Date: Sun, 06 May 2001 21:10:56 -0700
From: The Pecman <thepecman@yahoo.com>
Subject: Groovy Kind of Love 9-11 (t/t, HS, 1st, HS, size, mast, oral, anal)

GROOVY KIND OF LOVE
*******************

-----------------------------------------------------------
   For the disclaimer, please read Part 1.
   This story may be reprinted anywhere on the Net, as long
   as it's done intact, without changing a single word,
   and preserving my copyright & Email address. And that's
   Copyright 2001 ThePecman@yahoo.com. All rights reserved.
-----------------------------------------------------------


Chapter 9

Friday morning was crisp, cold, and just a hair above
freezing -- unseasonably cold for central Florida. It was
still five days before Christmas, but it already felt like
a holiday at school. After checking the posted exam scores
on the front doors of the classrooms and re-reading my
report card for the eighth time, I felt like I was walking
on the clouds: Five A's, an A-minus, and a B. (And that one
B was Algebra, which to me counted as an "A" by default.)

At last, I'd cracked the Honor Roll. Most of the students
were buzzing about the mid-term exams, but I felt like I
was glowing. I had my friend back, I was on my way to
getting the best grades of my life, and things were finally
looking up. LaFontaine Institute, here I come, I thought.

For the rest of the day, the teachers spent the time
answering questions about the mid-term tests we'd just
taken, and handing out essay assignments for the 14-day
holiday break that would start over the weekend. When the
homework assignments were announced, most of my classmates
broke out in groans, but I still couldn't wipe the stupid
grin off my face.

At lunch, Sky waved me over to one of the jock tables, and
I sat next to him and Melissa. I had to admit, she really
was a knock-out, practically with movie-star good looks.
She was the co-leader of the junior varsity cheerleading
squad, and had what were probably the biggest tits of any
girl in 9th grade. After five minutes of conversation, it
was clear to me that Melissa was no airhead; she was smart,
witty, and had a great sense of humor. It was awfully hard
for me to be jealous of her, I thought. Heck, under the
right circumstances, maybe she and I could... No. I sighed
and let that daydream float back out of my head, and tried
to pay closer attention to what she was saying.

Melissa spent several minutes telling me how much I was
going to like Cynthia. I could barely get a word in
edgewise, and let her do most of the talking. At one point,
I shot Sky a glance; he looked at me from over her shoulder
and mouthed, "great tits, eh?", and wiggled his eyebrows. I
had to bite my lower lip, which was still a little sore,
just to stop myself from laughing out loud.

Midway into our meal, Melissa gave me a poke and stood up.
"Cyn! Cynthia! We're over here!"

A really cute girl about my height walked over. She had a
great tan, green eyes, and long, straight brown hair that
hung past her shoulders, and no acne, which was a definite
plus in high school. I couldn't tell much about her body,
because she wore a loose-fitting wool coat. Melissa pulled
me out of my chair and said, "Hi, Cyn. This is Wil. Wil,
say hello to Cynthia Anderson."

"Hi," I said, nervously.

"Hi," she chirped. "You're in Mr. Harnett's 5th period
American History class, right? I've never seen anybody
argue with a teacher so much," she said, laughing.

Do I really do that, I thought? "Gee, I don't mean to," I
said.

"You corrected him on mistakes three times in one day, last
week!" she laughed. "I thought he was going to smack you
with an eraser or something."

I winced as I caught Sky stifling a laugh out of the corner
of my eye. Okay, so maybe I was a little snot-faced know-
it-all. Cynthia leaned closer to me.

"I think you're pretty neat to stand up to him," she said.
"In fact," she said, getting even closer, "I think you're
real cool." For a winter day, it suddenly felt
uncomfortably warm in the cafeteria.

"Th-thanks, Cynthia," I stammered.

"Call me Cyn," she said brightly. "I can't wait to go with
you to the dance tomorrow night. Sky's told me all about
you."

Did he tell you I could blow myself, I thought? I smiled as
attractive a smile as I could muster and nodded. "Thanks,
Cyn. Looking forward to it."

She laughed a wonderful bell-like laugh, and ran off to her
next class, waving us goodbye.

Sky grinned at me. "Did I tell you she was cool, or what?"
he asked.

I nodded. "Definitely out of my league," I sighed.

"Shut up, doofus!" he said, playfully punching me in the
arm. "You're on the Honor Roll, you've officially made the
swim team, and you saved my ass! I say you're the school
hero, dip-shit!"

We both laughed. As Sky and I traded fake insults back and
forth, I looked up and saw Ronnie Lannigan and his brother
Rick walk by our lunch table. Ron gave me a hurt look, and
then turned away. I called out his name, but he completely
ignored me. That's not like Ron, I thought.

"Forget those geeks," said Sky, shaking his head. "You're
with us, now. Those guys are totally un-cool."

I nodded. Maybe he was right. Maybe I should try to make
new friends. Maybe Cynthia was the right girl for me. Just
as that thought went through my head, the opening notes to
The Temptations' "My Girl" came out of the cafeteria
speakers. I snapped my fingers in time with the beat, then
I stood up and started singing along with the song, in my
best impression of David Ruffin.

"I've got sunshine...
on a cloudy day...
when it's cold outside...
I got the month of May..."

Sky whooped with laughter and pounded on the table.
Suddenly, Melissa stood up beside me and started doing the
backup vocals. I grinned at her and got so carried away, I
jumped up on the table and continued singing as loud as I
could, using a spoon as a microphone.

"Well...
I guess you'll say
what can make me feel this way

My girl...
Talkin' 'bout my girl..."

Melissa leapt up on the table with me, and dragged up Sky
along with her. They took the part of the backup group.

"I got so... much honey
the bees envy me.
I've got... a sweeter song...
Than the birds in the trees...

"Well... I guess
you'll say
what can make me feel this way?

My girl...
Talkin' 'bout my girl..."

When the song finally ended, about fifty people in the
cafeteria hooted and applauded, and the three of us took
our bows. Sky and I laughed until we almost cried, jumped
down off the table, and slapped each other on the back.
Melissa wrapped her arms around me and gave me a huge kiss.
I grinned and looked up, and saw Ronnie's face in the back
of the crowd staring at me.

"Asshole," he silently mouthed, then turned and walked
away.

                        *   *   *

Since exams were over, Mr. Harnett in American History gave
us a study period, along with an assignment for a 1000-word
report on the Civil War due on Monday the 6th, when school
resumed with the second semester. I tried to talk to Ron,
who sat behind me in class, but he wouldn't even give me
the time of day. All he would say was, "The secretary has
disavowed any knowledge of your actions." Great. I guess
now he was back on the IM Force.

"I thought you working for U.N.C.L.E. this week," I said,
playfully.

He turned away from me and stared out the window.

"Ronnie, don't be like this, man," I said, quietly. "Look,
I'm really sorry if I pissed you off."

He still wouldn't look me in the eye.

"Hey," I said, trying to change the subject. "I'm going out
on a date with Cynthia to the Christmas Dance."

Ron turned back and gave me a look of utter surprise. "You?
And Cynthia Anderson?" He rolled his eyes and muttered,
"you're fuckin' crazy!"

"You don't believe me?" I snapped. "Watch this." I turned
to my right and said, loudly, "Psst! Hey, Cyn! 7:00 Tuesday
night, right?"

She looked up from a conversation with the girl next to
her, and smiled at me. "Hi, Wil. I'm really looking forward
to the dance," she said. Jesus, she really was pretty.

"Cool!" I said. I smiled and nodded, and turned back to
Ron, who stared at me with his mouth wide open.

"Close your mouth, before you catch a fly, dumbass!" I
laughed.

"You really... _like_ her?" he said, incredulous.

"What's not to like?" I shrugged. "She's cute, she's smart
-- she even told me I was cool."

Ronnie frowned. "You're not cool," he muttered. Then,
dropping his voice, he whispered, "I bet she just wants
your big dick."

I leaned forward, glowering. "What if she does, asshole?" I
hissed. "I bet there're a lot worse things I could do with
my dick."

He shrank away from me and sat back in his seat. "If that's
what you want," he said, in a small voice. Jesus, Ronnie
could be such a doofus sometimes.

The bell rang and I went off to Phys Ed. I turned to look
for Ronnie, but he'd vanished into thin air. Shit, I
thought. If he skipped this class, he could really be in
for it.

                        *   *   *

After Phys Ed, I saw Couch Lucas turning off the light in
his office. "Hey, Coach," I yelled. He looked up and
grinned.

"Well, if it isn't the brain of Tampa Central," he laughed.
"I saw where you made the Honor Roll -- congratulations,
son."

I smiled. "Sky didn't do too badly, either," I said.

Lucas nodded. "He has you to thank for that, Wil," he said,
giving me a knowing look.

I started to protest, but he cut me short. "Son, let's face
it. You and I both know, there's two kinds of people in
this world -- guys with brains, and guys with muscles. I
think you're in the former category, and Schuyler's in the
latter."

I frowned. Where's the law that says you can't have a
little of both, I thought. "Speaking of that," I said, "is
it OK if I work out today? I missed going to the weight
room every day this week, because of exams."

The coach furrowed his brow. "Actually," he said, "I was
gonna lock up early and send Chuck home. Nobody's scheduled
to use the room at all today, because of the Christmas
break."

"Please, coach!" I begged. "Coach Byers says I've gotta put
on more muscle to improve my Butterfly times!"

"Can't you just pick this up again two weeks from now?" he
asked, wearily.

I shook my head. "The pool is closed until mid-January!
Please, Coach!" I begged. "I'm preparing for the Olympics!
I can't be a 95-pound weakling forever," I cried.

"Awright, awright," he chuckled, nodding his head. "Just be
careful. We don't want any accidents in there. You won't
have a spotter, so just stick to the machines. You're doing
-- what, legs?"

I nodded. "Legs and chest, and maybe triceps."

"Okay. When you finish, be sure to turn all the lights out,
and go out this side exit," he said, pointing to the metal
fire door on the left. "It'll automatically lock behind
you. All the other doors are already locked."

