Date: Fri, 23 Nov 2001 22:38:54 EST
From: RitchChristopher@cs.com
Subject: Autumn's-Leave-1

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are offended by gay fiction, containing graphic sex and explicit language,
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			      AUTUMN'S LEAVE

                                    by

                             Ritch Christopher


				CHAPTER ONE


	The final score was Atlantic 35, Masterson 7. It was our third
consecutive loss. My job as head coach wasn't on-the-line because I had
Richard Connelly, the Dean of Masterson University, over a barrel. He was
not able to afford a Biology teacher AND a football coach for the meager
salary I was receiving while filling both jobs. Our defense squad did its
best to keep the opponent's score as low as they could. It was our offense
with which I had my problems, as most of the points scored against my team,
were attributed to fumbles and pass interceptions while the defense was
sitting on the bench.

	Every Friday night, my assistant coaches, Buddy Waters and Dan
Mansfield, and I would go to the Rabble Room, a beer bar, and hash and
rehash the same things over and over. "We could do this..." and "We could
do that..." IF only we had a quarterback who could think and was able to
execute the plays any of the three of us sent to him from the sideline. Our
three wives had heard all this before and always chose to sit at a
different table from us.

	Nina, my wife, taught French at the same college as I. Mabel Waters
and Becky Mansfield were housewives. The highlight of Mabel's and Becky's
week was to attend the games during the fall. The two of them had more in
common and were closer to each other than they were to Nina. They each had
two children, a boy and a girl, approximately the same age range...ten,
eleven, and twelve. Nina and I were childless. I had gotten Nina pregnant
while we were both attending Baker U. Being engrossed in our studies while,
at the same time, trying to survive on part-time jobs and the little bit of
money we each received from our parents, we opted for her to get an
abortion, which she did, From that time on, our sexual encounters were more
careful, We married a year after we both graduated and soon got jobs at MU.
That had been nine years ago. We paid very little attention to sex
now. Neither of us had been exposed to the "seven year itch", meaning we'd
never had any extra-marital affairs...no cheating...no nothing, which
pretty much described our current sex life. In our eight years of marriage
we'd gone from once-a-month to what it was now..."only on special
occasions" such as birthdays, anniversaries, etc. If and when I ever got an
unexpected erection, I took care of it by myself, usually in the shower,
while Nina was in the bedroom reading or sleeping.

	On our ninth anniversary, we became pragmatic about our life
together and bought a set of twin beds for us to sleep in, This way, the
usual snoring, tossing, turning, or under-the-covers farting, didn't bother
either of us. Nina liked to watch Lifetime Television for women or the
Lifetime Movie Channel for entertainment when she wasn't absorbed in a
Taylor Caldwell novel. Ms. Caldwell had written over thirty novels, most of
them nearly 1,000 pages long and Nina had read all of them at least once
and was on the second or third go around on the ones like, "Great Lion of
God", "Pillar or Iron", or "Captains and Kings". I didn't read much fiction
as a biologist, and I would let Nina tell me the story of the chapter she
had just finished. Late at night was when I became her "little boy" and she
would tell me bedtime stories until I fell asleep...just like a kid. Hell,
when sex between us was out of the question, what better way was there to
drop off to sleep?

	The closest Nina and I ever came to breaking our marriage vows was
in Nina's second and my third years of teaching. She and I had separate
incidents where a male student of hers and a female student of mine became
over-infatuated with a "teacher crush". Both Nina and I were understanding
when these episodes occurred.  The boy actually felt he had fallen in love
with Nina. I couldn't hold that against him because I had done the same
thing, years earlier. My incident involved a young vixen who assumed if she
lured me into having sex with her, her GPA might go up.  She was
disappointed when neither her grade nor my penis arose.

	For many months after the "crushes" were resolved, Nina and I would
joke whenever we had a disagreement and say we could still get divorced and
give in to the two people that really loved us. It was all in fun, because
Nina and I never argued...not in the dozen years we'd known each other. Our
marriage was complacent but not really exciting, I'm afraid.

	Buddy and Dan, my assistant coaches, didn't have teaching jobs at
the university, but were hired full time to assist in other athletic
programs during the football off-season. Buddy doubled as coach of the
basketball and baseball teams, as both teams were small without a demanding
schedule. Dan, on the other hand, coached wrestling and gymnastics. Buddy's
and Dan's sports took a back seat to their football coaching positions,
for, however great or small the crowds were that attended our Friday home
games, these were the events that made money for the school and the
athletic department's general fund.

	Manchester U was the heart and soul of the town of Manchester,
which had a population of about 70,000 people. The university had been
founded in 1920 with housing for only the students and there were a few
small shops to supply their immediate needs. It was discovered that this
was an ideal place to advance winter sports as there were a couple of
mountains in the county to attract skiers. Soon the town grew and built
itself around the college. Eighty years later, there were many businesses
and stores, and the town had its own city government, comprised mostly of
Democrats, as the town was very liberal minded, full of free spirits who
liked to "get away" from the hustle and hubbub of larger cities.

	Monday morning, after Friday night's loss to Atlantic U, I got a
note from Dean Connelly asking me to come to his office. I presumed it was
to get a dose of ribbing and tongue lashing for the football team's pitiful
performance. Sometimes the Dean did this in jest. At other times, I felt he
was being halfway serious in his chiding. His secretary, Ruth, told me to
go on in to the Dean's office as he was expecting me. I entered his office
and began my usual spiel of apologies before he could even say "hello".

	"Now, Dean," I began, "before you start, I have no new defense
about the way the team played. I've used all the excuses I know. As a
matter of fact, I should just write them on a sheet of paper and assign
them numbers. That way when you ask why we lost I can just say, 'excuse
number 14' and we wouldn't have to go into details."

	"Sit down, Jim, please," the Dean said. "Excuse number 14, eh? I
didn't know that your excuses when that high numerically."

	"Oh, sure, I have dozens of them." I replied.

