Date: Wed, 29 Mar 2000 18:49:20 EST
From: VicHowel@aol.com
Subject: The Learning Season - chapter I

THE LEARNING SEASON - CHAPTER ONE

This is for the writers and editors who enjoy Nifty.  It's not exactly what
you'd expect from me - I don't mean that it isn't erotica or that the
characters aren't well-defined.  I mean that it's poorly written.  Let me
explain:
	I've been chatting with a small publisher which likes a New England
flavour to its erotica.  I remembered a story I wrote maybe 12 years ago
that had some basis in truth and which had most of its action going on at
Provincetown on Cape Cod.  I pitched the novel (bad move, fellow writers -
ALWAYS re-read something before you pitch it to a publisher.  You just
might find yourself with an assignment).  Anyway, the publisher wanted to
see the story and I could hear her making plans to sell it.
	The 18 chapters that follow are that 12 year old draft.  The pacing
is way off, the structuring of the scenes is weak - in short, the story
operates on about half its cylinders.  It succeeds - it holds the reader's
attention and keeps him turning the pages - but it does so IN SPITE OF me.
	I am rewriting THE LEARNING SEASON from scratch, keeping just the
characters and most of the plot lines and themes.  The rewrite is what will
be published by Nocturnis sometime in 2001.  Believe me, it will be a lot
smoother and more enjoyable read - it's got to be to justify people
spending good money to buy it.
	In the meantime, I'll be giving you a chapter a month from the old
draft.  You can enjoy it for the story it is, or - if you're a writer - I
hope you'll learn from my mistakes that are so obvious in it.
	Please, write me with your comments, suggestions, and observations.
I'm at vichowel@aol.com.

########################################################


The ball spiraled down into the slim, tall boy's outstretched hands.  Still
running, he feigned escape from an imaginary tackler, pivoted, and made
toward a non-existent goal line at the far end of the yard.

"Damn good pass, Marshall!" he called as he began to trot back across the
grass to where his friend stood watching him.  The copse of trees that
began at the edge of the yard was a blaze of red and gold.

Rich Dailey sat on the ground in front of heavy-set friend and grinned up
at him.  Quickly, his eyes moved toward the woods across from them, away
from the other boy.  "I do ever more love this place," he admitted, his
voice betraying a tinge of envy.  "I just wish I could live some place as
nice."  He turned back to face his friend, ashamed of his own feelings of
inferiority.

Dave Marshall squatted beside his friend.  "Rich-"

He faltered and grabbed his knees, hiding his face between them.  He
continued with sudden vehemence: "I just wish my Dad would be a real man!"

Rich gazed at the profile of the one friend he could count for long
moments.  "Yeah," he offered finally, his voice slow and husky as he drew
the word out.  "And I just wish I had a father," he finished, feeling a
lump rising in his throat as he gave vent to his deepest wish.  "Much less
one who loved me as much as yours does you."

Dave turned to face him, their eyes locking for long seconds before he
broke the contact.  "You're right, Rich - but it's real hard on a guy when
he finds his old man making out with another guy on the couch in his own
living room!"

"Come on, you knew he was homo when you decided to come live with him - and
that was three years ago."  He grinned suddenly.  "Why don't you give the
guy a break?  After all, he is your father!"

"Whose side are you on any way, Rich Dailey?" the heavier boy asked, his
anger flaring as he pushed himself to his feet.

His lanky friend shook his head slowly.  "Marshall, your dad's a great guy
- and he treats you like you were some kind of a king - he loves you!"

"I know," Dave growled and squatted back down beside his friend, pulling
absently at a clump of grass.  "It's just this nerd he's been seeing - ever
since we got back from the Cape this summer."  He tossed the grass away
from them and watched it splatter against a tree trunk.

"Luke's something, isn't he?" Rich asked, a smile slowly playing across his
face.  Dave nodded quickly.  "But, come on - what's wrong with your dad
being happy.  Even if it is with another guy?"