"Thanks, Coach!" I yelled, running back to my locker to
grab a towel.

"Don't drop a weight on your head in there!" he called from
the hallway.

"I won't!" I yelled back.

                        *   *   *

After a little less than 45 minutes, my legs ached like
hell. This was the second-to-last exercise for my lower-
body workout -- glutes. The bigger jocks called it the
"butt blaster" machine, because it was supposed to just
work out your posterior and lower back muscles. You had to
lie down in a weird position, and then kick back and
outwards. It looked like a total Rube Goldberg deal to me,
but all I know is, it made my ass muscles really hurt like
hell. I figured it had to be good for swimming.

Despite the cold outside, it was sweltering inside the
workout room -- at least 74, 75, I thought, as I wiped off
my face with my towel. That idiot Chuck must've cranked up
the furnace. After my last set of 10 reps on the calves
machine, I was really beat. I glanced up at the clock.
Shit, I thought. Almost 5:00. I could see the sun getting
low in the one lone window of the workout room. The gym
seemed lonelier than it normally did, since I was the only
person there. Even empty, the place still smelled of
perspiration and steel. I wish there was a radio in here to
listen to, I thought.

I ran down the little chart that Coach Byers had made for
me with my workout routine. I crossed 'legs' off today's
list, since I'd finished the last set, and moved over to
chest. I could do the machines, I thought, but then I
remembered how great Sky had looked doing bench press the
other day. I felt a twinge at the memory of his tanned pecs
and muscular arms. I sighed and put my hand against my own
chest, which felt damp and puny through my T-shirt. If I
really wanted to get bigger, I thought, I was gonna have to
take Sky's advice and use the real workout stuff.

According to the chart, I only did 65 pounds the last time
I tried a chest workout with Sky. I threw on two ten-pound
plates on the 45-pound barbell, lay back, and tried ten
reps. Hmmm, I thought, letting the heavy bar clang to the
posts. That wasn't too bad. I'll go up to 85. That was
definitely heavier, I thought, straining at the weight. I
struggled to push it back up for 8, then counted to 9, then
just barely made it to 10. "Whew," I said to nobody in
particular. "I really felt that one."

Could I lift 100? I looked at the black metal plates in the
rack. They didn't look all that bad, I thought. Sky was
able to do 150 the other day, but he was a lot bigger than
I was. I decided to compromise at 95, which was still more
than I had ever lifted before. I added two more five-
pounders on the bar, took a few deep breaths, and leaned
back.

"It's now or never," I said out loud, to the empty room.

Ooof, I thought. Now THIS was definitely heavy. I could
feel my chest expand from the exertion, and my arms
trembled. My heart began racing as I remembered how great
Sky's body looked, pumped-up and naked. As I squeezed out
the reps, I closed my eyes and thought of how we would
look, each of us with identically-muscular bodies, taking a
shower together. God, I thought. I felt a twinge and a
throb between my legs.

Just two more reps to go, I thought. "Nine!" I said, out
loud. I lowered the weight all the way down to my chest,
and started to push it up. Christ, it was impossible. I
couldn't even move it an inch! I began to panic.

"Heavy, isn't it?" whispered a voice close to my ear.

The barbell wobbled unsteadily in my hands, and I opened my
eyes wide. Scott Michaels' face was just inches away from
my own, and his hand was on the middle of the barbell. In
all the times I'd ever seen him, he'd never looked angrier,
or more evil.

"What... what the fuck do you want?" I gasped, as the bar
finally dropped with a small thud onto my chest, pinning me
to the bench.

"So, Donkey Boy wants to be a real he-man!" he said,
laughing sadistically, as he walked around the bench to my
feet.

"Just leave me alone, Michaels, willya?" I said, trying
desperately to keep the whine out of my voice. I was having
trouble breathing.

Scott yanked off his football jersey and threw it to the
ground, then ripped off his pants and his jock-strap,
allowing his enormous erection to spring free. He pulled my
legs apart and sat down on the bench. I struggled to keep
the bar balanced on my chest, and prayed for the strength
to lift it up a few inches and onto the bottom safety
notch.

"Let's see just how big it really is," he said, putting his
hands on my shorts.

"GOD! Scott, no, please, just get away from me!" I pleaded.
"I swear I won't tell anybody!" My ribcage felt like it was
cracking. I could barely even lift my head up.

Suddenly, I felt a draft of cold air on my crotch as my
shorts and jockstrap were roughly yanked down my legs and
off my feet.

Scott sat back down and let out a low whistle, as he
methodically compared our endowments.

"My, my," he said, holding them together, side by side. He
leaned down close to my face, which was turning red --
partly with embarrassment, and partially with the exertion
of being crushed to death.

"That is a big one," he said, flicking my organ back and
forth between his thumb and index finger. "Eight inches,
right?"

I was getting dizzy. "It's...closer to ten," I gasped. My
arousal twitched, and I felt it quickly swell to full
attention. Shit, shit, shit! I thought. Now's not the time!

Scott laughed. Without warning, he suddenly grabbed my
entire package and squeezed it, hard. I groaned in agony.

"You really think yours is bigger than mine?" he said,
evenly. "I don't think so. Do you?"

I didn't answer. Suddenly, I felt a tremendous pain in my
groin, and I screamed and doubled up. He'd punched me with
his fist, right in my balls.

"I said, you don't think yours is bigger than mine, do you,
DONKEY BOY?" he screamed.

I was in too much agony to speak. The heavy barbell slipped
out of my grip, as I lost my balance. The metal plates on
the left slid off and crashed to the floor in a clang of
metal, and the bar immediately tipped over to the right,
pulling me off the bench and onto the rubber mat on the
floor. My glasses flew off and I fell on my stomach, then
instinctively reached for my tender groin, which was
throbbing with pain.

Before I knew what was happening, Scott was on top of me. I
felt his hot breath on the back of my neck, and a little
stubble from his chin scraped my shoulder.

"You want my dick, don't you, Donkey Boy?" he whispered in
my ear.

"Scott, PLEASE, don't hurt me!" I begged. "Coach'll hear
you! He'll kick us both out of school if he sees us." I
prayed he didn't know we were both alone.

As if to answer me, he leaned forward and playfully bit my
ear. "I saw Lucas drive away half an hour ago," he said,
quietly. "It's just you and me, Donkey Boy. We're gonna
have some fun together. Don't you move an inch."

I felt something hot and sweaty slip between my thighs.
Jesus, not that... I tried to stand up, but Scott punched
me in my back, as hard as he could.

"I TOLD YOU... _<wham!>_ NOT... _<wham!>_ TO... _<wham!>_
MOVE!" he screamed.

My body was wracked with agony, and my penis instantly
shriveled up with fear and nausea.

He rolled me over on my back and socked me again in the
stomach, hard. I groaned and doubled-up on the floor. He
pulled my legs back down, spread them apart, and laughed.

"That dick of yours sure don't look all that big now,
Donkey Boy. In fact," he said, sitting forward on my chest,
"I'd say mine's a lot bigger now, wouldn't you?"

I opened my eyes and saw a blurry fleshy object inches from
my face. I began to sob. "No, please, Scott, don't do this,
I won't tell anybody, I swear to fucking God, Scott! I
never did anything to you!"

He brushed it against my lips. "No, but you're gonna do
somethin' _for_ me, right now," he murmured. "Aren't you,
Donkey Boy?"

I shook my head and kept my mouth closed, but he suddenly
punched me again, hard, in the abdomen. I thought I was
going to vomit any second. I groaned and started crying
harder.

"You know you want to suck it! Don't you, Donkey Boy? Suck
it!" he ordered.

I shook my head again, but he grabbed me by the hair and
forced my mouth open, then abruptly shoved in his erection
all the way to the back of my throat. I choked and gagged,
then partially threw up, forcing his arousal out of my
throat. Scott cried out with rage, and back-handed me
across the face. I stopped crying and wiped the bile off my
mouth.

"DON'T EVER DO THAT!" he screamed. "When I tell you to suck
it, you _suck_ it! And no teeth! If you bite me, I'll beat
you so bad, you'll walk with a limp for the rest of your
fuckin' life!"

I nodded meekly, and he leaned forward again. I closed my
eyes and felt the large, sweaty object move back into my
mouth, a little more gently this time. Reluctantly, I
started sucking and moved my tongue back and forth. Scott
immediately moaned with pleasure.

"That's more like it, Donkey Boy," he moaned, gently
stroking my hair with his right hand. "Suck my big dick.
Suck it!"

Despite my terror, I felt the blood surging between my
legs. Scott reached behind his back and grabbed me, and
laughed.

"Hey, you like this, don't you, Donkey Boy! Let me make you
feel better." He began stroking me up and down, and I began
to moan and suck him, hungrily. I reached forward and
started to fondle his balls. He began slowly thrusting back
and forth in my mouth.

"Oh, that's good," he moaned. He stroked my cock some more,
then leaned forward. "I really like your dick, Wil," he
whispered, using my real name for the first time. "Oh,
you're good at this, man," he said, speeding up his
thrusts. I tried to mentally stop myself from gagging. His
dick might be a little smaller than mine, I thought, but
not by much.

Suddenly, he plunged forward, and it slipped all the way
back into my throat. I started to gag, but he grabbed my
head and held it firmly. "Just a few more seconds, Wil," he
begged. "I'm really close, man! Please?"

I opened my eyes and saw that Scott was in a state of total
bliss, thrusting like some kind of animal. His muscular
chest glistened with sweat; I could see a small sprinkling
of black hairs between his two enormous pecs. I continued
to cough, and finally started to black out from lack of
air. I tried to pull back, but he held my head firmly with
both hands and sped up his thrusts to a blur. Finally, as a
last-ditch act of total desperation, I summoned all my
courage, took my right fist and smacked him as hard as I
could in the face.

Scott fell back, screaming as his cock ripped from my
mouth, and he hit the floor with a loud thud.