	"Hmmm, maybe I SHOULD have you make a list. Maybe I could use one
or two of them when I'm trying to get additional money from the
board...but, no, that's not why I asked you to come see me."

	"It's not?" I asked, "Then I suppose you've finally decided to fire
me."

	"No, no, no, quit being so damned paranoid." he said.

	"And just when I thought my new medication was working," I joked
and he laughed.

	"Jim, I had a call this morning from Ted Summerfield. I think
you've met him. He's on our board of directors here at MU."

	"Yes, I've met him." I replied.

	"He called me over the weekend, asking me to do a favor for
him. That was just a nice way of saying that it was something I HAD to do
for him. It seems he has a nineteen-year-old nephew who was going to the
state university and got into some kind of trouble. He didn't say what kind
of trouble, but apparently it was bad enough to get the boy expelled."

	"Uh oh, I think I know what you're going to say. He wants you to
enroll his nephew at MU." I said.

	"You got it!" he added, quickly.

	"And you're going to tell me he's a science major and you want me
to do some private tutoring in Biology."

	"No, you're off track, now."

	"Oh?  What then?"

	"It seems the boy, his nephew, was very good in high school
athletics...football, basketball, baseball,...the works! Then this past
summer before the beginning of the fall term, his parents were both killed
in an airplane crash. The nephew, being an only child, tried to make it on
his own, but something had happened to him with the loss of his parents and
he lost all interest in school...well, in life in general."

	"Was he involved in sports during his freshman year?"

	"No, that's just it. He never went out for any sports when he got
to college. I suppose he must've been tired of competing and wanted to
concentrate on academics. But now that his parents are gone, his grades had
dropped tremendously. He seldom went to class which made him far behind his
peers in his studies. Well, to make a long story short, Ted asked if I
would let him enroll here and do everything in my power to see if I could
get him involved actively in sports once again. Ted said that the boy had
been quite good in high school. He broke several high school records in
football, also in track."

	"Ah hah! And this is where I come into the picture." I said.

	"Very perceptive, Jim. How in the world did you guess?" he kidded.

	"Do you know if the kid was on drugs or anything?"

	"No, that's what Ted suspected, but somehow, Ted had a screening
test done on him and his urinalysis came back clear. No drugs. No booze. I
mean, on the surface, it sounds like some form of depression. Maybe he
NEEDS to be on drugs, but on prescribed medications."

	"Incidentally, what WAS the boy's major at State U?"

	"He didn't declare one. He was a liberal arts, general ED."

	"With no goal or purpose, I presume."

	"Apparently. One of the subjects he had been excelling in was
Biology. Of course, when I heard this, I naturally thought of you...plus
your being coach of the football team. I won't put the demand on you that
Ted put on me, but I WOULD like to ask you to help me with him."

	"What's his name?" I asked.

	"Tom. Tom Summerfield."

	"Is he here already or when can we expect him to arrive?" I asked.

	"According to Ted, Tom has a court appearance scheduled Wednesday
and if everything goes according to plan, he'll be arriving at Manchester
late Friday."

	"Just in time to see us play Wingfeld Academy Friday night."

	"A victory over them might be an advantage in your corner in trying
to win him over." the Dean said,

	"If he is as you say, it'll take more than winning a football game
to impress him."

	"Maybe so, but it'll help at least.  A substantial win might not
hurt your reputation any, either."

	"I've been holding my breath ever since I came into you office for
you to throw a dig at me."

	"Good, then you're not disappointed," he retorted, smiling.

	"Just how do you suppose I get young Tom interested in sports after
such a long lay-off?" I asked, sincerely.

	"I'm leaving that up to you. See if you can interest him in being a
football manager...a stretcher bearer for when one of your guys gets
hurt... something!"

	"Oh, I'm sure he'll be jumping up and down with enthusiasm, wanting
to be the water boy."

	"It would be doing me a big favor if you and Nina would invite him
to your house one night this weekend for dinner. You might even invite a
few members of the squad to join you. That way, he'll get to meet a few of
the guys and maybe he won't feel so unwelcome."

	"OK, I'll do my best, but I'm not promising any miracles." I said.

	"I'm not asking for a miracle. All I want you to do is DO your
best. I won't ask for anything more."

	"All right, is that all?"

	"That's about it. I just want to wish you good luck on your game."

	"I need more than luck. The best thing to happen would be for the
offense NOT to show up. I'd just play my defense all night, doing both
jobs," I said as I headed for the door.

	I left the Dean's office feeling reprieved. At least he didn't lash
out about how poorly we played against Atlantic. I thought I'd wait until I
got home after my classes to inform Nina she was going to have to prepare a
big meal one night this weekend for the rich troublemaker. She took the
news better than I expected. She wanted to make it a bigger evening by
inviting Bud and Mabel and Dan and Becky. I called four members of the team
and told them I wanted to discuss some plays and strategies Saturday night
for the upcoming games, after Friday's game with Wingfeld A.  I chose my
two wide-receivers, Phil Dickers, who was also the team captain, and Howie
Jernigan, plus the center, Harmon Lewis, and the fullback, Wiley
Hammersmith. I didn't tell them they were being invited to a full-fledged
dinner, I told them that there would be plenty of snacks.

	Nina was aware of how athletes liked to eat beef, so she blew the
month's grocery budget by buying enough prime rib to feed around a dozen
people. Normally, she would only buy this meat cut once a month for the two
of us. That's why I was stunned when she brought the groceries home from
the store. She bought twelve potatoes to bake and fixings for a Caesar
salad. Dessert for college guys could only be chocolate, so she decided to
make a huge chocolate mousse. The guys I had invited were old enough to
drink legally, so I bought a half dozen bottles of Mondavi red wine, a case
of Coor's beer, and two twelve-packs of Diet Coke, just to be on the safe
side.