"You want to get fucked up the ass?" his friend growled, his voice rising.
"Or suck on this sausage?"  He grabbed his crotch and glared defiantly down
at the taller boy, daring him to continue to support his father.

"Shit!  You're fucking sick!" Rich grunted but blanched as he realized his
eyes had become fixed on his friend's basket and his mind was beginning to
imagine what his friend would look like naked.

Dave bowed his head and looked away again.  "It's just that the guy's Luke
- he acts like some dumb kid.  He actually asked Dad this past week to get
him a compact disk player for his car - can you imagine?"

Rich shook his head.  He couldn't imagine asking Vic Marshall for anything.
His friend's father would give a person the shirt off his back - but, in
Richard Dailey's mind, it wasn't right to abuse the man's generosity.

It was still hard for the fifteen year old to imagine the older man with
another guy.  The man was tall, better than just good looking, and as
masculine as he could ever imagine a man being. Whenever he permitted
himself to think about it, he found himself wishing the man was his father
too.  Then, he could be held and hugged like Dave sometimes was, and he
could feel safe from everything in the whole wide world.  And he was sure
it wouldn't matter to him if the man was gay or not.

Only, Vic Marshall was a faggot.  He had sex with other guys. A huge cock
appeared in his mind as he lay in the man's backyard with the man's son
under the autumn sun.  Hurriedly, he pushed the image away - but not before
he realized how clear and complete it was.

He shivered suddenly.  That kind of stuff was wrong.  Guys weren't supposed
to do that - not with each other.  They weren't even supposed to think
about it.  Yet, Vic did - and there was nothing wrong with the man that the
boy could see.  Except, maybe, that he appeared to be head over heels for a
real, screaming queen-type dufus named Luke Edwards.

The whole thing was confusing as all hell.  Vic Marshall was everything a
man was supposed to be - plus, he was warm and kind and gentle.  He didn't
lisp and swish - or anything else faggots were supposed to do.  He'd even
been married and fathered a son - he sure had to know what pussy was all
about.  Still, though, he'd somehow chosen to do it with other guys.

And this Luke character did seem to have the older Marshall by the ever
loving balls!

"Rich-" Dave's voice pulled the other boy back from his thoughts.  Rich saw
that he'd stood up again.  "I don't really think I mind Dad fooling around
with some other guy - I don't want to watch or anything, you know ... But
if he wants to bang a little queer ass at night and, then, send it on its
way - before I have to get up and go to school.  Well, that's okay - only
..."

The stocky boy turned away and stared unseeing at the copse of trees at the
edge of the yard.  Rich glanced up at his friend's back.  "Only what,
Dave?" he asked finally, shattering the silence that had grown to envelop
them.

"Only, I don't want some faggoty asshole coming to breakfast with me in
just his robe - or driving me to a friend's house!"  He turned back to face
his friend.  "How can I ever explain that to anybody else but you?"

"Hi," Rich Dailey offered suddenly, forcing a lisp to his voice and
flopping a decidedly limp wrist in the air.  "I'm Davey's step-mom - and
I've got balls!"

Both boys laughed.

"That was priceless, you asshole!"  Dave reached down and, grabbing Rich by
the hand, pulled him to his feet.  "Let's go in and see what kind of shit
the old man's managed to get himself into this time with Lukey."

"Where is he anyway?" he asked, glancing around then. "Sunday afternoons he
usually plays football with us."

"Talking to Lukey!" Dave answered, not hiding his disgust.  "Where else do
you expect to find a grown man?"

* * *

Rich gazed out at the full moon and tried to imagine it directly over
Boston, attempting to comprehend the miles that separated that ancient
teeming city his mother was always talking about from this even more
ancient, but quiet, beach he stood gazing out over now.  The miles of dark,
wave-capped sea were an incomprehensible barrier separating them.  His
mother's home could be in another galaxy and it wouldn't be any further
away from his ability to imagine it.

A cough brought his attention back to the reality of Cape Cod and the beach
in front of the Truro house Vic Marshall had hired for them.  His gaze fell
to the shingle of sand before him.  Against the reflections the full moon
created against the water, he could just make out the shadow of the man
sitting there.