"YOU FUCKIN' ASSHOLE!" he yelled at the top of his lungs.
"I TOLD YOU NOT TO USE YOUR TEETH! LOOKIT WHAT YOU'VE
DONE!"

I sat up, still choking and gagging. The stocky 15 year-old
staggered up to his feet and began waving around his huge
erection, which had an angry red scrape along the top side.
A tear of blood slid down the shaft and onto his bright
purple head.

"YOU FUCKING FAGGOT!" he screamed. "I'LL KILL YOU FOR
THIS!"

I shook my head and crawled over to the bench. "You're
gonna have to kill more than just me, Scott," I said,
shaking as I pulled myself up. "If anything happens to me,
Rick and Ronnie Lannigan are gonna know you did it."

He stopped and started at me, all the blood drained from
his face. "Wha... what did those faggots tell you?"

I took a step forward, my half-hard organ swinging between
my legs, and took a deep breath. "I know enough to know
you're as much of a fag as they are. Or I am. Or anybody
here is."

Scott had an expression of total panic on his face. "You
can't tell anybody," he whispered. "I'll... I'll kill you
first."

"Scott, listen to me," I said, as bravely as I could,
making every effort to keep the quiver out of my voice.
"Forget about this. You know I won't tell anybody. What
good would it do me? You know about me, and I know about
you. We're even."

He mulled that over. "But you know about Rick and Ron," he
said, trying to sort it out through his ape-like brain,
while he idly stroked himself. His eyes had a wild
expression and stared at me, unblinking.

Jesus, I have a big mouth, I thought, still trying to come
up with a good explanation. I thought of trying to make a
break past him, but he was directly between me and the one
exit in the room.

"I don't know about anything, Scott," I lied. "I just
guessed. I knew you hated Ronnie, and he can never take his
eyes off my dick in the locker room, so I just put two and
two together. So what?" I said, inching towards the door.
"Maybe Ron's a fag, maybe he's not. Who cares?" I said.
"We're just guys, helpin' each other get off once in
awhile. It's no big deal."

He looked at me blankly, then slowly nodded his head.
Before I could even think what I was doing, I made a mad
dash for the door. With lightning speed, Scott charged
forward and wrapped his large, muscular arm around my
throat from behind and started to squeeze.

"You fuckin' faggot," he hissed. "You're just like those
other guys. You just wanna drag me down with ya. I know
just how to handle stupid fuckin' pansy boys like you."

With a cry of rage, he pushed me headfirst into a nearby
weight stand, and I collided with a rack of 20-pound
dumbbells, which rolled away in every direction. I hit the
floor with a thud, and I tried desperately to crawl away.
Scott fell on me and punched me repeatedly in the lower
back. He grabbed me again around the throat and started to
squeeze. I tried to scream, but not a sound came out of my
mouth. I started feeling light-headed as he dragged me back
to a padded bench. He slammed me down hard on my stomach,
and I felt him probe me from behind. I heard him spit, and
he abruptly shoved a finger all the way up inside me.

"Noooooo," I gurgled.

As if to answer me, he savagely kneed me in my balls, which
dangled underneath me, to the side of the bench. It hurt
beyond anything I'd ever felt in my life. I began to black
out from the pain.

"Those big nuts are wasted on you, faggot!" he hissed.

Suddenly, he grunted like an animal, and a new kind of pain
hit me. A searing pressure ripped through my anal wall,
sending a stabbing wave all the way up my spine. I
screamed, and Scott punched me again in the back and fell
on top of me, then wrapped his hands tightly around my
shoulders.

"This is what all you pussy boys really want, isn't it,
Wil?" he whispered in my ear. "You want my hot cock up your
ass, don't you?"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" I screamed.

"It can't hurt that much, can it, Wil?" he said. "After
all, it's a lot smaller than yours, _right_?"

He bit my earlobe lightly and stuck his tongue inside. I
shuddered, and he began to grunt and thrust his hips on top
of me. I felt the hot sweat between us start to trickle out
on my back. After a minute, the excruciating pain began to
subside and turn into a dull throbbing. I felt something
warm and moist dripping from my thighs onto the bench.
Fuck, I thought. Now I'm bleeding to death.

Scott's rhythmic thrusts became faster and more insistent.
"Oh, Wil," he murmured. "I've wanted to do this all year.
Don't tell me you don't like this."

I hated him. Even worse, I started to feel a new sensation,
some kind of throbbing pleasure deep inside me. To my
disgust, I felt my groin throbbing back to life again. I
moaned with the sheer misery and horror of the situation,
and tears sprang to my eyes.

Scott laughed and whispered, "I told you you'd like it,
Donkey Boy."

Suddenly, there was a noise behind us. Scott cried out, and
I heard a loud clang, followed behind by a tremendous
crash. I turned my head just as his body fell off me and
hit the floor with a dull thud. The next thing I knew,
someone grabbed my arm and tried to help me up, and I
rolled over on the bench and groaned with pain.

"Wil! Wil, it's me, Chuck!"

I opened my eyes, and the fat, bloated assistant gym
manager was holding me up under my arms. There was a look
of sheer fright in his eyes, and he panted, as if he'd just
been running.

"Are you alright?" he asked, catching his breath. "Can you
walk?"

I nodded. Using Chuck's shoulder and the bench for support,
I pulled myself up to my feet, then looked down. Scott
Michaels lay on the floor, unmoving, with a 45-pound weight
plate next to his head. I let out a gasp when I saw a
trickle of blood oozing down his right forehead. Scott's
left arm was bent backwards at an odd angle.

"Shit, Chuck! You killed him!" I whispered.

Chuck kneeled beside him, still panting and sweating. "No,"
he said, shaking his head. "He's still breathing. Scott's
just knocked out. I'll call an ambulance."

I felt dizzy. "But what's the coach gonna say?"

"Coach isn't here," he replied, calmly. "I'm in charge
now."

He handed me my glasses. I nodded and put them back on,
then half-walked, half-staggered to the workout room door.
I looked back. Chuck was pulling the unconscious football
star up onto the bench.

"What about Scott?" I asked, wearily.

Chuck quickly walked over to me. I could see a thin film of
sweat soaking his enormous T-shirt.

"I told you," he said. "I'll call an ambulance. In 15 or 20
minutes." His huge chest rose and fell as he panted --
whether from the excitement or the exertion, I'm not sure.

I was puzzled. "Why not call right now?" I asked.

Chuck grinned at me. "When I'm finished with him. What he
don't know, won't hurt him."

I stared at him for a moment, then realization set in. "No,
Chuck -- don't get in trouble, man," I protested.

"Get outta here," he said, quietly. "You got five minutes
to take a shower and go home. I'll clean up here. If
anybody asks, I'll say you left an hour ago."

I stared at Chuck as he walked back to the gym bench and
rolled over the unconscious athlete on his back. Jesus, I
thought, eying my attacker's nude groin. After all that,
Scott was still as hard as a rock! A low moan escaped from
his lips.

Chuck looked back at me. "Go on, Wil."

I nodded, then limped over to the door. "Thanks, Chuck," I
said. "For what you did for me."

The fat boy looked down at Scott, then looked back at me.
"This isn't the first time this has happened, Wil," he
said, sadly.

I shook my head, retrieved my gym clothes and towel, and
limped down the hall, turned to the corner and went into
the shower. The hot water felt soothing. I let the warm
cloud of steam rise up, and I closed my eyes and leaned
against the wall for support.

After a minute or two, I looked down and saw a several
drops of red running down my right leg. The blood pooled up
on the floor, and circled down into the drain. Gingerly, I
reached down and checked the damage. FUCK, that hurt. I
winced. I'm not gonna be able to poop for a month, I
thought. I looked down at my body, and shuddered at the
scratches and bruises on my chest and stomach. I probably
looked even worse on my back, I thought.

I thought about what Chuck had said to me. Did he mean
Scott had done this before to other guys? Or did he mean
that Chuck had knocked some of the players on the head
and... I shuddered with the mental image of the fat boy's
huge, sweaty body, and immediately tried to push it out of
my head.

I shut off the water and grabbed my towel, then limped back
to my locker and pulled on my clothes. Shit, I thought. I'm
gonna leave blood all over my pants. I couldn't let my
parents see me the way I am. What am I gonna do? Where
could I go?

Ronnie.

I limped down the hall and grabbed the pay phone. Thank
God, I still had one dime on me. I dropped the coin in the
slot and quickly dialed his number. C'mon, Ronnie!
Answer... answer! At last, there was a click.

"Hello?"

"Ronnie!" I yelled into the phone. "God, I'm glad you're
home! It's me, Wil. I've got an emergency."

Silence. "I don't wanna talk to you, Wil," he said, coldly.
"U.N.C.L.E. agents are forbidden to fraternize with enemies
from THRUSH."

I rolled my eyes. "Shut up, Ronnie, and listen for once!
Scott Michaels just beat the shit out of me at school, and
then tried to rape me!"

Ron gasped. "He did WHAT?" he cried. Another voice yelled
"hold it down" in the background on the phone.

"Ronnie, don't tell anybody about this!" I pleaded.

"That was just Rickie. I've gotta tell _him_!" he said, in
a hoarse whisper.

"Okay," I said, wearily. "Just your brother, but nobody
else. Listen, I'm out of money for the phone." I glanced
over at the clock, which had just hit 5:30. "Call my mom
and tell her you'd like me to spend the night tonight at
your place. If she gives you any shit, tell her I made the
Honor Roll."

"Hey, that's great, Wil!" he started.

"Shut UP!" I hissed. "I'm bleeding, and I hurt like hell!"

I thought I heard him choke back a sob.

"Shit, I'm sorry, man!" he said in a small voice. "What can
we do?"

I thought for a minute. "We'll figure that out when I get
there," I said. "If my mom asks any questions, just stall
and tell her I went to the store with Rick or something.
I'll call her back in a half hour, when I get to your
place."

"Okay, Wil," he said. He paused for a second, then angrily
muttered, "I told you Scott Michaels was an asshole."