	Friday night's game was not as big as disaster as I expected. The
defense held Wingfeld to one field goal for three quarters. All we had to
do was make one score to either tie or win, but fate was not on our
side. We remained scoreless and lost three...zip. It was goddamned
frustrating. After the game, I went to the locker room where the guys were
trying to shower off their depression and anger. I wanted to compliment the
defense on the job they had done and tried my best to avoid saying how
disappointed I was with the offense. Bud and Dan had already gone in to
give their notes while I lagged behind. I was really in no hurry to say
what I had to say, or rather what I was in the habit of saying...bullshit
like "Good game, boys", or "Just wait, we'll get 'em next week." As I
started down the long corridor leading to the changing room, I saw a
shadowed silhouette being lit from behind by the stadium lights, at the end
of the tunnel. I didn't recognize the person by his size and build. Then,
as I approached, his looks became more visible. It was a good-looking kid,
about nineteen or twenty years old. He was wearing jeans, a turtleneck
sweater, and a lettered sport jacket with the initial "C" sewn on it.

	"Coach Kerr?" he spoke.

	"Yes?"

	"Hi, I'm Tom Summerfield. I was told by Dean Connelly that I should
meet you here."

	"Oh, yes, I've been expecting you. Did you see the game?"

	"Yeah, I saw it."

	"I don't need to ask you what you thought of it," I said,
defensively.

	"It wasn't all that bad. Your defense was terrific, but very
frankly, you're in dire need of a quarterback." he said, very
matter-of-factly.

	"Tell me something I DON'T know," I replied

	"If you don't mind my saying it, I've seen better high school
quarterbacks than the one you have."

	"Oh?" Now I wanted to see the wisdom of his youth.

	"Yeah, your guy's just wearing a uniform and filling a blank
space. He has no feeling when he throws a pass. There's an art in knowing
just when and how to release the ball."

	"Really? Did you ever play quarterback?"

	"Sure...in high school. We were state champions all three years
when I was playing." he said.

	"Do you still play.?" I asked.

	"Nope, not any more," he replied,

	"Why not?"

	"Let's just say I retired from the world of sports."

	"...and you're how old?" I asked.

	"Twenty."

	"You mean you were satisfied with your legacy enough to just walk
away and quit?"

	"Something like that."

	As the two of us talked, we moved closer to the door entrance where
the light was better and I could see him better. He had medium brown hair
and heavy brows that matched. When I looked into his green eyes, it was as
if I could see on and on, like some spiral that led to a long dark
passageway. He had the same forlorn look that Anthony Perkins had in
"Psycho", as if he was filled with a combination of loneliness and
rage. His physique was taut with small but well developed muscles which I
assumed he had acquired from his high school sports. He was just slightly
taller than I but I did have to look up when I spoke to him. He had a habit
of looking down and shifting weight from one foot to the other. I got the
impression he was meeting me because he had to, not because he wanted
to...probably to please his uncle or the Dean.

	"Are you all settled in your dorm?"

	"Sure, I got in town around one this afternoon. I went to see Dean
Connelly first thing and he had one of the guys show me to my dorm and to
my room. I got unpacked and spent the rest of the afternoon walking around
town to sorta get a feel of the place."

	"Did you like what you saw?"

	"Not really. There's not too much to do here, is there?"

	"Sure, if you don't expect too much."

	"I only saw two movie houses, four or five department stores."

	"There's a lot more out in the suburbs, including several shopping
malls and there are few movie complexes if that's what interests you."

	"Not really. I didn't want to come here in the first place, but it
was at my Uncle Ted's insistence that I enrolled at Manchester."

	"Maybe I can be of some help. What kinds of things do interest
you?" I asked.

	"Very frankly, nothing," he replied.

	"Do you like clubs? Dancing? Eating good food at nice restaurants?"

	"Nope,"he said. "I like to read. That's how I usually spend my
extra time when I'm not doing school work."

	"I...uh...have to go in and give my team a pep up talk. Would you
like to come in and meet the guys?"

	"No, thanks," he replied.

	"A bunch of us usually go down to one of the local pubs for a beer
or soda after the game. Would you like to join us?"

	"Not really. I should get back to the dorm and finish
unpacking... maybe watch the 'Letterman Show' or something, although
there's usually a rerun on on Fridays."

	"Did Dean Connelly mention to you that my wife and I are expecting
you for dinner tomorrow night."

	"He said something about it..."

	"You ARE coming, aren't you?"

	"I suppose."

	"There are a few of the guys from the team coming also. They, too,
live at the dorm. I'll have one of them come by your room, say about 7:30,
and you can come with him."

	"That'll be fine."

	"What's your room number?"

	"307," he said.

	"The guy that'll be calling on you is named Harmon Lewis, or Harm,
as his teammates call him. He's plays center on the team."

	"I got a look at him when he took his helmut off. He's the one with
almost white blonde hair."

	"Yes, he's the one."

	"OK, just tell him to knock. I'll be ready,"

	"Fine. It was nice meeting you, Tom," I said, putting out my hand
to shake his. He took my hand but his grip had no firmness to it. It was
almost if he wasn't in the habit of shaking hands. I released his hand and
opened the door to leave him. He didn't walk away. He just stood there
watching me as if he didn't want to go back to the dorm, or anywhere else
for that matter.

	The only noise in the locker room was the sound of showers. None of
the team was talking.  It was an embarrassed or shamed silence. The defense
was feeling animosity toward the offense, but they were keeping their anger
subdued. As they noticed my presence, they gave me one look and turned back
to do something facing their locker...combing their hair, getting dressed,
wadding up their uniform to be washed, etc. I broke the silence once I was
in the center of the room.

	"Well, guys, what do I have to say...or have you already said it to
yourselves?"

	No one replied. They just looked at each other halfway in disgust.

	"We just couldn't seem to get that one score on the board, could
we?"

	"Well, they didn't seem to do much better." Buzz Craven said.

	"That's because of the tremendous effort on the defense squad." I
said. "You should be very proud, keeping them to only three points. That in
itself is quite an achievement."

	"Hey, Coach!" Bobby Frazier, yelled.

	"Yes, Bobby?"

	"Why don't you let the defense play offense for a series of downs
next Friday to see if WE can get some points on the scoreboard?"

