Date: Wed, 5 Sep 2012 18:24:44 -0700
From: Douglas DD DD <thehakaanen@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Big Time  Chapter 29

Greetings. This entire chapter is about Eric and Marty as they have
the one and only "date" of their lives. Knowing it will be their only date
doesn't keep it from being special to the two of them. We also meet a
new character who will have a lot of meaning in Marty's life, Jeffery
(aka J.J., Jeff, and Hurricane Jeffrey). I think you will enjoy the
occasional appearances of the little imp.

As usual, this story is mine. Give to Nifty, please. Be safe. Be 18.
Minors are in sexual situation. Have fun.

thehakaanen@homail.com


CHAPTER 29
ERIC AND MARTY

<Junior Year, Marty's apartment>

Marty and I had definitely made Friday night our date night. Even
though our team used the high school baseball field, the park
department took care of getting the field into shape for a summer
baseball game. With the Eagle's doubleheader starting at one, we
didn't have to report to the field until eleven, when we would all get to
use the batting cage for some batting practice. We had another
double header at home on Sunday. None of the games were league
games.

The double headers were our way of getting our summer team into
shape since we had put no work into it. Coach Miller said all of our
efforts needed to go into the high school postseason. We liked to kid
him, saying that since Coach Sanders was his partner he probably
was obligated to say that.

Even though Marty's high school baseball career was over he was
playing on a Senior Legion team made up of players from Mayfield
and a couple of neighboring towns. He hoped that next year he'd be
able to play in a college summer program, but the Legion team was
his baseball for this summer. Marty had an away double header on
Sunday, but nothing on Saturday, which is why we decided Friday
night was the best night for our date.

Marty has had a crush on me from the day he saw me as a sixth
grader being enrolled in the office at Mayfield Middle School in the
middle of the school year. He had been called into the office for a
chat with the assistant principal regarding his being a disturbance in
his second period class a few too many times. He was given three
days of after school detention, which didn't bother him since he didn't
play any winter sports. When he had to stay after school, he usually
sat in the back of the detention room and jerked off.

As Marty was leaving the office he saw me sitting on the bench near
the counter while my mother filled out paperwork. He slowed his pace
and preened a bit, hoping I would notice him. He hoped that I was a
seventh grader—that way he might be able to have some fun with me
in class. But I was way too nervous to really notice him strutting
through the office.

Marty was not beneath trying to impress certain girls, and boys, by
jerking off in the back of a classroom, usually through his pants
pockets, but, if he trusted who was sitting in the back with him,
sometimes he'd even flash himself. Marty was known by all as a
naughty, nasty boy, and he loved it. But as he told me much later, he
was a lonely boy who had many acquaintances but no close friends.
Even at twelve he had the reputation of being a partier. At the parties
he always got drunk and often tried to show off sexually. When he
wasn't drinking at a party, his parents allowed him to drink at home
and he took advantage of that.

"Hey," Marty said as he walked past the bench in the office.

I said, "Hi," but I was very nervous. I had not been prepared to move,
thinking that my mom wasn't going to move us to our new home until
after school was out in June. Instead, the quick selling of our house
had us moving to Mayfield in February to join dad.

"You gonna be a seventh grader?" Marty asked.

"No, sixth."

"Well, I'm in seventh grade." I remember Marty telling me how he had
all kinds of feelings for me when he saw me in the office that morning,
none of which he totally understood. He was supposed to feel those
things for a new girl in school, not a new boy, not that he didn't mess
around with boys, as Scott could attest to. He thought he did it
because it was an easy, fun way to get off, not because he was
attracted to them, or so he told himself.

After baseball started that spring Marty would often go into the
shower boned up and more than once would jerk off before what he
thought was an appreciative audience. His preening and showing off
was as much to impress me as it was to get a reaction out of the
other boys on the team. When he realized there might be something
going on between Scott and me he felt strangely disappointed.

Then he got involved with Rich and found himself attracted to his
classmate and teammate as much or more than he was attracted to
me. Rich was rapidly becoming the first best friend he'd had since he
was in the fourth grade. He also found that he and Rich were
compatible in bed. He'd fucked Rich more than once, and Rich took
his cherry on one of the last nights they spent together at the end of
seventh grade before Marty unceremoniously broke up with Rich.

He finally got his wish for sex with me at the middle school team party
at Coach Ecklund's house. He went after me all afternoon and we
ended up sucking each other off in one of the bathrooms at the
coach's house.

Since then we'd had a few other sexual encounters, most of them
jerking off or jerking each other off, and none of them going beyond
oral sex. But Marty had always told me that when the time was right
for both of us he wanted to fuck me. And now, with Marty a few days
from graduating, and with both of us having state championship
trophies on display in our rooms, the time seemed right. That was
especially true after Marty's serious, but sexy talk in the hotel corridor
the day of the State Tournament semi-final, complete with a
passionate kiss.

There was more to it than that, however. Even though Marty was
older than me, during the time we'd known each other I was the more
mentally and socially mature, and that maturity, mixed with the fact I
liked Marty and was genuinely concerned about what was happening
to him, proved to be very important in Marty's life. Marty was now old
enough and mature enough to understand what I meant to him as a
friend.

While Marty had often talked about making love to me, it wasn't until
the end of his senior year approached that he realized how much he
truly wanted the experience and that he needed to seriously prepare
for it.

He talked to both Rich and Noah, telling them what he wanted to do
with me and why. Both boys agreed that as long as I was okay with
having sex with Marty they wouldn't stand in the way. Now all Marty
had to do was get me to seriously agree instead of giving it a "yeah,
someday we have to do it" type of agreement. As far as Marty was
concerned the commitment had been made in the hotel hallway in
Pasco, and that worked for me, too.