I nodded, even though I knew Ronnie couldn't see me. Down
the hall from the locker room, I heard a voice in the
distance moan loudly, then scream. Sounds like somebody
just got to the root of Scott's problem, I thought.

"I'll see you in ten minutes, Ronnie. Listen, I'm sorry for
what I said before."

"I'm sorry, too," he said, meekly. "Wil, I... I gotta tell
you something. I... really..." His voice cracked.

Shit, I don't want to hear this now, I thought.

"Ron, I gotta go," I snapped.

"No," he said. "I gotta tell you." He took a deep breath.
"I love you, Wil. I'm sorry, but I do."

I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the wall.

"Ronnie. I'm all fucked-up. Don't say anything," I begged.
"Just let me come over and crash for awhile... please."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he said, blubbering.

"And stop apologizing!" I yelled.

"Okay. Wil?" he asked.

"What now, Ronnie?"

"Hurry up!"

I cursed and hung up the phone. I grabbed my notebook and
textbooks and crammed them in my gym bag. I went over to a
dispenser over the trash can and grabbed a handful of paper
towels, and gingerly shoved them down the back of my pants.
It still hurt, but not quite as badly as it did ten minutes
ago.

With my heavy gym bag in hand, I trotted back down the
hall, then slowed to a fast walk as I went down the corner
by the workout room door. The room lights were out now, and
I thought for a moment about opening the door. Again, I
heard a loud moan from inside, but I could've sworn it was
two different voices this time. I backed up from the door,
and silently tip-toed past it. I hit the fire door release,
stumbled and ran out into the cold night. I started running
faster after I heard it slam shut in the distance.







Chapter 10

I didn't stop running until I made it to the sanctity of
Rick and Ron's bedroom. From their phone, I called home and
left a message with Sharon, and made my excuses. The two
brothers locked their door, pushed me down on the lower
bunk bed, and gently pulled off my clothing. After a quick
examination, they told me I didn't seem to have broken
anything -- except maybe my ass. I hurt all over. I was
pretty well covered with scratches and purple bruises all
over my back, chest, and stomach, even a little on my neck.
Luckily, my face still looked fine, so chances were good
that my mom and dad would never be able to see any damage,
if I was lucky.

Ronnie took a good look at my backside and shook his head.
"You're definitely still bleedin' a little back there," he
said, wincing.

I felt a lot better after a long hot bath. An hour later,
we checked again and the bleeding had definitely stopped. I
felt exhausted, but it was good to be back with my friends
-- even if they were The Geek Brothers.

Ronnie brought in a tray of soup and burgers from the
kitchen, and we ate dinner while lying on the floor and
watching _The Wild Wild West_ on TV. Jesus, I thought. The
star of the show sure had tight pants. I felt a little
twinge and adjusted my crotch. Rick looked down and
laughed. I looked down and saw my stiffening organ clearly
outlined through my underwear.

"You're one hor-hor-horny guy," he said, laughing and
pointing. "I guess you like Agent West as much as we do."

I grinned and nodded. Even after all I've been through, I
still hadn't gotten any satisfaction myself, tonight. The
two brothers turned and sat in front of me and smiled.

"You wanna... you know," said Ronnie, shyly.

I grinned, but shook my head weakly. "Maybe later, Ron," I
said.

"There's no rush," he said, smiling. "I can wait."

I nodded. Jesus, maybe the little dork really did love me,
I thought. "Let me sleep, Ronnie," I said, as I wearily got
into the lower bunk bed. "I really feel like crap."

He nodded, and both brothers turned off the light and left
the room. The fresh, cool sheets felt good on my bruised
back. In minutes, I was fast asleep. A few hours later, I
was awakened when somebody (or somebodies) climbed up the
ladder into the top bunk. Soon afterward, the bed frame
began gently shaking back and forth, and two voices moaned
little squeaks of pleasure.

I rolled my eyes. "Can you guys, ah, hold it down a
little?" I whispered loudly.

Ronnie's bright red face appeared to my right, upside-down,
looking down from the top bunk. "Shit! I'm sorry, Wil," he
whispered.

"Sorry, Wil!" whispered Rick, out of sight.

I closed my eyes and drifted back to sleep, as the bed
quietly rocked back and forth.

                        *   *   *

Hours later, I awoke to find Ronnie asleep in my bunk, with
his arm across my chest and his head tucked under my arm.
The clock said it was 4:10 in the morning.

"Pssst!" I whispered. "What're you doing down here! I'm
trying to sleep, man."

He opened his eyes and looked sleepily at me, then smiled.
"I didn't think you'd mind," he yawned, and snuggled closer
to me.

"Cut it out, Ron," I snapped, pushing him away. He looked
hurt.

"You hate me, don't you," he said in a small voice, sitting
up.

I sighed. "No, I don't hate you, Ronnie. I just got a lot
of stuff on my mind, that's all."'

He lay beside me and turned on his side. "You never did
tell us exactly what happened with you and Scott," he
whispered.

I felt a chill at the memory. "I don't wanna talk about it,
Ron," I snapped. "Just shut up."

Ronnie put his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Wil," he
said, seriously. "I'll kill him for hurting you." He said
it matter-of-fact, as if it'd be the easiest thing in the
world for him to do.

I grinned. "I think Scott has his own problems to worry
about," I said.

"Scott's father f-f-f-ucks him," said Rick, loudly.

I looked up and was shocked to see the other Lannigan
brother staring at me and Ronnie, upside down, from the top
bunk.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, momentarily taken
aback.

"It's true," he said, climbing down the little ladder and
sitting beside the two of us on the lower bunk. "Sc-Sc-
Scott told me. I did it with him all last sum-sum-summer.
He always wanted to... you know... d-do it that way. He
said he didn't mind his Dad doin' it to him. He called it
c-c-c-cornholin'."

I nodded. 'Cornholing' was an old Southern tradition I had
heard about before, but never actually seen or experienced.
Well, until a few hours ago, anyway.

"But you wouldn't let him do it to you," I said.

He shook his head. Ron blurted out, "I think Scott wanted
Rickie to corn-hole _him_."

"Shut up, Ronnie!" hissed Rick. "T-tell us everything that
happened, Wil," he said, looking at me intently.

Reluctantly, I gave them the whole story, as best I could.
Ronnie nodded when I got to the part about Scott comparing
our equipment.

"I told you Wil's was bigger," he said to Rick, who punched
him in the arm and told him to shut up.

"So how-how-how did you get away from him, Wil?" Rick
asked.

"Chuck saved me," I replied.

"You mean Chuckles, the pervert?" squealed Ronnie. "The fat
kid in the locker room who stares at everybody when they're
taking a shower?" He fell back on the bed with laughter.
"He's gross!"

"Hey," I said with a sigh. "I owe him a favor. He clobbered
the shit out of Scott. I never would've gotten away if it
wasn't for Chuck."

"Why did Scott do this to you?" Rick asked quietly.

Shit. Now it was my turn to apologize. "Guys," I said,
looking at both brothers as sincerely as I could, "I'm
really sorry. I... I accidentally told him that I knew
about..."

Their eyes widened.

"You didn't!" whispered Ronnie.

I nodded. "I told him I knew what he'd been doing with you
two."

Rick's face went white. "You m-m-mean with _me_," he said,
angrily.

"Yeah," I said. "I was scared! I just... I dunno, I blurted
out the first thing I could think of to make him stop.
Jesus, I'm really sorry, Rick," I said, embarrassedly.

"We're dead now, for sure," Ronnie whispered. Rick nodded
and glared at me.

"I'm not so sure," I said. "Chuck was in the locker room
with Scott for a long time, after he bashed his head in," I
mused.

"You think he... _did_ stuff with him?" asked Ronnie,
bewildered.

I grinned. "Let's just say that I think Scott is now in a
lot worse shape than I am," I said.

"Holy shit," said both brothers. They turned and looked at
each other, and the three of us burst out laughing.

As our laughter subsided, I yawned. I glanced at the
illuminated clock by their bed: it was nearly 4:30AM.

"Guys, I'm still tired, and I hurt like shit. Can we just
sleep and have breakfast in the morning," I yawned.

Ronnie grinned at me and ran his hand across my stomach. "I
know somethin' that'll make you sleep better," he said.

I rolled my eyes. "Do you guys ever stop thinking about
sex?" I whined.

"Nope," said Rick, who turned and helped Ronnie gently pull
down my underwear.

I mumbled some weak protests, and then lay back on the bed
and felt something warm, wet, and wonderful nuzzle my belly
and then work its way downwards.

These two were absolutely insatiable, I thought, as I laid
my arms over my head, closed my eyes, and felt my groin
throb with pleasure.

                        *   *   *

I awoke at 7:30 to find the room flooded with sunlight.
Ronnie was still in bed with me, his hand under the covers
cradling my groin, which was still a little sore from the
fight I'd had the night before with Scott. Rick was on the
floor beside us, covered with a sheet, and snoring softly.

Well, at least he doesn't stutter in his sleep, I thought.
I gingerly slid past Ron and stepped over his older
brother, then padded across the room on the plush white
carpet and entered their bathroom. My mouth fell open.
Their bathroom was even bigger than my parents', I thought.
Fancy sink and toilet fixtures, too. This stuff really
looked cool -- and expensive.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror by the shower,
and winced at the reflection. My limp member hung down half
a foot in front of me, like it always did, but I could see
my right testicle was definitely a little swollen and
bruised.

"I guess this what you call 'blue balls for real,'" I
whispered to myself.

My chest and stomach were bruised as well, but not as badly
as I feared. My upper chest was still a little red and sore
from where the barbell hit me. I poked around gingerly and
winced as I encountered a few tender spots, but I was
certain nothing was broken.

"Shit, Wil!"

I jumped to find Ronnie standing behind me, still naked.
"Your back's got a shit-load of cuts and bruises on it,
man."

I nodded. "Yeah. That was a parting gift from Scott last
night."

He walked up beside me, then put his hand on my back, then
reached down lower. I flinched, but he rubbed me cautiously
and tenderly.