	"You think that would do the trick?" I asked.

	"Shit, yeah!" Bobby answered. "It seems the offense can't do it!"

	That's all it too to start a row. They had needed some word to
release their pent-up frustration. Three members of the offense team rushed
Bobby, tackled him on the concrete floor and started beating him in the
face with their fists. Within fifteen seconds, there was over thirty
players involved in a two-fisted free-for-all. Benches were toppled
over. About a dozen guys who were showering came out stark naked and jumped
on the pile of brawling athletes. Blood was beginning to pour from six or
eight noses. Bud and Dan joined me to start pulling team members back away
from the flailing group. Phil Dickers, the captain, ran from the ruckus to
grab a whistle on a wall hanger. He began tweeting it full blast, trying to
maintain some order by his authority.

	One by one, Bud, Dan, and I got them separated. We weren't aware
until we'd finished that we had placed all the defense against one wall and
the offense on the opposite wall. No one had crossed lines when it came to
battling. When they were fairly calmed down, I stood in the center looking
at both sides.

	"Jesus Christ!" I screamed, "Why didn't you use that kind of effort
against Wingfeld on the field tonight? You guys are not playing together as
a team. What's it gonna take?"

	"A fucking quarterback who can pass and a couple of wide-end
receivers who can catch, for starters!" Randy Webb yelled.

	"Now, let's don't start that. We've had all the fighting in the
locker room that I want to see tonight," Bud screamed. All eyes had turned
to Steve Wilborne, the quarterback to see how Randy's remark had affected
him. Steve was all but shaking with anger and hurt.

	"I have the solution for you, Coach." Steve said, his voice
quivering.  "Why don't you just look for that quarterback...you're gonna
have to, because I quit!"

	"No, you're not quitting," I said to him. "Now just cool off!! I
MEAN IT!!! ALL OF YOU COOL OFF!!!" I shouted.

	"I AM COOLED OFF!" Steve yelled back at me, "AND I FUCKING WELL AM
QUITTING...AS OF NOW!!!"

	Steve slammed his locker shut, grabbed his jacket and left the
room, slamming the door behind him. That was enough to quieten the entire
team. Each looked at the others in blame and disbelief.

	"Now we're in a fix!" Dan exclaimed.

	"Looks like the job of saving the team falls on your shoulders,
Tommy," Phil Dickers said, aiming his remark to Sammy Thompson, a freshman
who was the backup quarterback.

	"Goddamn!" Randy said, "We just went from bad to worse."

	"Randy!" I yelled at him, "Calm down, please, Sammy's gonna need
your support, not your negativity."

	"He can have my support right now," Randy replied, throwing his
jock strap at Sammy who looked like a scared kitten in a rainstorm. Every
one laughed at Randy's action.

	"Well, it looks like we're gonna have Saturday and Sunday afternoon
practice out of desperation," I said.

	This announcement precipitated an abundance of expected moans and
groans, but everyone agreed to show up, hoping that Steve would go home,
cool off, have a change of heart, and rescind his quitting the team. Very
frankly, if Sammy, the second string quarterback, had been an improvement I
would've been delighted that Steve was gone. Randy was right. Steve was the
major clog in the cogs. It really wasn't Steve's fault, he just didn't have
the talent needed to be a college starting QB. Of course there was always
the possibility of an earthquake or an iceberg melting to create a flood,
causing us to cancel the rest of the season. Then again, if we forfeited
the rest of the games, I would be out of a job, but the team would be safe
from bodily injury on the field. As a coach, I shouldn't have been so
damned negative, but fact was fact, our defense was pathetic!

	Due to the narrow loss, the fight in the locker room, and Steve's
exit, Dan, Bud, our wives and I, all decided to dispense with the rally at
the Rabble Room. I wasn't too keen on drinking...not tonight. I had to find
some goddamned rabbit to pull out of the hat by practice time, the next
day.  Maybe I could audition the rest of the guys. Who knew? Maybe one of
them had had a secret desire to play quarterback and had never been given
the chance. Hell, if one of them could catch the snap from the center, that
would be an improvement over Sammy. I remembered when I was a kid, EVERYONE
wanted to be a quarterback. It was a dream in the back of every kid's mind.

	Nina realized I was troubled and did her best to cheer me up in the
car on the way home. She must've really been worried about me because she
suggested we have sex, just to relax me. I kissed her on the cheek and
politely declined. Tonight I had no sex drive whatsoever. Instead, I went
into the den, opened a cool bottle of Smirnoff Ice, and put on the DVD of
Oliver Stone's "On Any Sunday". It was like a bus man's holiday, watching
the pro players' frustration. Between the beer and the movie, I nodded off
to sleep in an easy chair and stayed there all night. The next thing I
knew, Nina was tugging lightly at my shoulder asking if I was ready to have
breakfast. I told her I'd rather shave and shower first, as I was due to be
on the field by noon.

	I'm not sure how long I stayed in the shower, letting the hard
beads coming from the WaterPik sprayhead, pound against the base of my
neck. It was almost like a nerve orgasm.  Speaking of which, I thought I
might as well masturbate and do all I could to relax before confronting my
impending depressing afternoon. I delayed my climax as long as possible. It
was so much easier for a man to control his sexual dynamics while he was
alone, rather than during the act of sexual intercourse...even with his
wife. The opinion of masturbation had changed since the sixties and
seventies when Masters and Johnson made masturbation acceptable. Prior to
that, we couldn't even say the word in the classroom, much less, discuss
it. After their report, it became a topic most people could talk about at
cocktail parties. The early figures were staggering when they said 99% of
all males and 74% of all females either had or still did masturbate...and
that it was normal for the majority of husbands and a large percentage of
wives to continue the practice after marriage. So I had no shame or guilt
whenever I felt the urge to pull my pud. I always assumed that Nina did the
same thing when I wasn't around. It was during our fourth year of marriage
that we experimented with mutual masturbation, or we would sit on opposite
sides of the room and watch the other get off by himself. That still didn't
stop me from having my private sessions in the shower. That was one right
and privilege every male seemed to afford himself. I'd never heard a man
say that he'd ever had a partner that could satisfy him the way he could
during solo sex. When I was fourteen, my best friend and I used to pass an
old wrinkled, semen-stained, "Playboy" back and forth during an all-guy
jerk-off session. I never touched my best friend, nor he, me. I always
figured though that another male could do a better job getting a male "off"
than a woman could. I think the same thing's true about a woman. A man
never knows just how to find and touch "that spot". Yes, I was certain, a
woman could get herself "off" better, too. I must've been depriving myself,
because when I came. it shot all the way across the shower and hit the
glass door with a thud. I shaved, I showered, I came, and I felt
better...ready for breakfast and then off to meet my woes.