Slowly, he made his way across the rock-strewn grass that passed for a yard
and stepped onto the small strip of sand that was the beach.  "Why're you
out here alone?" he asked his friend's father.

"I just wanted to be by myself, Rich."  The man's voice was a rich baritone
but, now, it was laced with melancholy.

"You want me to leave?"

"No - stay.  Actually, I'd like the company right now.  Have a seat."

Rich Dailey plopped down on the sand beside Vic Marshall, encircling his
knees with his arms.  "You've been awfully quiet since we got up here,
Mr. Marshall - Vic - you were even pretty withdrawn on the ride up here too
- is something the matter?"  He squatted on the sand beside the man.
"Something I can help out with?"

The man's laugh was soft and self-depreciating. "Nothing that taking twenty
- even ten - years off my age wouldn't help."

"What's wrong with your age?" the boy asked.  He'd just turned sixteen and
wished he was grown-up and free as only an adult could be.  It seemed
impossible that this man would ever want to give up the freedom his years
had earned him for the hell a kid had to go through.

"Do you want to go to bed with me, Rich?" Vic Marshall asked suddenly.

"God - no!  What do you think I am, anyway?"  He stared at the other man's
silhouette, but it was not anger he felt - only shock at the man's open
suggestion.

"So you say, Rich - and so I said when I was your age - I'll take your word
for it, though.  Still, when you're in your forties - even when you're in
decent shape - the kind of guys who want you and you want back has got
damned limited!"

"But, Vic, you've got this Luke guy."

"Rich, I had him - up to a week ago."

"What happened?" the boy asked, his curiosity getting the better of his
prudence.

"Some tramp car salesman swept him off his feet - or so I was told."  He
put his hands over his face and his voice was suddenly muffled as it
reached the boy beside him.  "A twenty-something man," he groaned.

Rich Dailey stared at the man beside him, feeling his hurt.  "You're well
rid of him," he offered finally.

"That's one of the oldest cliches - but just as true now as it was to Homer
or whomever."  The man smiled weakly. "I've been telling myself that a
hundred times a day for the past week - maybe, someday, I'll get to where I
believe it."

"Is it that hard?" he asked, his curiosity still overriding his caution.
"When it's another guy, I mean?"

"For me, it's been even harder, Rich - with Dave's mother, things had been
going downhill for a long time.  And I was stepping out on her almost from
the beginning - with people of both sexes."  He sighed.  "I thought I'd
found everything I'd ever wanted in Luke - and everything seemed to be
going along like clockwork.  He even told me he loved me the day before he
dropped the bombshell on me!"

Vic Marshall sobbed and again buried his face in his hands.  "I could've
understood his playing around with the guy."  His voice choked then.

Rich stared at the man, his face showing his shock even in the dark.  "How?
If you love somebody you've got to be absolutely faithful!"  His jaw set
then; he knew he was right about that.  Anything else was inconceivable.

Vic laughed softly in the summer night.  "That only happens in fairy tales,
Rich.  Let's talk about something else - this is supposed to be a holiday
and we're supposed to be up here having fun!"

"What do you want to talk about?"

"Have you and Dave found any girls yet?"

"I think he did."  Vic Marshall glanced quickly at the sixteen year old and
could just make out the frown that furrowed his brow.

"What about you, Rich?  You're a good looking guy - finding a girl should
be easy for you."

"I don't know.  I just-" He stared out at the black well that was the bay
all the way to Boston and wished he could make sense of his thoughts.  "I
can't explain it really - but I want to wait until somebody comes along
that I know will last.  Somebody who'll love me as much as I love them."

"You won't ever find that person unless you're willing to put yourself on
the line."

"That's something I'm not going to do - I won't get hurt, Vic!  That's
cruising for a bruising. You and Mom - you've both been hurt that way -
opening yourselves up.  And it sure doesn't look to be worth it!"