"I meant what I said, Wil," he whispered. "I'll kill him
for what he did to you."

"Forget it, Ron," I replied, shaking my head. "Chuck really
gave it to him last night. I'm sure Scott won't sit down
for a week."

Ronnie shivered at the thought of Chuck and Scott, together
in the weight room. He looked up at me with tears in his
eyes. "Then I hope Chuck makes Scott wish he was dead," he
said, coldly. Sometimes, Ron really scared the hell out of
me, and this was definitely one of those times.

"Hey, g-g-guys!"

We both gave a start as his brother Rick stuck his head
through the bathroom door.

"Willie Mae's got breakfast all ready," he said. "Get
dressed and come d-d-down to the dining room, okay?"

"Who's Willie Mae?" I quipped.

"She's our maid," replied Ronnie. "She cooks and cleans the
house and takes care of us when Mom's not here."

Jesus, I thought. This must be like living in a hotel! Rick
and Ron left me in the bathroom to take care of business.
It hurt a little, but not nearly as badly as I feared.
After I finished, I decided to take another shower. I dried
myself thoroughly, then checked my still-sore ass in the
mirror, just to check its progress. At least it looked
normal from the outside, I thought. I walked back into the
brothers' bedroom, and Ron tossed me a large T-shirt.

"It's one of Rick's," he said. "You can wear his stuff for
now. You two are about the same size."

I nodded. "What about my clothes?" I said, holding up my
jeans, which I could now see were stained with a small
blotch of dried blood in the back.

"I'll throw all your stuff in the washing machine right
now," he said. "I'll tell Mom you slipped and got dirt on
'em, and we'll just clean 'em up. Nobody'll ever know."

"Thanks, Ronnie," I said.

He looked up at me and flashed me a huge smile. "It's part
of ze secret meession," he quipped, in a perfect German
accent. "Ve must get rid of all ze evidenze, and make zure
ze guilty parties are caught oont killt."

I grinned and shook my head. "You know you're totally nuts,
right?" I said.

Ron just laughed and ran out of the room, taking my dirty
clothes with him.

                        *   *   *

When I entered the Lannigan's palatial dining room, I
couldn't believe the spread laid out on the table before
us. Every variety of breakfast meat was there -- bacon,
ham, link sausage _and_ patties -- along with hash browns,
a serving tray of scrambled eggs, a huge stack of pancakes,
and a neat row of glass pitchers with freshly-squeezed
orange juice, grapefruit juice, milk, and ice water. Rick
was already digging into the pancakes, and Ron pulled a
chair out for me next to him and started scooping out a big
helping of scrambled eggs for himself.

"Lots of protein in these, Wil," he said, piling them on
the plate. "You muscle-bound jocks need this stuff, right?"

I grinned, grabbed my fork and took a bite. "Aren't you
gonna have any?" I asked, my mouth half-full. Man, this
stuff tasted good.

"Oh," he said, laughing and patting his stomach, "I already
had my share of protein last night."

Both brothers practically fell out of their chairs
laughing. I rolled my eyes and laughed along with them,
then playfully socked Ronnie in the shoulder.

"Boys," called their mother, who walked into the dining
room. "Oh, hello, William! I'm so glad you could spend the
night with the boys."

"Hi, Mrs. Lannigan," I said, in between mouthfuls. "Thanks
for letting me sleep over. This food is fantastic!" I said,
taking a bite of pancakes.

She smiled. "That's our Willie Mae! Isn't she wonderful?
Anyway, boys, I've got to meet your Uncle Bob at the
airport. I'll be back later this afternoon. Willie Mae will
stay and make you lunch. Don't drive her crazy, will you?"
she said, grabbing her purse.

"Yes, mom," chorused the two brothers, as she left the
room.

"By the way," she called from the hallway. "Did you hear
what happened at your school last night?"

I almost dropped my fork on my plate. Rick and Ron looked
up from their meals, and their faces paled.

"N-n-n-n-n..." stammered Rick.

"NO, Mom, we didn't!" finished Ronnie.

Rick kicked him under the table.

"A boy was hurt and had to be taken to the hospital," she
called, walking back into the dining room. "Here it is, on
the front page of the metro section of today's paper."

She laid the Saturday morning edition of the _Tampa
Tribune_ on the table. In the lower right corner was a
blurry picture of Scott Michaels in his football jersey. A
small headline read, "Local Athlete Injured in Freak
Accident."

I blanched and started to reach for the paper, but Ronnie
snatched it out of my hand.

"A near-tragedy was narrowly averted last night," he read
aloud, "after a Tampa Central High School football
quarterback was injured in the school gymnasium and had to
be rushed to the emergency room on Friday night at 7:30PM."

7:30, I gasped! Jesus! I left just before 6. That meant
that Chuck and Scott were in the weight room for more
than...

"'The student, Scott Henry Michaels,'" continued Ron as he
read the news item, "'was the second Tampa Central
quarterback to be sidelined this season. Team quarterback
Robert Carlson, a junior, had previously broken his leg in
a motorcycle accident last month. Michaels, age 15, was
rescued after he was reportedly crushed by a barbell in the
school gymnasium. Dr. Simon McAdams, a physician at St.
Joseph's Hospital, says that Michaels could have bled to
death had he not been found in time. Assistant school gym
manager, Charles Blossom, is being hailed as a hero after
rescuing him.'"

I burst out laughing. "Some hero!" I said.

"Keep reading, R-R-Ronnie," muttered Rick, shooting me a
glance.

"'Michaels suffered a mild concussion and a badly broken
arm, which reportedly occurred during unauthorized use of
school exercise equipment. Tampa Central High Dean of Boys
Steven P. Lucas refused to provide any specific details
regarding the accident, pending an investigation. Lucas did
indicate that the student was expected to be released
sometime Sunday morning, and that his injuries weren't
life-threatening but would prevent him from returning to
the team for the rest of the season.'"

The three of us crowded around the paper. I stared at the
photo of Michaels. He looked almost handsome, smiling at
the camera. That wasn't the smile I saw last night, I
thought, shivering at the memory.

"Richard, you knew this Scott Michaels, didn't you?" called
his mother as she walked towards the front door.

"N-n-n-not all that well, M-m-mom!" he answered, nervously.
He and Ronnie glanced at each other.

She stopped and thought for a moment. "Didn't he used to
come by occasionally last year?" she asked, as she opened
the front door.

Rick nodded, then turned back to me, his eyes flashing with
anger.

"Oh, well," she said. "At least he'll be alright. Now, you
boys be good, and don't make a mess in the house! Merry
Christmas, Wil!"

She left and closed the door.

"Shit, a broken _arm_!" I said, quietly.

Ron giggled. "They mean a broken ASS!"

I winced. Mine was still a little sore.

"Shut up, Ronnie," snapped his older brother. "Well, I
guess you t-t-told us the truth," he said, staring at me,
then the paper.

I rolled my eyes. "Whad'ya think, Rick?" I cried. "I beat
myself up and then ripped the shit out of my own butthole?"

"I'm s-s-s-orry, Wil," he said, looking down at his plate.

Ron put his hand on my shoulder. "I told him you were
tellin' the truth," he said, in a quiet voice. "I think he
still _likes_ Scott."

"Shut UP, Ronnie!" snarled Rick, as he stormed out of the
room.

Ronnie and I finished our breakfast in silence. I even had
a second helping. Ron giggled when I let out a loud fart as
we left the table.

"Please pass on my compliments to the cook for today's
cuisine," I said, as Ronnie dissolved into laughter.

                        *   *   *

By mid-afternoon, my jeans were clean enough that I could
wear them again. There was no tell-tale signs of
bloodstains anymore. My underwear were a lost cause,
however, so we opted to just throw them away. Right before
4PM, Mrs. Lannigan dropped me off at my place, and Ron ran
up to the door with me.

"Can you come back again tonight, Wil?" he asked,
plaintively.

I shook my head. "I want to take it easy for a few days,
Ronnie. I still hurt like hell, and I've also got some
Christmas shopping to do."

He nodded and walked back to the car and got in. "Call me
tomorrow, willya Wil?" he yelled out the window, as they
backed out of the driveway.

"I will, Ronnie!" I yelled back, and walked into our living
room. I took a good look around. Jesus, why have I never
noticed how this place is a dump, I thought. It looked like
shit compared to the Lannigan's house, I mused, as I tore
up the stairs, two steps at a time.

"Wil!" called my mother from the kitchen. "Sky called this
morning. He asked me to tell you that one of the boys from
school got hurt last night."

I winced. "I know all about it, Mom!" I yelled down the
hallway.

She walked out in the living room and looked up at me
suspiciously. "How do you already know?" she asked.

"I read it in the paper this morning," I replied casually.
"Can I use the phone in your bedroom up here?"

"Alright," she said. "You know, I'm just going to have to
ask your father to get another upstairs phone. You and your
sister use the family phone far too much."

My face brightened. "Hey! Could we get our own line?"

She laughed. "Let me talk it over with Santa later on."

"Thanks Mom!" I yelled, running down the hall.

I shut their bedroom door, grabbed the phone by their bed,
and quickly dialed Sky's number. He answered, but I cut him
off before he could blurt out the news about Scott.

"I was there, Sky," I said, and told him the details of
what happened, omitting what I suspected Chuck did
afterward, and about Scott's extra-curricular activities.

"Holy shit," he murmured. "I knew Scott had some problem
with you, but I didn't understand why," he said.

"Yeah, some macho athlete he turned out to be," I said,
grimly.

Sky was silent. "Jesus, Wil. I'm really sorry that
happened. Does it still hurt?"

I laughed, then winced as I felt one of the bruises on my
chest. "Only when I laugh," I said. "Or sit down. Or do
anything."

"Fuck. I guess this means you'll wanna skip the dance on
Tuesday," he said, a tone of disappointment creeping into
his voice.

I mulled it over. I wasn't feeling all _that_ bad, I
thought. In three days I should feel OK. And I'd hate to
piss-off Cynthia even before she really got to know me.

"No," I said, surprising myself. "I'll go."