	When I arrived at the field, I presumed Bud and Dan had had a rough
night also. They had been there thirty minutes before I got there. Dan was
the first to speak when he came running up to meet me at my car.

	"Any word from Steve?" he asked.

	"Nope,..you?"

	"Nothing." Dan replied.

	"Me, either," Bud echoed.

	"What are we gonna do?...Any ideas?" Dan asked.

	"A couple." I said.  I told them about having the entire team show
off their passing skills to see if we had hidden talent we'd
overlooked. They agreed there was no harm in trying.

	When the team assembled, we told them we wanted to try a few
maneuvers and techniques...some things we might be able to use in
combination plays, like where the quarterback snaps the ball and hands off
to another player to pass down the field. We just wanted to see who had the
best passing arm. We didn't let them know that they were actually
auditioning for the QB position. One by one they each took their turn,
there WAS more passing talent on the squad than Bud, Dan, or I had
realized.

	Two hours passed, and in our desperation, we kept trying to find
what we were looking for. Phil Dickers actually looked better than Sammy,
but Phil was the best pass receiver on the team. I could sacrifice one area
while I was sacrificing another. In spite of the temperature being in the
low 50's, we all were sweating...mostly out of frustration. I stopped and
gave everyone a fifteen minute breather. It was also my chance to take some
Excedrin. I walked back across the field toward my car to get the headache
medicine, when I noticed a figure sitting high in the stands above the
fifty yard line. It was Tom Summerfield. I walked and thought, then I
thought some more. Hell, there was no harm in asking...I remembered how the
Prince had tried the glass slipper on every lady in the country and decided
he had nothing to lose to let Ella in the cinders try it, too.  Oh! What
the hell!!

	"Tom!" I screamed up toward the grandstand. "Tom Summerfield!"

	"Yeah?" he replied cupping his hands around his mouth.

	"Can you come down and meet me?" I yelled.

	"What for? Am I breaking a rule by being here?" He answered back.

	"No! You're fine." I replied, "I just need to ask you something."

	Tom got up and walked down the double-step passageway through the
seats and met me by the railing next to the field.

	"Whassup?" he asked.

	"How long has it been since you passed a football?"

	"Are you serious?"

	"Quite." I said,

	"Oh, about a year or so..." he replied.

	"I..uh..heard a few things about your high school passing record
from Dean Connelly and wondered if you were up to giving my guys a few
pointers."

	"No way, man."

	"Come on, just a couple. Whaddya say?"

	"You want me to make a fucking asshole out of myself in front of
the whole team?"

	"Well, if you've been watching closely at what we've been doing, I
don't think you'd be making too big of an asshole out of yourself."

	"Yeah, I saw and had a few laughs," he said. "Where's your
quarterback? I didn't see him get hurt in last night's game."

	"He..uh..couldn't make it to practice this afternoon and we're
really in a bind by not being able to practice catching...Look, I don't
care where the ball lands after you throw it. It'll be the receiver's job
to watch the ball and catch it."

	"Hell, I don't know where it'll land myself, I'm so out of
practice."

	"Well, you can't do any worse than we are right now...Just a
couple...whaddya say."

	"All right...just a couple, but the first guy that laughs at
me...I'm walking off the field."

	"I DARE 'em to laugh. The first one that does'll be doing pushups
'til sundown."

	"All right...but just remember..."

	"I'll take my chances." I said.

	Tom took off his lettered jacket and followed me back to the center
of the field. I introduced him to the guys as a new student who might be
going out for the team next year and I wanted him to see what it was like
to play with the varsity. A couple of the players looked at me
suspiciously. Bud and Dan thought I had lost my mind, but the teams assumed
play position... offense against defense. I warned the defense not to
tackle Tom as he was not suited up and I wanted no lawsuits if they should
decide to blitz him.

	Tom walked behind Harm and slid his hands beneath Harm's crotch for
the snap. I'd told the wide receivers to run as far down field as possible
and await a rocket. Harm snapped the ball to Tom. Tom took four steps
backward to take his aim at Phil. Tom pumped the football until Phil was
practically on the ten yard line...and then like a bullet, Tom sailed the
most perfect pass to Phil any of us had ever seen. Phil didn't have to
move. The ball headed right at him. Phil caught it and ran the extra ten
yards to make the mock touchdown.

	"Was that talent or luck?", was on everyone's mind at the same
time. Never had Steve come close to this feat. There was only one way to
find out...Do it again! Same setup, same play, only this time Tom set his
sight on Howie Jernigan. Only Howie had pretended to fall which meant he
would be late on arriving at the ten, the best he could manage would be the
thirty yard line. "Thirty" was even better for Tom as he sailed the ball
right into Howie's arms. Tom was satisfied with what he'd shown me and
started to walk back toward the stands.

	"Hey, hey, hey, where are you going?" I yelled.

	"You said, 'a couple'. THAT was a couple!" he replied and again
started going off the field.

	The team and my two assistant coaches were almost in shock from
what they had just seen. Who WAS this guy and how did I know him? They
wondered if I had been plotting some scheme to get rid of Steve so that I
could bring in my own replacement. Then again, they knew me better that
that. If I had had a secret weapon, I wouldn't've waited till after four
losses for this surprise element.

