Date: Fri, 17 Oct 2008 11:43:32 -0700 (PDT)
From: Bart Hanks <bart384@yahoo.com>
Subject: Varsity Tough  Chapter Four

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)