"That's great!" he said, sounding relieved. "We'll pick you
up at 7, sharp."

"I'll be ready," I replied. I hung up the receiver. "Shit,
I'll be glad if I survive the night," I said out loud, to
nobody in particular.

                        *   *   *

Over the next few days, I took it easy and tried to recover
from my injuries suffered in the workout room. Despite
Scott's assault, my 'internal plumbing' seemed to have
recovered pretty well. Every time I went to the bathroom, I
hoped Michaels was having a much worse time with his
injuries, inflicted at the hands of Chuck.

I only had about $50 holiday spending money, but I still
managed to find some fairly decent gifts. I got Sky a
little framed photo of the two of us from last summer, a
blowup of a snapshot that his sister Carol had taken of us
at the beach. We had our arms around each other and were
making a goofy face at the camera. I thought the photo
showed him the way he really was. I crossed my fingers that
he wouldn't think it was too corny.

I got Rick and Ronnie some cool toys -- an _Invaders_
flying saucer model kit for Rick, and a _Lost in Space_
robot for Ronnie. What Ronnie would probably rather have, I
thought, was a life-size plastic replica of 'little Wil.' I
could just imagine him unwrapping that under the Lannigan
Christmas tree. At least if he had a spare, maybe I could
get a moment's rest from those two.

Finally, the big day arrived: Tuesday, Christmas Eve. All
afternoon, my sister and I helped my mom and dad rearrange
the living room furniture and put up the tree, which had
been a family tradition for several years. Our Christmas
tree wasn't gigantic, I thought, but the lights would
probably look pretty cool from outside the front window.

I ran upstairs, took a shower, and put on my best suit --
my only suit, actually. It was getting close to 7. I spent
over 20 minutes standing in front of the mirror, fussing
with my shirt and trying to get everything just right. It
was hopeless. How was it that people like Sky always looked
good, no matter what they wore? As if to answer my
question, I heard a car horn honk in our driveway.

"That's Schuyler!" yelled my dad from the living room. "Get
a move on, Wil!"

"I heard it, already!" I yelled, tearing down the stairs.

My mom met me at the door and checked my tie. I protested,
but she tugged the knot a little tighter, practically
choking me. I prayed she wouldn't notice the slight scratch
on my throat and the small bruise on the left side of my
face.

"I'd rather wear a clip-on," I muttered.

"You're too old for that, son," said my dad, who smiled at
me and turned to my mother. "Honey, our little boy's
growing up. Can you believe it? It's his first date."

My parents both beamed at me and put their arms around each
other. I rolled my eyes.

"What is this -- 'Donna Reed'?" I whined.

"Go on," prodded my Dad, opening the door. "Just have a
good time. And don't forget to be back by 11PM."

"Jeez, the whole thing is chaperoned, Dad! This isn't
junior high anymore!" I complained.

"Alright -- then midnight at the latest. Schuyler's father
is driving all of you home, right?"

I nodded.

"Have a good time, Wil," said my mom, as she kissed my
forehead.

"Mom!" I said, praying desperately that none of my friends
saw her. "They're waiting for me!"

I ran to the car and almost slipped on the wet grass. I
wasn't used to these leather dress shoes, since I wore
sneakers about 90% of the time. Sky jumped out of the car
and opened the back door for me. Cynthia and Melissa looked
up from inside and smiled at me.

"You look great, Wil," said Cyn, shyly.

"You'd look even better if you took off your stupid
glasses, dumbass!" whispered Sky, who plucked my glasses
off my face and shoved them into my right pocket.

Maybe I'd get through the night better if it was slightly
blurry, I thought. I nodded and got in the car, and Sky
slammed the door.

"You know, you've got really nice eyes," whispered Cyn, as
I sat next to her.

I gulped. "Thanks, Cynthia."

"Call me Cyn," she corrected.

"Right, Cyn."

She took my left arm out of my lap and put it over her
shoulder, then smiled sweetly at me. My heart beat a little
faster as Sky's dad revved the engine and started off down
the street. I looked up and saw Sky looking back at me,
grinning ear to ear.

"Told ya," he mouthed, silently.

I grinned back at him and nodded.







Chapter 11

The Palma Ceia Golf & Country Club was a huge, sprawling
white mansion, reminiscent of one of those old Southern
plantations they used to have in the 1800's. But instead of
rows of cotton fields out back, they had several hundred
acres of the finest golf course in all of Central Florida.
Our car pulled up under a large, ornate archway, and an
elderly black gentleman in a uniform stood stiffly and
opened up the car doors for us.

"Welcome to the dance, ladies and gentlemen," he said, in a
southern accent.

Jesus, I thought. The slaves are still here, 100 years
later, only now they do this instead of picking cotton. I
shook my head, feeling sorry for the guy. Another black man
opened the huge mahogany door of the club entrance.

"I thought Lincoln freed these guys awhile back," I
whispered to Sky as we walked down the ornate corridor. Cyn
giggled, but Sky shot me a look.

"Shut up, man. This is a high-class outfit!" he hissed at
me. "My old man pays a fortune for us to belong here!"

The grand ballroom had a huge white and gold banner over
its doorway, proclaiming "The 11th Annual Tampa Central
High Christmas Dance - 1968." It was jam-packed with nearly
a thousand teenagers, and a local rock group tried
valiantly to perform cover versions of current hit songs at
the small stage in front. What they lacked in talent, they
sure made up in volume, I thought.

"You guys want a couple of drinks?" shouted Sky, trying to
be heard over the din.

"Yeah," I shouted back. "I'll take a Scotch on the rocks!"

Sky cracked up, but shook his head. "Coke, 7-Up, or water
is about it!" he laughed.

"Coke," I replied. "Cyn, you want anything?"

Sky took our drink orders, then returned with four glasses.
We toasted each other, then looked around for a place to
sit down. Cynthia pointed to the glass doors to our right,
on the other side of the room, and we squeezed through the
crowded dance floor, out to a huge open terrace that
overlooked the 18th hole.

It was a beautiful winter evening -- not too cold, and not
raining, like it often did in Florida in December. Just
cold enough to be "nippy," as my Mom would say, probably 50
degrees. Several other couples were already sitting on the
ledge and gazing at the stars, while a few others hid in
the corner, sneaking guilty puffs on cigarettes. Cyn
grabbed my hand and walked me over to the side.

"Wow," she said. "This is a really neat place. Have you
ever been here before?" she asked.

I shook my head. "No. Sky's dad has a membership here. I
think Rick and Ronnie Lannigan's family, do, too."

Her brow furrowed. "Those dweebs?"

"Hey, they're my friends!" I said, angrily.

She looked at me, surprised. "I'm sorry, Wil," she
apologized. "I thought they were... you know, just a couple
of dorks. You're much cooler than they are," she said,
squeezing my hand.

I laughed and nodded. "I'm sorry," I said. "You're right...
they are dorks. But they're also my friends."

Cynthia laughed, and her eyes twinkled. God, she really was
cute, I thought.

"You wanna dance?" she said, looking back towards the noisy
hall behind us.

My face blanched. "I'm... I'm not all that great a dancer,"
I said, nervously. "I'm a pretty good swimmer, but I'm not
so hot on the dance floor."

She smiled and leaned closer to me. "Melissa told me you
were pretty cool dancing in the cafeteria the other day,"
she said.

I laughed. "I learned all my best moves from The
Temptations," I said, smiling.

"I bet you did," she laughed.

I looked around for Sky and Melissa, who were nowhere to be
found. "Where could they be?" I mused.

"Don't worry about them," she asked, putting down her
glass. "Let's dance!"

She grabbed me by the hand and pulled me back inside to the
dance floor. I meekly tried to protest, but then the band
perked up and started playing a half-decent version of The
Beach Boys' "Wouldn't It Be Nice." I grinned and started
singing along with the music, and Cyn lifted her arms in
the air and moving her feet.


"Wouldn't it be nice if we were older
then we wouldn't have to wait so long
and wouldn't it be nice to live together
in the kind of world where we belong..."


Cyn laughed as I started singing Mike Love's "bah ba-ba-
bah" harmony backup vocals, which was my favorite part.
When the song got to the slow part, she pulled me closer to
her and wrapped her arms around me. She looked into my eyes
and sang with me:


"You know it seems
the more we talk about it...
it only makes it worse to live without it.
But let's talk about it...
Oh, wouldn't it be nice."


I grinned, and she leaned forward, wrapped her arms around
me, and tenderly kissed me. God. It felt wonderful. At
last, the song ended, and all of us applauded.

Sky walked over and clapped me on the shoulder. "Hey," he
said. "You two look like you're having fun."

"Yeah," I said, grinning.

Sky leaned forward and whispered in my ear. "Good goin',
stud," he whispered, then laughed. He and Melissa waved as
they walked off to the dining room.

"What'd he say?" asked Cyn.

Try as I might, I couldn't wipe the stupid grin off my
face. "Sky kinda had to drag me to this thing, kicking and
screaming," I confessed.

Cynthia frowned. "I thought you wanted to be here, Wil,"
she said, quietly.

"Oh, I did," I said, quickly. "I... I really like you,
Cyn."

She brightened. "Let's grab some food, okay, Wil?"

I nodded, and we joined the rest of the teenagers in the
banquet room next door.

                        *   *   *

Three hours later, I was pretty much danced out. Cyn taught
me two or three new steps, and I pretty much faked the
rest. After glancing at the other couples dancing, I
figured I was probably not much better or worse than half
the ones I could see. Of course, I couldn't see all that
many of them, because I was half-blind without my glasses,
but that was beside the point.

The band took a break, so the four of us decided to go back
outside and look at the stars from the terrace. Florida was
usually pretty cloudy in December, but this was one of
those unusually clear nights. Sky and Melissa headed down
to the golf course.

"I know a little place by the side-road," he said, putting
his arm around Melissa.

"Give us 20 minutes, then call the police!" she quipped,
then grabbed Sky by the hand and dragged him down the
steps.

Cyn and I laughed, and walked down the ornate stone steps
in the other direction.