	"Tom, what you did just now was unbelievable. What would it take if
I asked you to stay the rest of the practice just to help the other guys
out?"

	"Nothing...because I gotta go."

	"May I ask where."

	"I gotta go meet this guy in the door about buying some textbooks
from him. I'm gonna need them, come Monday, and he's got quite a few,
almost brand new that he'll sell to me second-hand."

	"All right, but is it possible that you would come and practice
with the team...same time, tomorrow."

	"Maybe...if I'm up."

	"You ARE coming to my house for dinner tonight, aren't you?"

	"I suppose."

	"That was Harm, the center, who'll be coming by to get you."

	"OK." he said, with a "whatever" attitude.

	My hope for a winning quarterback was dashed in an instant, unless
I could get Harm, Phil, and Howie to work on him before, during, and after
dinner tonight at my house. Shit, I wished I had invited a couple of the
cheerleaders to let them charm him with their feminine wiles. Hell, if it
was female companionship he was searching for, I was so desperate, I would
even consider asking Nina to take him to bed. I needed the kid and he
needed me, only he didn't know it yet. According to the Dean, the kid was
all but independently wealthy, so there was no car or boat I could offer
him to sign on with the team. There had to be something I could tempt him
with, but I'd leave that up to Harm and the other two guys to find out
tonight.

	I rushed home after practice with so much excitement that I grabbed
Nina who was standing by the sink washing lettuce, and I whirled her around
yelling, "Whee".

	"My God, Jim, what happened? Did they suspend the rest of the
season?"

	"Nope! But I have a feeling I'm going to be a bigger part of the
season than was expected."

	"Don't tell me that Troy Aikman has reentered Manchester for
remedial classes." she said.

	"Nope, we have our own Troy Aikman and Dean Connelly gave him to me
as a present!"

	"Put me down, and tell me what you're talking about." she said,
smiling.

	I sat her in one of the kitchen chairs and talked non-stop like a
raving maniac about what I'd seen and everything that had been discussed in
my meeting with the Dean. Nina almost popped my balloon when she asked.

	"Is he willing to play for the team?"

	"Not yet! But he will, after tonight." I said with
confidence. "Now, let me go clean up and I'll come back to help you with
the dinner."

	"That'll be a pleasant change. I thought you'd be famished for
Saturday college football on TV, as usual."

	"Not today! I feel like my coaching contract is about to be renewed
and that's all I want to think about!"

	I ran up the stairs, taking off my clothes and dropping them in the
bedroom floor before jumping into the shower. I was too fucking excited,
but I knew how to tranquilize myself. I grabbed a bar of soap and began
sudsing my genitals until I was fully erect. Damn! It felt so good, I did
it a second time before getting out and towelling myself.

	By 7:30, Nina, with my help, had set a banquet table worthy of King
Arthur and his knights. The prime rib was succulent to the whiff. Nina had
really outdone herself. I was so grateful to her and glad that she was my
wife. She could always find the cure to my ailments whether physical or
emotional. This was nothing new. I'd realized long ago that Nina was the
most perfect wife in the world.

	Fifteen minutes later, Dan, Becky, Bud, and Mabel arrived in Dan's
car. Dan and Bud must've given Becky and Mabel the same treatment and recap
that I'd given Nina, for all four of them were chattering like chipmunks
with excitement over the White Knight I'd discovered. They wanted to win,
the same as I.

	Then one by one, the boys arrived, shortly after 8:00. First,
Howie, then Phil, followed by Harm who was by himself.

	"Where's Tom?" I asked.

	"Don't know, Coach," Harm answered. "I went up to his room like you
asked, but he wasn't there. I knocked on the doors on either side of his
and Barry Crabtree said that he'd seen Tom leaving about seven o'clock. He
didn't come back and wasn't there."

	A dark cloud descended over the dinner guests with Nina and me
included. The excitement that had filled the room only minutes earlier had
vanished into a quiet propensity of disappointment.

	We ate the meal, but the conversation was sparse among us. The
dream we had all had was just what it was...a dream...not real. Tom would
not be joining and saving our team. We were farther back than square one
without him or Steve, for that matter. After dinner, the nine of us went
into the den and watched Notre Dame beat Clemson. We let the TV
sportscasters fill in our lack of conversation, for not one of us really
wanted to say anything. It was like we all had a big open sore and hoped no
one would touch it or interrupt the pain. The game was over by 11:00 and
our guests left, thanking Nina for the meal, although no one had eaten
much. Nina walked everyone out to their cars and came back, closing the
door behind her. I remained sitting in the den, deep in thought.

	"Leave the dishes in the sink!" Nina said to me.

	"What?"

	"I said to leave the dishes soaking in the sink. I'll wash them in
the morning. I'm going to bed and I know you'd like to be left alone."

	"Thank you, darling," I said to her, "You're always thinking about
me...never yourself. Have I told you lately just how much I love you?"

	"You don't have to. I know. I love you just as much,"

	"We're good together, Nina," I said,

	"I know...always have been and always will be." she said, as she
walked behind my chair and combed my hair with her fingers. She leaned down
and kissed the top of my head, the way a mother would to her child. I
reached up and patted her cheek and then she went upstairs to the
bedroom. I picked up the cable TV remote control and went through the
numerous offerings but none of them seemed to fit my mood until I got to
the Playboy channel. Time had changed the fare on the adult channels. When
they first started, every sex act was simulated, now the women took the
men's penises in their mouths and sucked away. I felt myself getting
aroused watching this John fucking a blonde's 42 inch tits. I felt the urge
to jerk off but I had no towel to catch my semen and I didn't want to cum
on my trousers or the furniture, so I rubbed myself through my pants. I
knew I was getting close to a climax...about three or four more rubs and
I'd shoot all over myself. My clothing was spared by the ringing of the
phone...my real phone, not the one on the TV screen.

	"Hello?" I answered.

	"Jim?"

	"Yes?"

	"This is Dick Connelly. I hope I didn't awaken you."

	"No, I was watching TV. Is something wrong?"

