Date: Fri, 10 Jun 2016 23:09:57 -0700
From: Jon Hold <jonhold@earthlink.net>
Subject: Homeboy 2

This work is copyrighted by the author and may not be used without his
express permission. Private persons and no others are given permission to
have one (1) electronic and/or one (1) printed copy of this work. Nifty
Erotic Stories ArchiveTM is given permission to archive this work.

All the usual disclaimers that are usual apply here. This is a work of
fiction involving sex acts between consenting persons of various ages and
conditions of life. If you can't handle that or if you are not of legal age
or mindset or location, go no further but remove this material from your
possession forthwith.

If you have faggot sensitivity, you ought not read this story.  Positive or
negative comments welcome. Everyone is 37 years older6

Try to keep in mind that while 42 is the meaning of life, it is not the
only possible solution and that sexual dimorphism is Mother Nature's excuse
for being kinky.

Enjoy!

Jon

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Homeboy
Chapter 2
by Jon Hold
Copyright © 2015
jonhold@earthlink.net



Chapter 2


It took two months for both men to admit something had gone far wrong after
Tomi had stormed out of the house. The place was filthy, beds nasty and
unmade, the bank president wanted to know where "that nice young man who
had cleaned up all their accounts" was. On no uncertain terms he said he
had no intentions of putting up with late payments and a set of books that
refused any contact with reality, AGAIN! They were to get their
"accountant" back immediately or suffer the consequences!

The refrigerator was empty and the cat had moved next door. The lawns were
un-mown and dying from lack of water. The pool stunk so bad from all the
alge and dead things that the neighbors were complaining.

Simon got up one morning and was yelling and bitching, wanting to know
where the fuck his clean clothes were.

"Quit bitching, Dad! You were the one who called Tomi a `useless piece of
shit'. Just how long did you think he was going to take your crap before
leaving us? Oh, yeah, the manager of the hardware store told us to shop
elsewhere until our `Business Manager' comes in to straighten out the
mess. I found the books he's been keeping for us, Dad. They're AWESOME!
Somehow he even managed to get the IRS to back off and not fine us. I have
no idea how. And, while we're at it, just who the hell do you think has
been preparing all the great meals, washing our clothes, making our beds,
vacuuming, and dusting and taking care of the lawns and swimming pool and
everything else that got done around here. If I can find him I'm going to
beg my son to come home, and if you don't fucking like it, or if you EVER
AGAIN attack him the way you've been doing, I'll fucking deck you and take
my Boy elsewhere. The books he created for us show that I've got plenty of
equity to buy us a new home—where you will NOT be welcome!

"All my boy wanted was for at least one of us to even notice how much he'd
been doing for us. We couldn't even say "thanks" for anything. Hell, we
didn't have any idea what the fuck he was doing for us or how much better
our miserable, self-centered lives were because HE FUCKING CARED ABOUT US!
And all we could do was kick him in the balls. Hope you're proud of
yourself, Dad, but, personally, I think we're both a couple of ungrateful
pricks!

"Oh yeah, Dad. While you're trying to prove what a waste of time-space-and
energy your grandson is, go up to his room and before you get all amazed at
the fabulous job of remodeling he did, take a look at all his trophies,
medals and awards. Did you know the the `worthless wimp son-of-a-bitch' is
the flyweight State Champion wrestler? In both Highschool AND college
divisions! Four times Statewide Athlete of the Year? Then there's his
Gymnastics trophies. Should I mention him being Captain of both the
swimming team and the diving team, and that he's led both teams to the
State championships? And on and on, Dad. You were so proud of my Highschool
football record. Well, I'm not even in his class, Dad. And neither of us
ever attended one of his games. Hell, Dad, neither of us even knew he
played sports. Oh, yeah, I saw a letter requesting him to join the training
team for the United States Olympic Jujitsu team. Your Grandson, an
Olympian! Not bad for a `worthless wimp', don't you think? Oh', Something
you probably are aware of, Tomi holds a fourth degree black belt in Aikido,
but you probably knew that, considering the flying lesson he gave you the
other day!"

Jock spent the next week not talking to his father as he tried to find his
son.-----

That first night Tomi really didn't know what to do or where to go. He
ended up at the college gym where the janitor, knowing him, kindly let him
in. Coach Thompson found him asleep on top of some dirty towels in a corner
the next morning. Coach was worried about his prized athlete. Waking the
boy up, he led him into his office. It didn't take long to figure out what
had happened. Coach just shook his head and told Tomi to use the office
shower to get himself ready for school.

