side, they shared not only a mutual intensity in the pictures, but a warmth of boy body-heat that they weren't exactly aware of. The pictures from the previous day flashed across the screen in a slide show Matt had set up.
"See that? That's when I had my finger up your butt." Matt's voice was husky. He seldom had the chance to `talk dirty' to anyone. This was a thrill. His hummer was humming.
Josh felt both good and bad. It was embarrassing but it was also sort of an adventure, like brining back pictures from Africa or something. His own bone was hard. They had shared an experience yesterday and he wondered if they might do something like that today.
"You want to jerk off?" Josh was being bold.
"Together?"
"Well we're in the same room and the door is locked."
Matt sighed. "I sure do. But I get scared I'll get caught. See, my dad and my brother are real strict. They don't allow stuff like that, even by myself. It would be the end of me if they found me doing it to another person. My brother is on me all the time."
Josh gave him one better: "This morning my brother held me down in bed and played with my bone to the point where I was about to shoot. He had me pinned where he could look in my face while he played with my dick. I'm beginning to wonder what he'll try next."
"That's terrible. I'm glad my brother doesn't do that. Mainly he looks at my hand and accuses me of jerking off, and sometimes looks at my crotch to see if my bone's poking out at all."
"How old is he anyway?"
"He's 20 and he is going to be a preacher, but right now he works part time at the hardware store and is taking a course at the junior college."
"Is he at work now?"
"Well he's supposed to be. He didn't say anything this morning about a change in his schedule."
"So it's safe if we want to jerk off?"
"I guess. I mean, I want to."
"Shall we jerk each other?"
Each one pulled his pants down. Both of them wore briefs. They pulled all that to their ankles. They sat side by side on the bed, as close to each other as they could get. Matt liked the warmth of Josh's legs. He wanted Josh's bone more than anything. When they started, Matt was carried away. For Josh, though, it was a first. He put his left arm around Matt's shoulder and then reached across with his right to work Matt's dick. Despite all the comments he had heard yesterday about the size of Matt's little dick, it wasn't really that small. It was slender and looked like it was a little over 4 inches, but it was nice to the touch, very smooth.
He realized he liked this little guy a lot. It wasn't any gay stuff, just the feeling that they ought to be together like this, side by side, giving each other all the pleasure it was possible for two guys to give. When his mother had suggested earlier that he might ask Matt to spend the night, he had felt indignant. 16-year-old guys don't have little kids come over to sleep. But now, here, he knew Matt wasn't that little, wasn't that young. They might be two grades different in school, but this guy seemed to know what would please a guy. When he thought about all they could do together for a whole night...
Suddenly there was a shaking of the door, a turning of the handle, and then pounding. Both boys jumped.
"What's going on in there? Why is this door locked? You know dad doesn't allow locked doors around here! Matt, open this door right now, or you're going to be in bad trouble!"
"Just a minute" Matt called back as both boys frantically pulled up their pants and tried to get their rock hard cocks pushed from view.
"Just be cool" Matt told him.
When the door was unlocked, Brett stormed in, dark eyes blazing. "Why was this door locked?"
Matt shrank and shrugged. "No reason."
"What were you two up to?" Then turning to Josh, "And who exactly are you?"
"I'm Matt's friend. It's my fault the door was locked" he lied, "I have brothers who come in my room all the time and I automatically lock the door. I just accidentally did it here."
"Well, whoever you are, just get out now and go home where you people seem to have some secret reasons for locking doors. Here we have nothing to hide."
As Josh hurried out, Matt called to him "I'll call you later."
When it was just the two of them in the room, his brother asked him again, "What was going on?"
"Nothing."
"Show me your hand."
Matt raised his left hand.
"Not that one, the other one." He sniffed it and said "You were jerking off. I can smell it on your fingers and palm. You had your hand around your dick and you were masturbating!"
Matt tried to say no. "Don't lie to me. Were you explaining to him how you masturbate?"
"No."
"You are lying. Unless you tell me the whole truth, I am going to tell dad and ask him to make an appointment for you with the sex doctor. He can cure you of that."
Matt was so scared. "Please don't. I'll do anything. Please."
"Will you sleep with boxing gloves on?"
"What?"
"Boxing gloves. You won't be able to play with yourself and masturbate that way."
"How will I pee? How can I take it out to pee?"
"You won't be taking it out. You'll pee before you go to bed and you'll pee when you get up. At night I'll put the gloves on you, take you to the bathroom, pull down your briefs and pull them back up when you've finished. In the morning I'll take you in there, pull down your briefs, and after you've finished I'll take your gloves off. That way I can keep an eye on what your dick is doing. I may have to start measuring your penis I suppose, to make sure it isn't growing. Masturbation is what makes it grow. All masturbators have huge dicks."