"I think we could see the stars better from over here," she
said, pointing out a small white bench next to a tree in
the distance.

"You think we should?" I asked, nervously looking around.
"I mean, maybe they'll arrest us for trespassing or
something."

"C'mon," she said, grabbing my hand. "Just for a little
while."

I stumbled after her, and we followed a little gravel path
down a neatly manicured grass hill, which led to a white
wrought-iron bench. It was next to a little babbling brook,
a water hazard next to the 17th hole in front of us. We sat
down on the bench, and I nervously adjusted my tie.

"I had a great time tonight, Wil," she said, quietly.

I looked back at her. She smiled, and I felt a warm
throbbing between my legs. Oh, shit, I thought. Not now!
There's no way I could walk around if that happened, even
in pants this baggy.

I cleared my throat and looked up. "I think that's the
North Star," I pointed. "The bright one to the right is
Venus."

"That's the goddess of love, right?" she whispered, leaning
closer to me.

"Uh, yeah... well, it's actually the planet," I stammered.
"I think the ones over there are part of the Big Dipper."

"Umm-hmmmm," she said. She leaned forward, closed her eyes,
and kissed me, gently.

I was a little bit in shock, but she pulled me closer to
her. I put my hand on the back of her head and kissed her
deeply. At last, we parted, and I caught my breath.

"So that's the Big Dipper," she said, looking at me.

I nodded.

"I hear you've got a big one, too," she murmured, putting
her hand to my chest.

Oh, fuck. "Uh, Cyn, I've... we've... isn't it getting close
to 11?" I said, looking desperately around for Sky.

"We don't have to be home until midnight," she said,
sliding her hand down from my chest towards my pants.

My heart froze as she squeezed my inside thigh, and I
immediately felt my groin throb in response. "Cyn, no,
please..."

"God," she sighed. "It really _is_ huge, isn't it?"

I nodded nervously, ready to bolt back inside at any
moment.

"I've never seen one like yours before," she said, reaching
for my zipper.

"Please, Cynthia, I like you and everything, but..."

She put her hand on my mouth, then giggled. "I thought it
was the _girl_ who was supposed to resist the _guy_," she
said, smiling.

Oh, god. Sky, this is your fucking fault, I thought.

Before I could stop her, she'd zipped down my pants and
reached inside my underwear. "God," she purred, "you're so
big! Please, I've got to see, it Wil!"

I took a quick look in both directions. I thought I'd heard
a footstep on the gravel path to our left, but the coast
seemed to be clear. I nodded and pulled my pants and
underwear down slightly, and my erection sprang up, as hard
as I've ever seen it.

"Oh, my God, Wil!" she whispered, awe-struck. "It's
beautiful. It's even more wonderful than they said it was."

I could just imagine the headlines in the school newspaper.
Does everybody know about my dick, I thought? I gulped, and
she gently examined me, first with a finger, then her whole
hand.

"And your balls are huge, too," she said, admiringly, as
she reached out to grasp one.

"OOOOOF!" I yelled, still wincing from Friday night's
bruises.

She quickly pulled her hand back. "Oh, Wil, I'm so sorry!"

"I'm just... a little sensitive down there," I sighed.

"I'll be gentle, I promise." She began to rub me gently. "I
know what to do."

I'm sure you do, I thought. Suddenly, she leaned over and
began licking me all over, then slipped her mouth gently
over the head. I moaned so loudly, I heard a squirrel to
our left stop and run off in panic.

"Shhhh," she said, looking up. "This won't take long."

I nodded, and she went back to work. Oh, god. I caressed
her hair, as her head bobbed up and down in my lap. My
loins burned, and I felt my heart pounding until I thought
it would burst right through my chest. She'd definitely
done this before, I thought. She was good, but not as good
as Ronnie.

Ronnie. Oh, Christ. I tried to keep his image out of my
head. I could feel the pressure building, and I began to
moan softly.

"Cyn!" I whispered. "I'm going to..."

She took her mouth off and began stroking me frantically. I
groaned loudly and spurted five, six, seven times, all over
the 17th hole green. Thankfully, none of it got on Cynthia
or my suit.

I fell back on the bench, totally spent. She turned to me,
and I grabbed her and kissed her, brusquely. I felt her
tongue slip through my mouth, and I moaned.

"Oh, god, Cyn. That was great," I whispered.

She smiled. "I've had some experience, you know," she said,
quietly. "I did it with Sky's brother Bill last year before
he went to college."

My face blanched. "But he's 18!" I said, shocked.

She nodded. "I know. Don't tell Sky. He just thinks we hung
out together a couple of times."

I sighed, and she kissed me on the neck.

"You're much bigger than Bill," she marvelled. "You've got
the biggest one I've ever seen. You're wonderful, Wil. I
want to... I really want to do it with you." She continued
to gently caress my deflating member, which was beginning
to stir to life again.

Christ, I thought. Does it ever stop?

"B-b-but Cyn," I stammered, immediately thinking of Rick,
"we can't do it here... now."

"I know," she cooed. "My parents have to drive out to
Sarasota to see my relatives at 6PM tomorrow, and they
won't be back until at least midnight. I'll make an excuse
to stay home. You could come over, and we can... you know."

I began to panic. "Look, Cyn, I can't. I'm... busy."

"With what?" she asked, plaintively. "School's out until
the 6th. You said the swimming pool's closed for the next
few weeks for maintenance. You don't have anything else
going on."

I thought quickly. "I've got a 1000-word History report to
do," I remembered.

"You can start your homework on Thursday," she replied. Cyn
looked really beautiful in the moonlight, which made her
brown eyes sparkle. "You're all I want in my Christmas
stocking, Wil."

I sighed. "Okay," I said. "I'll try to see you tomorrow
night."

"Please come by, Wil," she said, gently caressing my groin.
"I... I really want this. It's the best Christmas present
you could give me."

I nodded. Just at that moment, we heard some footsteps down
the gravel path. Quickly, I pushed my equipment back in my
underwear, tucked in my shirt and zipped up my pants.
Cynthia and I jumped off the bench and stood there, acting
as innocent as possible.

"THERE you are!" yelled Sky, as he and Melissa ran up to
us. "The band just started playin' a Beatles medley, and I
figured you guys would wanna hear it. They sound really
great!"

I nodded and walked back with them up the steps.

"I need to powder my nose, Wil," said Cyn. "Melissa and I
will be right back. Wait for us on the dance floor," she
called, running across the terrace.

Sky elbowed me and giggled.

"FUCK, man!" I winced, holding my side.

"Oh, shit, Wil," he whispered, apologetically. "I'm really
sorry, man! That's where Scott slugged, you, right?"

I nodded as we walked back onto the dance floor, which was
now only about half as crowded as it was two hours earlier.
We sat down on one of the plush white chairs that lined the
sides of the enormous room.

"So, did you get to make out with Cyn?" he asked, grinning.

I nodded and felt a twinge in my groin. "That was the best
blow-job I've had all day," I laughed, quietly.

Sky was stunned. "You're... you're kiddin', right?"

"What," I said. "You think I'm gonna lie? Sky, she blew me,
right on the 17th hole!"

Sky looked like he was going to fall out of his chair.
"Jesus, Wil, you don't waste any time!" he whispered. "Most
13 year-olds wait until at least the second date before
movin' to oral sex!"

I grinned. "Well, I guess I'm skipping ahead to the
advanced levels in this particular course," I replied. We
both laughed.

"So what'd she say?" he asked.

I sighed. "Cynthia said I had the biggest dick in the
school. And you know what, Sky?" I said, turning to my best
friend. "I got the strong feeling she's probably seen most
of them." I sighed.

Sky rolled his eyes heavenward. "Shit! I swear, I had no
idea she was a slut."

I laughed. "She's really nice for a slut. She wants me to
come by tomorrow night and, you know..."

Sky's mouth fell open. "Wait a minute!" he whispered.
"You're sayin' she _asked_ you to fuck her?"

I nodded. He punched me in the arm.

"Shit," he laughed. "People think I'M the biggest stud in
9th grade. You're the only guy I know who's actually gonna
DO it!"

We both laughed again. Sky thought for a minute and then
said, "Wil, you know, Cyn used to have a thing for my
brother. You don't think that she and Bill..."

I hesitated. "Gee, uh, I can't imagine that, Sky," I said,
as seriously as I could.

"You ASSHOLE!" he hissed. "She's fucked him, too, hasn't
she? Don't try to lie to me, Wil -- I know you too well."

I gave up and meekly nodded my head.

Sky let out a low whistle. "Shit. I never would've done
this if I'd known."

"Don't worry, Sky," I said. "I think once Cyn gets what she
wants out of me, she'll leave me alone."

Sky gave me a curious look, then put his hand on my
shoulder. "Wil," he whispered, "I wanted you to... you
know... find out what a good time you could have with
girls. I know you, man. You're not a homo."

I nodded. "I like Cynthia -- a lot." I looked up at his
face. "But I really like you, too, Sky."

Sky turned away from me and pretended to watch the band on
stage. "I don't wanna talk about that," he whispered
angrily.

"But it's true," I said. "Who says I can't love both of
you?"

He looked up at me, with panic in his eyes. Fuck, fuck,
FUCK! I screamed in my brain. Why did I have to say that?

I started to stammer out an apology, but Sky stood up
suddenly and said, "Melissa! We were just talkin' about you
two!"

I looked up and saw Melissa and Cyn walking towards us out
of the crowd. Both of them were giggling. Cyn turned to
Melissa and whispered something in her left ear, and
Melissa screamed with laughter, covering her mouth. Several
onlookers turned in our direction, and my face turned beet
red.

"Hey, Melissa, d'ya wanna dance?" yelled Sky over the
music. "C'mon, let's go!" He turned to me and said,
quietly, "c'mon, Wil. You can't sit there all night."

I nodded, and Cyn took me by the hand and dragged me back
to the dance floor.

The band hit the opening chords of "Ticket to Ride," a
moldy oldie from three years ago, and my face brightened.