Tomi had to buy a new set of "required materials" (books and such) and tell
each of his teachers that homework, papers and such were going to be
late. If asked he would just quietly say, "I had to leave home". The
teachers, knowing that Tomi was a serious student, told him to just turn
things in as well as he could. Nothing was more than a few days late except
for the term paper for history, which had to be started over from scratch.

Coach was NOT a morning person, preferring a day that started some time
after noon! This gave Tomi several hours for personal needs and to wrap up
any loose ends from the day before. Waking Coach at 8AM was always the
hardest task of the day. Tomi usually had him dressed (Coach slept nude,
which was no way to go to school), shaved and sitting at the table with a
cup of really good coffee in front of him and the air filled with the
hungry-making smell of breakfast cooking before he actually woke up to any
great extent. As he worked on his second cup of coffee, breakfast would be
served. They would thank G-d for the food and the new day quickly and then
dig in. Tomi was serving something different every morning and evening as
he explored the complex world of food and the many ways to prepare the
plethora of different dishes. After cleaning up the breakfast muss Coach
would drive them to the college and then home at the end of the day.

Tomi started off sleeping on the couch. He was having nightmares every
night so Coach took him into his bed where the boy could cuddle up
safely. Both of them slept naked and Coach was having control issues about
his behavior with the beautiful, scared, and lonely boy. Tomi was talking
in his sleep. It didn't take coach very long to figure out what Tomi's home
life had been like or how how much he loved his father, and wanted to love
his curmudgeon of a grandfather. Sometimes the exhausted boy would just lay
there limp and unresponsive and cry. Sometimes Coach would cry too, ashamed
that he didn't know what to do for the wonderful boy in his care.

Coach finally called a college friend who had a PhD in psychology. Tom
warned him that the boy sounded like he was on the road to
self-destruction. Coach asked if he meant suicide and Tom just said,
"That's one possibility." Coach was thinking furiously about what to
do. The next day he pulled up Tomi's records that, because he was a local,
went right back to kindergarten and discovered that there was no mention of
his family or previous addresses. Apparently Tomi had hacked into the
school systems computers and done a little "redecorating". The kid was
GOOD! In a bad way, but very, very good! Looking through the phonebook all
he could find under Cuzack was a construction company.

On his fourth try, the phone was finally answered, "Yeah?".

"Is this Mr. Cuzack?"

"Yeah."

"Who are you, The older or younger Mr. Cuzack?"

"This is Jock Cuzack, what is it you want, Mr...?"

"Do you have a son named Tomi?"

In a suddenly alert and demanding voice, words erupted, "How do you know my
son? Where is he? Who the fuck are you?"

—Click—

Coach called back again the next day at the same time. Even worse profanity
and threats.

 —Click—!

It was four days before Coach called again. The phone was answered
immediately, "Hello?"

"Jock Cuzack?"

"YES! Please don't hang up. How is my son. Is my boy OK?"

"Tomi is... Well, he's not your son any more Mr. Cuzack. You slaughtered
that boy when you ripped his heart out and threw it out the door."

Silence! Then, quietly, the sounds of a strong man, a proud man,
crying. Sobbing interspersed with almost silent, "Oh. Oh, my G-d, Oh, my
son, my son."

"I'll let you live with that information for a bit, Mr. Cuzack. Maybe
you'll feel a bit of the pain you gave Tomi. All he wanted was for you to
love him, just a little bit. So..., Think about it for a while Mr. Big Man
Jock Cuzack. Tomi has!"

—Click—!

Another week had gone by when Coach knocked on the Cuzack front door.

Jock, looking like hell that nobody had bothered rewarming, answered the
door.

"Which Asshole are you?"

"Jock Cuzack. I'm Tomi's father"

They just stood there. Staring.

"Well, are you going to invite me in, or should I just leave?"

Shaking his head to clear it, at least a little bit, Jock moved back out of
the way and opened the door. "Sorry, I'm not operating very well."

As soon as Coach walked into the living room the smell, general disorder,
and just plain filth gave him a woozy feeling as his stomach did a little
flipflop. He turned to Jock, "Judas Priest, man! You really need to get a
grip!"

Headed back to the door, Coach grimaced and looked right into Jocks
eyes. "Let's go somewhere where I can breathe and get a cup of coffee."