"Don't pen your emotions up inside yourself - you can quickly get to be a
very sick boy that way."

"I guess I'm saying the time isn't right for me yet.  When it's right, I'll
fall on my face just like everybody else does."  He smiled then, secure
behind the defenses he'd built to protect himself from his own emotions,
and turned his thoughts back to Boston and the stories his mother was
always telling him about it.

They kept wandering away from the city across the bay.  Vic kept drawing
his thoughts back to him.  Rich had seen the older man with Luke and had
seen him happy.  He had to admit to himself it had seemed strange to sit
down to a Sunday brunch with Dave and Vic - and Luke.  Everybody at the
table knew what the blond man and Vic had done the night before.  It sure
hadn't been the subject of any Norman Rockwell painting of a Sunday brunch
he'd ever seen.

The strangeness had only been transitory, however.  He didn't have any
problems putting that knowledge out of his mind and treating the two of
them as he did his mother and her boyfriends who stayed over.  A guy just
accepted them as a couple - or, maybe, individuals.

Yet, Dave Marshall didn't - or couldn't.  The other boy only saw two
faggots sitting at the table with him; he hadn't got past that point to
seeing his father's happiness.

Rich found himself wondering what his friend would think if he had to sit
down at a table with the guy who'd just spent the night fucking his mother
like Rich did.  After all, that was pretty close to Dave's own situation -
only, it was as plain as day that Vic Marshall did all the fucking in his
bed.

There never was any doubt as to who was porking whom with Vic and Luke -
just like there wasn't any with his mom and any of her boyfriends who'd
shared her bed.  A guy just had to accept reality and run with it.  His mom
and Luke both seemed to want everybody to know it when they'd been well
fucked.

Other than liking his sex, though, Luke had always been a nerd - a total
and complete creep.  There was no way anyone was going to like him ever -
much less accept him.  He was maybe four years older than Rich and Dave,
but he didn't even know how to talk to them.  He'd come out of a Catholic
high school and was all the time spouting religious gibberish - like he was
some kind of priest or something.  Or, else, he was slaughtering Spanish
and getting Vic to help him out with it.

That was the thing about the guy that Rich really couldn't understand.  He
was always getting Vic to help him with his studies at the community
college he was attending - even down to his term papers.  Rich couldn't
imagine asking anybody to do his work for him.  That was just plain being
lazy.  That was just using Vic Marshall.  And the man was too good to be
treated like that.

His thoughts wandered further and it did not matter that the older man had
left him alone with them and gone back to the house.  It was late, but the
night was warm and his thoughts were better companions than having Dave
running on about what he was going to do on his date the next day.  Rich
just could never get himself to care how many times his friend was going to
bang some girl.

He found himself wondering what it would be like to have Vic making love to
him, to be like Luke with his friend's father.  He smiled to himself; the
direction his thoughts were beginning to take was insane.  It wasn't even
possible that he'd ever do anything like Luke did.  Still, though, he was
alone; and it was strangely fun to imagine himself in that kind of
situation - even though he would never let it happen to him in real life.

He slipped his hands over his tight belly beneath the waist band of his
jeans, imagining it was Vic who was unbuttoning them and sliding them down
over his hips.  He smiled as he shoved the denim along his thighs and began
to play with himself, pulling his cock into full erection.  His strokes
rapidly became frenzied as he pictured his friend's father positioning
himself between his legs to take him.  He could feel the cool night air
caressing the soles of his feet riding the man's shoulders as Vic plunged
into him.

He came, and it seemed to him that he was never going to stop; just as it
seemed that Vic Marshall was going to fuck him forever.

* * *

Dave grinned as Rich climbed into the car; and, in the light from the dash,
the lanky boy thought his friend looked like a sculpture of a sated satyr
he'd recently seen in a book of Roman art.  "You ready to get laid, old
buddy?" he asked, nudging him in the arm.

"Sounds good to me," Rich answered, not really believing his friend's
promises for the evening but making himself sound happy at the prospect
just in case.  "Only, tell me, how come you're so sure of these babes
you've got lined up?"  He looked out the window at the lingering field of
snow turned to ice on the ground between him and the building in which he
lived.