	"I'm not sure. There might be. Brian Gleason, one of my old alums,
the chief of police just called me and said that they had picked up Tom
Summerfield and were holding him at police headquarters."

	"My God! What happened. He was supposed to come to my house for
dinner tonight, but when one of the boys went up to his dorm to get him,
he'd already left."

	"I was hoping he had been to your house. I don't know what he did
or why they picked him up. I tried to call his Uncle Ted, but Ted's out of
town for the weekend. The police won't let him go unless an adult comes to
get him. Because of my position, I didn't want to be the one to go to
police headquarters at this hour. If anyone saw me, it might appear more
serious than it actually is...I was wondering, if by chance, you would go
down and get him released to your custody?"

	"Of course, I will," I said, without hesitation.

	"Call me if there's any trouble. Brian said that Tom wasn't under
arrest and he wouldn't jail him out of courtesy to me and Ted. He and Ted
were roommates when they were in college together. So whatever Tom did
can't be that serious or Brian wouldn't be so eager to release him."

	"I'll go get him, don't worry."

	"Thank you, Jim."

	"That's quite all right, Dean. If it ISN'T serious, I'll wait and
tell you about it Monday at school."

	"Thank you, and good night."

	"Good night, Dean,".I said as I began to straighten my clothes and
put on my shoes. I ran up the stairs to tell Nina about the phone call and
to inform her where I was going, but her light was out, She was asleep, so
I decided to leave without disturbing her.

	My mind raced as I drove to the MPD. Hadn't Tom been in court a few
days before he arrived in Manchester. Did he have some kind of criminal
habit that he couldn't shake? Why did he have a history of being in
trouble? Then again, if it WAS criminal, then why wasn't he being held for
arraignment? I hoped to have my answers in just a few minutes as I pulled
my car into the MPD parking lot.

	I rushed in, to the Sergeant's desk, and saw Tom sitting in a
chair. He looked a mess. His jacket was covered in dirt. His white shirt
was ripped and had spots of blood down the front. There was a tear in the
right knee of his black trousers. His handsome face was bruised, scraped,
and cut below his left eye. His hair was dishevelled. He looked at me when
I entered but then dropped his stare to the floor.

	"Tom!"

	"Hiya, Coach!" he said, avoiding my eyes.

	"What happened, guy?"

	"Nothing much. I got hit by a tree,"

	"You what?"

	"This big tractor trailer ran over me and then it backed up and ran
over me the second time. Then the driver got out and threw me against a
tree to make sure I was dead."

	"What are you talking about? Do you need medical attention?" I
asked.

	"Don't think so. Everything seems to be working...at least all my
parts that have feeling in them."

	"Jesus Christ, do I have to ask the chief of police what happened
to you or can you give me a straight answer."

	"Ha! I like the way you phrased that. You ought to be an English
teacher instead of Biology."

	"I have no idea what you're talking about."

	I went over to the police desk and introduced myself as Jim's
teacher and coach and asked what I had to sign to get him released to me.

	"I don't think the parties involved are going to press charges, but
if you want the real story, I'm afraid you'll have to get it from young
Tom, over there." the sergeant said, pointing to Tom.

	"Did he break a law?" I asked.

	"Almost. But if what he said, about being in court last week under
similar circumstances is true, he'd better be glad that the chief is an old
buddy of his uncles. Another arrest wouldn't look so good on his record,"
the sergeant said.

	I spent the next few minutes signing Tom's release papers and
letting them Xerox my driver's license and Social Security card. When I had
finished at the desk, I turned and focused my attention on Tom.

	"Are you ready to go?" I asked.

	"Sure, why not?" he replied, pseudo-casually.

	I walked him to my car, unlocked the passenger side for him and he
got in. Just before I started the ignition, he asked, "Where are we
going?".

	"To my house," I said, with determination.

	"Oh, you're gonna force me to eat that dinner, one way or the
other, aren't you?"

	I paused and looked at him. I still hadn't started the car.

	"Tom, what the hell is your problem?"

	"Oh, now you're gonna psychoanalyze me. Too late, the pros couldn't
find out in therapy sessions, so I don't think a biologist will be able to,
either."

	"Why all the 'I don't give a damn' attitude?" I asked.

	"Because I don't, that's why!"

	"Are you on drugs?"

	"Nope! Not the kind you mean, anyway."

	"Have you been drinking?"

	"A bit...but not much. I'm not drunk if that's what you're
wondering."

	"Look, asshole," I said, becoming more firm,"did you get into a
fight? I mean, why the hell do you look as you do?"

	"Don't worry, Coach, I've looked a lot worse."

	"Why didn't you come to my house for dinner with Harm?"

	"I had other plans,"

	"When did you make them. This afternoon on the field you said you
were coming."

	"Well...I didn't!"

	"I know, but why? Where did you go? Dean Connelly called me and
wanted me to get the full story about what happened."

	"Well, he's not going to like it...that is...IF I tell you."

	"Where did you go tonight?"

	"I went walking, You know, sight-seeing. I wanted to familiarize
myself with my new home."

	"That's bullshit! Where the fuck did you go...and why won't you
tell me?"

	"I have my reasons."

	"Well, let me hear one of them."

	"The same reason why I can't play football for you."

	"That's ONE reason I'd like to hear."

	Tom became quiet. His attitude was changing. He was becoming less
smug and more serious by the expression on his face.

	"OK, here goes...I'm queer."

	"Queer or 'queer' queer?"

	"QUEER! GAY! HOMOSEXUAL! COCKSUCKER! and anything else you want to
call me."

	I was stunned when I listened to him. I didn't know if he was
telling me the truth or it this was some lie he was concocting.

	"I picked up this straight guy tonight. I thought he was like
me. We went to a bar and had a couple of beers and then we went to the
men's room. We were standing side by side peeing and then I reached over
and grabbed his dick. I didn't think he would mind, but the son-of-a-bitch
went ballistic and started beating me all over, He knocked me to the floor
and continued to kick me."

	"My God, didn't you try to defend yourself?"