Matt felt lost. "Josh is my friend."
"You can still have him as a friend. But not as someone you get together to masturbate with. Do you get with him often?"
"His mother has invited me to spend the night over at their house this weekend."
"You can go if you want to, but you'll have to wear the boxing gloves in bed."
"Brett. His folks will know. Please don't make me."
"Does he have an older brother?'
"Yes."
"Then in a little while you and I will call that older brother and explain your situation. He may want to know abut his brother's actions here anyway."
Later when Brett called Troy, he was impressed with how concerned Troy was about his younger brother. He agreed with Brett's plan about boxing gloves and said he would get some for his brother as well. He assured Brett that Matt would be safe and sex free in their home and that he would personally keep a careful eye on him. After hanging up, Troy laughed with such a cackle that his parents came down the hall to make sure he was all right.
CHET
Chet was thinking over the events of the day and planning to take a jog, when his cell phone started vibrating. He clocked it open and saw who it was. He let out a deep sigh.
"Hello Joe."
"Got a little job for you tonight. It'll help pay down that repair debt you owe me on the truck," the smooth voice on the other end said.
Chet tensed. He knew what was coming. "Listen, Joe, I..."
The voice sounded tougher. "No excuses, Chet. Doing this stuff reduces your debt. Besides I'll be helping you to get a new truck when you have to go away to college."
"Umm...how much do I still owe?"
"I don't have a calculator in front of me, man. Here I am trying to help you out of debt and you start haggling."
Chet started to say "Joe, please -- " and then sighed. He knew there was no way out. His father had walked out on the family five years ago, his mother had health problems, and two years ago his big brother got killed in Iraq. He was trying to be the man of the family, limping along with an old truck that couldn't stay repaired.
The last time he had repairs done, it had been over $600, money he didn't have. That was when Joe came up with a plan. Joe was middle aged and had run the repair shop for twenty years. He repaired just about all the cars in town, and truckers and traveling salesmen came to him with their car problems as well.
Hinson was truly a football town, and the team from Hinson High was known all over the state. Joe had a couple of pictures of Chet on display in his garage. Tall, handsome, gleaming in his clean uniform, Chet's pictures always attracted attention.
"Chet, this man saw the team pictures on the wall here. I could tell the way he kept looking at your picture that he was interested. He's married but -- you know how it is with some men -- he likes teenaged boys. He's from away and he's at the truck motel."
"Are you sure he won't remember me and tell people?"
"Tell them what? That a happily married man likes to pay good money to get an 18 year old boy to strip and jerk off in front of him?"
"I just worry, that's all. What if something happened?"
"They know the rules. First time a guy so much as tries to touch you, you get outta there and he never gets another chance. Plus he gets it bad from me."
"Are you sure?"
"Quit worrying. Listen, Chet, this guy has a son your age. In fact he plays football for Grove Hill over in Grove County."
Chet's heart sank. "We play them every year."
"Right! So it's like you're performing for a buddy's dad. Think of it that way."
"No! No Joe, PLEASE. That guy will know who I am."
"No, he doesn't know your name. I don't have your picture labeled. None of the team are named. You don't know his name and he doesn't know yours. I keep my clients confidentiality."
"Joe please don't make me."
"You owe me, Chet. Don't make me lean on you. You know if I had to, I could make it worse. None of them have touched you, none of them have made you do stuff with your mouth or your butt. We don't want to have to go down that road."
He loved making threats. It was the carrot and stick routine. Praise him and push him, but most of all enjoy the thrill of knowing he had total control over this jock boy stud.
"Will this be the last on I have to do?" Chet's voice was a cross between pleading and begging.
"I wish that was true. But you're nowhere near paying off the repair bill. I could have gone to your mother about your bills, but since she's sick you said we could work it out anyway I wanted."
That was true. It had seemed like a good deal at the time, just a couple of errands he wanted Chet to do. The first time he performed, it had been scary, but Joe kept encouraging him afterward. It was sort of a kick at first, everything was anonymous, nothing to worry about. But then things just kind of evolved before he realty knew it.
Joe went on, "But one good note -- I forgot to tell you before -- the guy you performed for last Thursday was so carried away he came by the garage Friday morning on his way out of two and gave me an extra $60."
"Ummm...can I have some of that?"
"No Chet. And do you know why?"
"Is it because you don't want to?"
"Chet I would love to give you the money, all of it. Then you could pay off your bill yourself. But if I did, do you know what that would make you?"
"No, what? I don't understand."
"It would make you a prostitute. Someone who has sex for money. You know you're not a prostitute, you know you don't have sex for money, don't you?"
"No...I guess I see. But I need to find a way out of this."