 Dave laughed.  "They do go to my school, remember?"  The car pulled out on
the street and headed toward the Washington beltway.  "Besides," he
confided in a whisper, "The one I'm porking took on the whole damn football
team back in October."

He stared at the other boy in total disbelief.  "Come on, Marshall - how do
you know that?"

"I've got a couple of buddies on the team.  All you've got to do is get
them a little tipsy - and we've got the run of the house this whole
weekend."

"Your dad's out of town?"

"Yeah - on the West Coast."

"You've got the house to yourself?" he asked in disbelief.

"To ourselves, Rich - and we've got chicks too!  How many other sixteen
year olds do you know who can say they porked cunt all night long in the
comfort of their own beds?"

"Not many-" He looked dubious.  He hadn't known Vic was going to be out of
town; and a part of him was uncomfortable with the way his friend was
acting.  Dave should have had more respect for his father than to bring
girls into their McLean house and give them booze when his father wasn't
there.  The whole set-up sounded just a little too much like something that
could get Vic Marshall into trouble.

It was like Vic was always saying to both of them.  He didn't mind if they
drank; but he didn't want to end up in a Virginia jail for contributing to
the delinquency of a minor either.  The prospect of having girls over all
night somehow showed disrespect for Vic Marshall too.

He shrugged, accepting that Dave probably had set up an orgy.  He'd go
along with his friend like he'd always done.  It wouldn't surprise him any
if Dave's girl was totally satisfied - she should be with the way his
friend was looking these days.  Dave had shot up in the past year, gaining
six inches in height so that he was taller now than Rich was - even taller
than Vic.  And the boy had been working out too.  It showed well on him.
He had become one good looking, well-built guy.

They'd slipped into an easy silence by the time Dave guided the car onto
the beltway, and Rich permitted himself to wonder what it'd be like to get
into it with his friend.  Neither one of them was queer, he was sure of
that.  But he could imagine having that hard, muscular body naked and open
to his exploration.  He smiled to himself as he allowed his image of a
naked Dave Marshall to spread his legs and crawl between them, all the
while smiling down at him.

Shit, he'd do it too!  If Dave wasn't such an asshole about anything that
even remotely smacked of being queer.  It'd be fun to suck and get sucked
with nobody else knowing about it.  At least, he'd know what it was that
turned Vic Marshall on to that shit so damned much.  And, if he could suck
a cock, it couldn't be any harder to let the guy get between his legs and
pork him.

Only, he sure wasn't ever going to suggest that to Dave Marshall! The boy
would probably kill him.  He sure as shit would never be invited to visit
the Marshalls again - and, for some reason he couldn't understand, getting
away from Bellhaven in south Alexandria for long weekends and being with
Vic and Dave Marshall was more important to him than seeing Dave naked and
whatever could happen between them.


Rich Dailey sat numbly at the far end of the sofa.  At the other end was
the red-haired girl who was his date.  Dave had already gone off to show
the blond girl his room; and, from the sounds he was hearing, he was pretty
sure the two of them were showing each other more than his friend's model
airplanes.

He couldn't believe how loud a girl could be; his mother had sure never
made as much noise as this bitch down the hall was.  He found himself
wondering if she could be heard by any of the neighbors.  The problem was
that all the blond girl's noise was just an escape for him and he knew it.

The real problem was he didn't know what to do. How did a guy even start
getting it on with a girl?  What exactly constituted making a move?  He
didn't know what was expected of him now with the redhead sitting at the
other end of the couch from him.  Moments earlier, she'd been looking down
at her fingernails, actually seeming to study them.  But, now, she was
staring at him.  Like he was a bug - or something.

"Don't you like girls?" she asked him finally, staring directly into his
face.

"It isn't that," he mumbled, blushing and wishing he'd stayed home even if
it had meant putting up with his mother being drunk and some clown banging
her.

"Is it me then?" she demanded.