	"I stopped doing that years ago after the first time I got beat
up. I'm fucking used to it now."

	"This has happened many times before?"

	"Many...and always the same thing. I pick up a straight guy who's
not willing to let me play the game I want to play with him...Now...are you
so fucking enthusiasitic to still want me to play quarterback?"

	"We'll discuss that later."

	"I knew that's what you'd say. Can you see what the members of your
team would do to me if I reached for one of them in the shower after
practice or a game?"

	"They wouldn't have to know," I said.

	"Oh, they'd know all right, the first time I got a boner looking at
them."

	"Jesus! Does your Uncle Ted know?"

	"I don't think so. He just thinks I'm manic-depressive since my
folks were killed. He paid for all kinds of therapies and doctors. I've
swallowed enough anti-depressants to fill a stadium when all I wanted to
swallow was a nice long dick. Can I see yours when we get home, Daddy?"

	"No! For God's sake, stop talking like that!" I said, starting the
car,

	"I guess you've never talked to a real live queer before, since all
your players and coaches are straight, Have you ever so much had a queer to
touch you...or you touch a guy's dick?"

	"The answers to both your questions are 'no'."

	"That's what I thought. Are you sure you want to take me home with
you. I might attack you in your sleep, you know."

	"I don't think you would, with my wife in the room."

	"Oh that's right, you have a wifey!"

	"Yes, I do."

	" Well, let me tell you something first-hand, Mister, there's
nothing like having a guy go down on you. You see, a guy knows all the
right places and how to do just the right things. Things a woman would
never dream of doing."

	It was strange that I'd had similar thoughts, myself, in the shower
earlier this morning. I was alarmed that I could feel myself becoming half
erect as he talked. But is was he with the problem. not I I had to decide
the best thing to do for him and also what I was going to say to Dean
Connelly on Monday. I would have to lie. If I were going to gain the kid's
confidence, I must keep his secret without the Dean or his Uncle Ted
knowing the truth,

	"Tom, I'm going to fix the guest bedroom at my house for you. You
stay there tonight, but I want you to promise not to try leaving. Is that a
possibility?"

	"Sure, where else can I go, except to the dorm?"

	"We'll talk this out tomorrow...just the two of us, and see what we
can come up with."

	"Suits me!"

	I drove up my driveway quietly as possible, hoping not to awaken
Nina. I was not prepared to offer her an explanation tonight. But then I
realized, I would probably have to make up some lie to tell her about Tom's
sleeping in the guest room. In the twelve years I'd known Nina, I couldn't
recall ever lying to her about anything...and now...this. I knew this was
going to be a sleepless night, I was too upset. It was going to be an all
night TV marathon while I tried to decide what to do and also I could watch
the guest room door to see that Tom didn't make an effort to escape before
we had had our talk.

	I quietly took Tom into "his" room. It was on the main floor of the
house while Nina slept upstairs. I showed him the adjoining guest bathroom
where he could clean his wounds and wash the blood off him. I busied myself
in the bedroom, getting pillows and sheets while he showered. When he was
finished he joined me in the bedroom. He was stark naked except for the
towel he was using to dry himself.

	"Would you like a pair of my pajamas?" I asked.

	"I haven't worn a pair since I was twelve," he replied.

	"Want some clean underwear?"

	"Nope, I always sleep like this, in the raw."

	"Can I get you something to eat or drink?"

	"No, I'll wait until morning, My jaw is a little too sore to chew."

	"Is there ANYTHING within reason I can get you?"

	"Too bad you had to qualify that remark, Coach."

	"It's probably a good thing I did...Well, if there's nothing more,
I'll say good night. I'll be in the den, right next door, if you need me."

	"I somehow doubt you'll supply what I need, but thanks anyway."

	"Good night, Tom." I said, closing his door.

	"Night, Coach."

	My mind was spinning as I left him and went into the den. I turned
on the TV for company and to get my mind occupied but I found nothing on
the channels but early Sunday religious shows. I clicked the set off and
went to the bar to make myself a stiff drink. I needed some ice from the
kitchen so I went down the hall and as I passed the guestroom, I heard Tom
crying. He sounded like a little boy who had just been punished. I put my
hand on his doorknob but stopped before I turned it. "Leave well enough
alone", I said to myself and went to the kitchen for the ice. Coming back,
I stopped for a moment to see if his crying had subsided, but it hadn't. I
could tell he was trying to muffle his sounds by burying his face in his
pillow, but his crying was more hurtful now. I'd often dreamed of having a
son and going to his room at night to find out why he was crying...and now,
I had a 20 year old kid, fulfilling my fantasy. I couldn't resist my
urge. I placed the ice bucket on the floor and went into his darkened
bedroom.

	"Tom? Are you all right?"

	He stopped crying, probably out of embarrassment that I had heard
him.

	"Yeah, I'm fine."

	Without fearing any consequence, I went to his bed and sat on the
side of it.

	"Don't worry, guy," I said, quietly, "I'll help you get through
this, We'll think of something tomorrow when we can think clearer,"

	He paused for a long time before he spoke.

	"Coach?"

	"Yes?"

	"Can I ask a favor?"

	"What? What is it?"

	"Are you man enough to hold me without being afraid?"

	"Sure, I'm man enough. Are you man enough to let me hold you?"

	"I need someone, Coach. I need someone who cares."

	"I know, Tom, I know."

	He raised up from his pillow and put his arms around my neck and
held me firmly. I felt a chill. This was the image I'd pictured so many
times of my son needing me when he was afraid. I held him close and
unashamedly. He broke down and began to cry once again, his tears were
wetting my shirt collar. It was like a fatherly instinct that I put my hand
on his head and began to stroke his hair. Without realizing it, I began to
rock side to side for many minutes until I felt he was no longer afraid and
felt secure enough to go to sleep. I slowly lowered his head to the pillow
and quietly made my exit. I picked up the ice bucket and walked back to the
den, wondering what had just happened to me.


<><><><><><><><><><><>


(to be continued in Chapter Two)