"This is the way out of debt. You don't want to do anything foolish. I've been doing this for a lot of years. You didn't think you were the first boy I ever recruited, did you?"
"I guess."
"That's why I have such good customers. They know I'm safe. There was only one guy who ever tried to tell. That was way back years ago. When I found out he was going to tell, I told the football team what he had been doing, and I turned him over to the varsity club. In a football town, they don't like boy prostitutes."
"What did they do?"
"Chet, son, we don't want to dwell on that. I need you to stop talking and start getting ready to go. Wear the white jock strap with the big 8 stitched on the outside of the pouch. Clients have said they like that."
"But I'm not 8 inches."
"Hell, son, they don't care. It makes them think you are. That's all that's important in sex, not what's true, just what you believe is true. Now get started kid, you're due at cabin 8 at the Truck Stop Lodge at 8:30. Don't be late."
The line went dead. At his end, Joe Josephson, owner of Joe's Garage, grinned, smacked his lips, and rubbed his hands in glee. Another hundred bucks and another job well done. Life was perfect. He looked across at the smiling picture of Chet on the wall. "Jerk your meat good, buddy," he said.
When Chet clicked his cell shut, he stood up and went to the dresser. Rummaging through his underwear drawer, he retrieved the white jock with the big 8 on it, hidden protectively at the back. It embarrassed him that Joe had it made for him. It was like Joe toyed with things about his sexuality. It felt like a special weave, and when he put it on it actually cupped his dick and balls completely, giving the impression he had a baseball in his crotch. A baseball with a big 8 on it.
He got out of his jeans, pulled off his briefs, and pulled on the strap. Securing it comfortably, he reached down and grasped his package. He liked doing that, and he could hear clients gasp when he did. He looked at himself in the full length mirror on the closet door, and it almost made him get hard.
Then he finished dressing, remembering to get the blindfold out of the same drawer and stuff it into his pants pocket. Then he went by his mother's bedroom, tapped at the door, and came in.
"I'm going out, mom. You need anything before I go?"
"No son, Just be careful...and don't stay out too late."
He leaned down and softly brushed his lips against her cheek. He took off for his assignment. Driving through the darkened streets, he went over in his mind the steps Joe required of him: 1. Don't knock. Just open the unlocked door. 2. Look around the room, see where the tape player was (usually right inside the door). 3. Put the blindfold on and turn on the player. 4. Begin to slowly strip. The client will come out of the bathroom and sit on the bed. 5. The jock strap comes off last. Then begin dancing in time to the music. Shake and wiggle a lot. Clients like to see your stuff; they don't care how good your dancing is. 6. Keep from shooting off for as long as you can, but don't stop working on your dick. 7. When you shoot, catch it in the palm of your hand. Extend your hand out so your client can see it all from the bed. 8. Lick the cum off...every bit of it. 9. Reach over to the table beside you and turn off the tape. The client will return to the bathroom. You can remove the blindfold and get dressed and leave quickly. As you go out the door, never look back.
Chet always had trouble remembering the order of the steps. He knew someday he would maker a mistake and all hell would break loose, like if he turned on the tape before he had the blindfold on.
He remembered Joe saying the client last Thursday was glad it took a while for him to shoot. He grinned. He had been with Cindy for a couple of hours at her house with nobody home. She wouldn't let him actually have sex with her, but she let him lift her blouse, play with her boobs, suck on her tits, and finally slide his hand under her skirt and up her thighs. As he reached the `promised land', she had stopped him. It frustrated him that she acted that way, letting his get so close and then making him stop. He thought maybe she was what they call a control freak.
Consequently, when he got home he had locked himself in the bathroom, stripped buck naked, and had one of the biggest jackoffs that he could remember. Squirt after squirt until finally the head was so sore he could barely stand to touch it. That was the moment when the cell rang and Joe had sent him out. No wonder it took a while to cum. He was just glad he was able to perform at all. Then he remembered his head had been so red from jacking that it was still red when he got back from the client. Maybe that's what the client liked.
He pulled up at the motel, its porch lights gleaming faintly above each door. He saw the number eight. He cut off the engine and got out. Reaching down, he adjusted his pouch. "Showtime" he said to himself.
Later that night, when it seemed all the town had settled in, and shades were pulled and lights dimmer, a lone car moved silently down Hinson's streets. It had a Grove County tag on the car and a bumper sticker that said "GO RATTLERS!" The windows were tinted so no one could see the people inside.
If anyone could have heard the conversation, it would have seemed strange.
"Well, Red Ryder, spotted any possible locations for a grab?"
"Sure have, Captain Crunch."
End of Chapter Four. (Thanks again for the letters and ideas. -- Bart)