"No - you're okay."  He thought she was too mousy - but he knew that would
be the wrong thing for him to say.  "It's just that I don't know what to do
next."  The words were a whisper pulled forcibly from him.

"You don't!" she chortled.  "This is damned fucking unreal!"

"Ssshhh!"

She watched him appraisingly for a moment.  "So, your buddy in there
doesn't know you're a virgin?"  She grinned, and her face turned ugly,
making it seem even more like a rat's.  "Shit, he's probably half way to
popping a nut already - and showing my friend a good time!"  She studied
him silently for a moment.

"Rich, honey, I'm horny as all hell," she continued as she slid across the
couch towards him.  He thought of Vincent Price then, in one of those
horror movies.  The girl's smile seemed to reek of pure evil.

She moved against him, rubbing her body against his.  "If you've got
holding power, I'll keep your little secret, baby.  But, if you shoot too
soon, big bad Dave's going to know all there is to know about you."

"What do I do first?" he gulped in acquiescence and felt ashamed of
himself.  This wasn't how he wanted his first time to be.  He pulled away
from her slightly.

She sighed.  "Shut your eyes and lean into me, little man," she answered.
When he didn't move to do so immediately, she reached out and began to
unbutton his shirt.  "Come on, boy!" she commanded and pushed it over his
shoulders.  "You aren't supposed to keep mama waiting!"

He felt her lips touch his and, as her tongue pressed its way beyond his
teeth, her hand began to pull on his zipper.  He forced himself not to
recoil as her fingers slipped inside his underwear and found his cock.

"Oohh," she cooed against his ear. "It's big, baby.  This is definitely
going to work out just right!"

"It is?" he asked, relaxing slightly in her appreciation.

"Lie down, honey," she told him, pushing against his bare chest as she
spoke.  She tugged at his jeans, pulling them and his briefs over his hips.
She looked down at him then.  "Oh, yeah!" she groaned and licked her lips
in anticipation.  "Let me get out of these things and I'll be right back
with you."

He watched as the girl struggled to get her jeans over her hips, and, then,
supporting herself on the arm of the couch, pulling them over her feet.
She grinned and blew him a kiss before pulling her sweater over her head.
"You like?" she asked as she stood before him in just her bra and panties.

He nodded from the couch.  He could see that the bra wasn't padded and
froze for long moments as he imagined his face being pulled into that
expanse of loose, flabby meat and smothering in all that flesh.

He forced the fear away, his imagination creating a Dave Marshall nearly
stripped before him out of the girl and his cock grew hard.  He forced an
encouraging smile to his face as she unhasped her bra and threw it with the
rest of her clothes.

"You could go ahead and get out of those things," she told him as she
slipped her fingers beneath the elastic of her panties.

Obediently, he sat up and pushed his pants over his feet.  He couldn't look
at her as he leaned back against the couch; he was ashamed and embarrassed
as she melded more completely into his image of Dave.  Taking a deep
breath, he forced his briefs over his ankles.

"You're so nice," the red-haired girl cooed as she snuggled against him,
pushing him back into the couch.  Her fingers encircled his cock and,
before he was aware of it happening, she was lying on top of him, rubbing
her nipples against his chest.

"I ..."

"Sshh - don't talk!" she commanded and reached behind his head, pulling his
face to hers.  "Kiss me, big boy!" she demanded in a whisper.  Her lips
found his then, and he surrendered the last of his resistance.

He permitted her to place his hands on her breasts, squeezing and stroking
them as she directed him to do.  She moved over him and pushed one nipple
against his lips.  The mental picture of him being smothered between those
soft mountains loomed in the forefront of his mind and he took the nipple
between his teeth just so he could continue to breath.  She ground against
his chest as his tongue scoured her hard nipple.  He listened with distant
disgust to her increasingly ragged breathing.