Flushed with embarrassment, Jock quietly closed the door and followed
Coach. "We can walk. The best coffee shop is only two blocks away.\

So they walked. Quietly. Each nursing their own thoughts. Once they had
their coffee Jock tried to explain what had happened, both before and after
"The Great Rift". Not making excuses. Just the bare information. In his
opinion, expressed after his recounting his tale, he was every bit as
guilty as his father for what had happened. He hadn't protected his only
son when he most needed a fathers intercession. At the end of his narrative
Jock was all wrapped up in his misery, crying, huddled against the wall and
trying to hold himself together.

"Well, aren't you the lovin' daddy!" Coach said with an audible sneer. "All
wrapped up in your self-serving, overly dramatic whinning."

Jock very nearly made it over the table before Coach popped him one on his
forehead. "Listen you listless piece of dog shit. I'd knock the holy
bejesuzess out of you if your son didn't need you so badly.'

Jock popped up like an avenging angel, "Who... What... Where's my
son. What's going on? What does he need? How..."

"Just shut up and listen. Tomi is suicidal as hell. We've got someone with
him 24/7. That's the kind of love his friends and teammates have for
him. But all he knows is that he's lost your love, and that life is no
longer worth living. He just lays there. Sometimes he cries. If anything
were to happen to Tomi it would be for the best if you move far far away so
that none of his friends can find you. That includes me!"

"Where is my son!?!"

"He's safe!"

"WHERE IS MY SON!!"

"Raise your voice one more time and you'll be sitting here alone!
Forever. You don't deserve a boy as good as Tomi anyway! Why do you want
your son back, Mr. Cuzack? You don't think you've hurt him enough? Or is it
that you and your father need your whipping boy back so you'll be able to
feel like men again? Or, maybe you just want to sell him to the highest
bidder?"

Jock Cuzack pretty much fell apart at that point, tears pouring down his
weathered face, "Is that what Tomi thinks? That I would sell him?"

"That's what I think, Cuzack!" Politeness his last thought as he removed
the honorific, "Tomi would never think any such thing! He thinks he's
failed you. Failed to be the son you wanted and needed. What Tomi thinks
`MR.' Cuzack, is that because he's failed you, there's no longer any reason
to live. That's why he's NEVER alone. NEVER! The first chance he gets he's
going to check out. You and your father should be proud! You've managed to
rip that boy's heart out and leave him with no reason to live." Taking a
quick look at his watch, Coach stood up and continued, "It's time for my
shift." Lifting the lapel of his jacket to show his pistol in its shoulder
holster, "Try to follow me and I'll blow you off at the knees! Don't give
me an excuse, Cuzack. I'd love to shoot you! And tell your father to stay
away from me. I'd like nothing better than to give that prick a .44 caliber
headache!"

When Jock finally got to his father's house his old man wanted to know if
he'd "...found the, `Little Prick'". Jock left soon after, slamming the
door. Cuzack Senior was laying on the floor, missing a couple of front
teeth and causing a pool of blood to spread across the expensive
wall-to-wall carpet.

A week later, 10 PM. The phone rang and wouldn't stop ringing. Simon
finally got out of bed and answered the damn thing. Before he could start
cursing, someone on the other end said, "Mr. Jock Cuzack?"

"Who wants to know?"

"This is Officer Gills with the police department. Am I speaking with
Mr. Jock Cuzack?"

"Jock isn't here, Officer. I'm his father, can I help you?"

"If you can find him, tell him that his son, Tomi, got hold of some
pills. The doctors at Memorial don't think the little guy is going to make
it. Tell his father to hurry!

Simon immediately called Bill, one of his lead foremen and Jocks best
friend. Apparently he had caller ID because he answered the phone, "What
the fuck do you want!"

"Bill, please. I know I'm a prick. Get hold of Jock immediately! Tomi's in
Memorial General Hospital. They don't think he's going to make it. Will you
please do that, Please..."

"DONE!", Click.

Simon got to Tomi's room before his son. He knew he was neither needed, nor
wanted in Tomi's room so he just asked the ward nurse, how Tomi was doing.

She looked up at him, "And you are?"

"I'm his Grandfather."

"Oh. So you're the one who did this to him!"

Simon Cuzak was a strong, self-made man. Basically a good man. He looked at
the woman. A piece at a time his face collapsed and his eyes filled with
tears. He shuffled his way to the waiting room he'd seen coming in,
collapsed into a padded chair. Bent over, hands covering his face, tears
leaking through his fingers as he silently cried. Two days later one of the
grounds keepers found him under a bush...



Guess that's enough of a cliffhanger for now. Give me a little time on this
one.  In the mean-time, donate to nifty so that I have a place to post the
next chapter.



Jon