Cyn leaned over and whispered in my ear, "I think I love
you, Wil."

I grinned and nodded, then I leaned over and kissed her on
the cheek. We started to dance, but after a few moments I
winced. The song sucked -- it was missing something. They
were totally blowing the harmonies, I thought.

I looked up at the long-haired lead guitarist, who was just
ten feet away from us at the front of the stage area. He
looked like he was only a little older than we were, maybe
17 at the most. None of the other guys in the group seemed
to be singing with him at all. Before I could stop myself,
I began belting out Paul McCartney's vocal harmonies as
loudly as I could.


"I think I'm gonna be sad,
I think it's today, yeah,
The girl that's driving me mad
is going away, yeah.
Aaaaaaa...

She's got a ticket to ride,
she's got a ticket to ri - hi - hide,
she's got a ticket to ride,
but she don't care."


The guitarist looked down and grinned at me, nodded his
approval, then continued singing. I laughed and smiled back
at him, singing louder. He thought for a moment, then
gestured down to the stage steps, then pointed to me and
waved me on up.

Cynthia turned to me and grinned. "Wil! He means you! Go up
there and sing!"

Me? I pantomimed to the singer, pointing to my chest. He
grinned and nodded, then waved me up to the stage again.

Cyn pushed me up the steps and I stumbled up alongside the
guitarist and stood next to his mike. The moment I gazed
out at the crowd, I felt a flurry of butterflies in my
stomach and my knees began to shake. Jesus -- there were a
lot more kids here tonight than I thought.

The singer gave me a look, as if he was daring me to
actually do it. I immediately leaned over and launched into
my best Paul McCartney harmony impression on the chorus.


"I don't know why she's ridin' so high,
She ought to think twice,
She ought to do right by me...

Before she gets to sayin' goodbye,
She ought to think twice,
She ought to do right by me."


I winced a little at his guitar solo, but I reminded myself
-- you're not exactly going to find George Harrison playing
in Tampa the day before Christmas.

Jesus, I thought, getting a better look at my band-mate. I
couldn't see him that well from the floor, but up close I
could see this guy really was good-looking enough to be a
rock star. He was tall and had long dirty-blond hair, which
hung down to his shoulders. From the look of his arms, I'd
say he pumped weights, too.

I grinned when I looked down and saw Cyn looking up from me
from the audience, smiling. By the middle of the song, the
guitarist and I were singing as if we'd rehearsed it
together for a week. I belted out the words with all my
heart, trying desperately to remember how Paul looked on
_The Ed Sullivan Show_ a year or two earlier. I glanced
over at the guitarist, who grinned at me as we reached the
final verse.


"She said that living with me,
is bringing her down -- yeah...
That she would never be free
when I was around.
Aaaaaaaaa...

She's got a ticket to ride,
she's got a ticket to ri - hi - hide,
she's got a ticket to ride,
but she don't care.

My baby don't care
my baby don't care
my baby don't care."


He hit the final chord, and the band took a bow. I
retreated off to the side, then laughed out loud as I
caught a glimpse of Sky and Melissa. They were staring at
me, open-mouthed, then broke out into cheers and whistles.

The guitarist to my right grabbed my right hand and pulled
me back up to the front of the stage, then whispered, "take
a bow, asshole!" I grinned and bowed low, like the Fab Four
used to do on _Sullivan_.

Jesus, I thought. I could really get into this rock and
roll thing, I thought, as I trotted down the steps back to
Cynthia, who grabbed me and hugged me.

"Wil, that was great!" she gushed. "I didn't know you could
sing like that!"

I laughed. "I guess I inherited that from my grandmother,"
I said. "She's been in the church choir for like 50 years,
and we used to sing together when I was little."

Sky and Melissa pushed their way through the crowd, still
applauding and whistling.

"Cut it out, you jerks!" I said, smiling sheepishly and
rolling my eyes.

"You were great!" Sky said. "We should put you on the next
plane to Liverpool!"

"Yeah, right," I muttered. "Make it Hollywood, and you got
a deal."

"No, really, Wil! You were fantastic up there," said
Melissa, who kissed me. Cyn gave her a look, and my face
turned red again.

"Well, I wouldn't call it fantastic," said a voice from
behind me, "but it wasn't bad for an amateur." I turned,
and it was the handsome guitarist.

"Jesus, I-I'm sorry, man," I said, apologetically. "I
swear, I usually don't jump up and interrupt concerts like
that."

He jumped off the stage and playfully grabbed my shoulder
as he almost fell, then pulled himself up. "Hi," he said,
shaking my hand. "Jesus is another guy. I'm Pete."

"Pete Best?" I said, laughing, referring to the original
Beatles' drummer.

"No, Pete Woods," he said, laughing. "I go to Madeira Beach
High, across the Bay. You know, for a little twerp, you
were pretty cool."

I grinned at the compliment. "Your Lennon's not bad,
either," I said.

"You've got a great voice," he said.

My face reddened at the compliment.

"And you've got the right moves and everything," he
continued. "You ever think about bein' in a band, man?"

"No, no... I'm a swimmer!" I protested. "I'm on the varsity
team at Tampa Central High."

"Groovy. You a junior or senior?" he said, cocking his head
to get a better look at me.

I shook my head. "Freshman."

He laughed with surprise. "You're just a 9th grader?
Funny," he said, "Judging by your voice, I thought you were
a lot older." He looked me up and down. "Maybe it's just
your vibe," he said, softly. "Groovy."

I felt a chill as he walked around me in a complete circle.
Was he checking out my... I glanced down at my groin. No --
no tell-tale stains or obvious bulges, thank God.

Pete nodded as if in approval. "You know, you might
actually look pretty cool if you'd let your hair grow out."

"I can't," I said. "I'm a swimmer. It'd slow me down in the
water."

"I know," he grinned. "You told me already. You know, you'd
be great in our band. You play any instrument?"

"Just skin flute!" stage-whispered Sky. Pete and I laughed.

"Aside from that," said Pete.

"Well," I said, "I know a couple of chords on the piano..."
I started.

"Cool!" he said. "We could really use a keyboard player! My
Dad's got an old Hammond B-3 organ in the church
storeroom."

His _church_, I thought?

Pete laughed when he saw my expression. "I'm the black
sheep of the family," he admitted. "I'm not exactly what
you'd call 'religious.' Just... spiritual."

I nodded, a little relieved. My family definitely wasn't
what you would call Bible-belters.

"Look," he said, scribbling on a piece of paper. "Here's my
number. Call me sometime if you ever wanna get in the rock
and roll business. You really do great harmonies... it's
Wil, right?"

"Right. Wil with one 'L,'" I said. "Thanks, Pete."

"Anytime. Well, we gotta pack up. We got another show to do
tomorrow night in Bradenton. S'long, folks!"

He jumped back up on stage and started taking down the mike
stand, never taking his eyes off me. Jesus, this guy was
even better-looking than Sky, I thought.

"Call me," the singer mouthed, then nodded.

I nodded back, then looked down at the piece of paper in my
hand. On it, he'd written:


"I saw you out back tonight.
You're fucking cool, man!
Call me anytime.

--Pete
(813) 837-4331."


My heart skipped a beat. Did he mean...? I looked up and he
was still looking at me from the stage with a sly smile. I
knew that expression -- I'd seen it the other night, on
Ronnie's face. I felt that same warm feeling again, deep in
the pit of my stomach.

"C'mon, Wil," said Sky, putting his arm around my shoulder
and walking me away. "My Dad's waitin' for us out front."

We walked down the palatial corridor and back outside to
the cold night air.

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The author gratefully acknowledges the following publishers
and songwriters of the songs and lyrics mentioned or
performed in this novel:

"Groovy Kind of Love"
music & lyrics by Toni Wine and Carole Bayer Sager
(c)1966 Screen Gems-EMI Music, Inc. (BMI)
All rights reserved.

"Mony Mony"
words & music by Tommy James, Bobby Bloom, Ritchie Cordell,
and Bo Gentry
(c)1967 by EMI Longitude Music. (BMI)
All rights reserved.

"My Girl"
words & music by William "Smokey" Robinson & Ronald White
(c)1965 by Jobete Music Co., Inc. (BMI)
All rights reserved.

"Wouldn't It Be Nice"
music and lyrics by Brian Wilson and Tony Asher
(c)1965 Irving Music, Inc. (BMI)
All rights reserved.

"Ticket to Ride"
music and lyrics by John Lennon & Paul McCartney
(c)1965 by Sony/ATV Music, Inc.
Published by Northern Songs, Ltd. (BMI)
All rights reserved.

"Hello, I Love You"
music and lyrics by Bobby Krieger, Ray Manzarek, Jim
Morrison, and John Densmore
(c)Doors Music Co., Inc. (ASCAP)
All rights reserved.

"Hello Goodbye"
music & lyrics by John Lennon & Paul McCartney
(c)1966 by Sony/ATV Music, Inc.
Published by Northern Songs, Ltd. (BMI)
All rights reserved.

"The Ballad of John & Yoko"
music and lyrics by John Lennon and Paul McCartney
(c)1966 by Sony/ATV Music, Inc.
Published by Northern Songs, Ltd. (BMI)
All rights reserved.

"He Said, She Said"
music and lyrics by John Lennon and Paul McCartney
(c)1966 by Sony/ATV Music, Inc.
Published by Northern Songs, Ltd. (BMI)
All rights reserved.

"Revolution"
music & lyrics by John Lennon & Paul McCartney
(c)1968 by Sony/ATV Music, Inc.
Published by Northern Songs, Ltd. (BMI)
All rights reserved.

"Dizzy"
music & lyrics by Tommy Roe and Freddy Weller
(c)1969 Young World Music, Inc. (BMI)
All rights reserved.


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Fifth draft - 5 May 2001

(c) 2001 by John Francis.

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced
in any form or by any means without the prior written
consent of the author, excerpting brief quotes used in
reviews. This is a work of fiction. No resemblance to any
persons, living or dead, is intended or should be inferred.

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