He allowed himself to relax as she raised herself off his chest, realizing
for the first time how uncomfortable the girl's weight on top of him had
been.  Then, she was straddling him and taking his cock in her hand,
directing it into her.  He gasped as she lowered herself onto him and she
was Dave completely.  "Feels good, doesn't it, boy?" she giggled.  "Wait
until mama gets going good up here and you will never want to leave another
pussy unfilled again!"


He remembered completely the shame he'd known as he'd become exposed and
the betrayal of his body reacting to hers.  He also remembered his
surrender to her.  But the sensations that were supposed to make sex so
great were lost in a mindless void for him.  And the memory of his fantasy
that she was Dave Marshall riding him made it all suspect.

He didn't remember coming; there had only been his softening cock finally
slipping out of her.  He could remember the redhead collapsing on top of
him in exhaustion; but he couldn't remember the sensations he knew he must
have had.

When he'd managed to extricate himself from under her, his bare ass had
been hanging off the couch.  She kept mumbling endearments, telling him how
he had been the best she'd ever had.  He felt nothing.  He could not gain a
sense of it.

There was no sense of accomplishment - then or later.  No sense of victory.
No feeling of conquest.  He felt nothing that night - only the emptiness of
a void left behind in him.  It was a void that stayed with him long past
that night, plaguing him when he least expected it.

His one thought then, as well as later, was that he'd proved his
masculinity.  During the past summer, while they'd been up on the Cape,
he'd come too close to losing that masculinity in his own mind; there had
been too many nights when he'd jerked off to fantasies of Vic or Dave
fucking him.  Those visions, and the fears they'd engendered in him, were
gone - now that he'd made it with a girl.

She'd even said he was good.  He told himself he would never have been able
to pull that off if he'd been a real faggot.  He told himself that - and,
sometimes, he was even able to believe it - especially if he'd managed not
to slip into the fantasies for several days.  Still, though, he'd proved
himself and he had to remind himself of that whenever he saw an especially
good-looking guy and found himself wondering what he'd look like naked.

That night remained a blur of sensations that never pulled together for
him.  He remembered all four of them sitting around the living room.  He
remembered too sitting back with the blonde and watching as Dave plowed the
red-haired girl doggie-style on the carpet.  Yet, he was never able to
remember if he'd done anything with the blonde.

He also hadn't remember them taking the girls home.  He didn't begin to
remember things in a coherent pattern until they were entering the house
again.  As the door shut behind them, Dave said, "God, what ass!"  He
glanced at him and saw him rubbing his cock softly through his jeans.  "I'm
sore from all that pussy," the other boy groaned, a grin on his face.

He snorted, keeping his mind blank. "Shit!  You're just a rutting pig,
Marshall!  I don't think it'd have mattered to you what you were plugging."

Dave's face quickly contorted into something hurt and, a moment later,
angry.  "Don't say that!  Don't you even think it!"  His hand grabbed
Rich's shoulder and tightened on it.  "I'm not like my father in any way!
I'm not a fucking faggot, Rich Dailey.  It's got to be a real cunt under
me! You hear me?  A real cunt, damn it!"

"Vic's one of the nicest guys I've ever met." He looked over at the other
boy and, then, down at his arm.  "You're hurting me, Dave."

The bigger boy's hand released him then and he shuddered.  "I love my Dad!
I even hope to be a lot like him," he said slowly, calming down.  "Only,
I'm never going to do it with a guy!"  He stomped around the room, his
anger flaring again.  "Never!" he hissed again.

They'd got to bed as dawn broke over Washington - Dave going to his own
room papered with naked women with big breasts and model airplanes hanging
from the ceiling.  Rich climbed slowly into the bed in the spare bedroom
and fell asleep imagining Vic Marshall inside him.

#########################

Have you got your copy of CASTING COUCH CONFESSIONS yet?  If you like my
writing, you'll love the 17 stories in this anthology - mine and those that
I edited.  What better way to spend a nice, warm morning than having an
arousing story in one hand and your cock in the other?
	Help Nifty out at the same time you exercise your libido.  Use
their link to Amazon.com to order your copy of CASTING COUCH CONFESSIONS
and Amazon pays Nifty a small commission.