Marty was living with George Bednarzyck, an attorney in Centralia
who lived in Mayfield. He'd lived with him since his freshman year.
Marty called him Mister B, and sometimes called him Sparky. He was
Marty's sponsor and mentor, and really, his father figure. Marty lived
in the main house, but he now lived in a small apartment situated
behind the main house. "It's called a mother-in-law house, although I
have no idea why," Marty said.

Our "date" was going to take place there, with Marty making the
dinner. I showed up at four, the appointed time. Marty came to the
door wearing gym shorts, a t-shirt, and an apron. He greeted me with
a huge smile and a hug.

"I didn't know if I was supposed to bring flowers," I said. "If I am I can
pick some out of the front yard."

"Well, I was expecting a huge bouquet, but if it means picking Mrs.
B's flowers, we'd better do without."

I was dressed as informally as Marty, wearing cargo shorts and my
State Championship t-shirt. "It smells pretty good in here. What's for
dinner?"

The small apartment was clean and neat. I noticed quite a few
pictures posted on the refrigerator as well as on a cork board.  They
looked like they had been drawn by a child, one who was a talented
artist. They had obviously been drawn over a period of years.

"Dinner will be a fresh vegetable salad, tossed in a balsamic
vinaigrette dressing," Marty said, intoning his menu as if he was a
waiter giving the daily special at a fancy restaurant. "It will be followed
by beef brisket slow baked in a special mushroom gravy, potatoes au
rotten, and steamed fresh broccoli."

"Potatoes au rotten? Don't you mean au gratin?"

"Well, the first time I made them on my own was for me and Rich, and
let's just say they didn't turn out very good. Rich and I both agreed
they tasted awful and now, well, we just call it potatoes au rotten." I'm
sure he saw the worried look on my face. "Don't worry, I've since
learned the secret of how to cook them properly."

I know it's hard to think of Marty, the football and baseball star, as
some kind of gourmet cook. He took up cooking back in the ninth
grade. He said it was a way for him to relax and he found out he liked
it. All too often dinner for him growing up was frozen dinners or dinner
out of a can. He said he was making up for it now.

"Mrs. B got me into cooking when I moved in," Marty said, stating a
fact I already knew. "I really liked doing it and figured if nobody found
out I would be safe trying to be chef Marty. Then I found out about
how the Dawg loved to cook and so there I was, the shy, unassuming
freshman asking the senior baseball star for cooking lessons." Trust
me, there is nothing shy and unassuming about Marty, but it makes
for a good story.

Our conversation was interrupted by a shirtless boy barging in
through the door, pulling a four-wheeled metal cart behind him. The
boy was twelve, with unkempt dirty blond hair taking off in numerous
directions, long skinny legs, a scrawny torso with ribs showing, and a
freckled face highlighted by bright blue eyes and an ear-to-ear smile.
He was wearing nothing but a tattered pair of jeans shorts and
glasses with one of those flexible, hard to break frames. From what I
already knew about the boy, no glasses made were immune to being
bent and broken by him.

"Damn it, Jeffrey, if you don't start knocking I'm going to have to
spank your ass," Marty said.

"Hello to you, too, Marty." His face lit up with a mischievous smile and
he said coyly, "You could pull down my pants and spank me."

"Jeffrey, I have company."

The boy walked over to the kitchen stool I was sitting on and shook
my hand. "Hello, company. And even if Marty locks me out my dad
owns the house, so I can get a key and come in." He looked over at
Marty and then back at me. "Then he can pull down my pants and
warm my butt."

I had known Jeffrey for awhile. He and Nicky were best buddies. I
could always see why Jeffrey and Marty had gotten along like a pair
of brothers since they had first met five years ago. They were two of a
kind with a streak of precocious wildness in them.

"What's on the cart, Jeff?"

"Dessert--raspberry cheesecake, which is my favorite cheesecake."

"I thought you didn't like cheesecake," Marty said.

"I don't. But if I did like cheesecake, it would be my favorite since I
like raspberries. Can I stay and have dinner with you guys? It smells
really good."

"Sorry buddy, but this is a special dinner for the two of us."

If Jeff was disappointed he didn't show it. "Kind of like a date, then.
Careful, if Rich finds out you're having a date with somebody else
he'll get mad at you." He gave me a serious look. "And Noah will be
mad at you."

"I have Rich's permission and he has Noah's," Marty told him.

"You better, because I'd tell them both if you didn't. That would be my
revenge for not getting to eat dinner with you guys."

"How about if you take off now, I'll call you to have dessert with us,
but that's all."

"Great idea, Marty, but I don't like cheesecake."

"Aww, what a total shame. I guess we'll have to have dessert without
you."

"I'll bring me some ice cream. Call me when you're ready." As he
barged out of the door he yelled, "See ya later, Eric the derrick," over
his shoulder.

"So, how do you like Hurricane Jeffrey?"

"Is he always like that?" I asked. He seemed a bit more subdued the
few times I'd seen him at Noah's, but that was relatively speaking. I'd
only seen him there maybe a dozen times.

"Except when he sleeps, and even then he's a tosser and turner. He
normally wouldn't be chatting about bare bottom butt warmings, but I
told him you and I had no secrets."

"I take you've slept with him."

"Countless times. He likes to `spend the night" across the driveway
from his own bedroom. We get along great, and to answer the
question I know you're going to ask, obviously his dad doesn't mind
his son sleeping with a gay boy. He knows his boy isn't a chaste little
angel when he sleeps in my bed."

"And the business about the bare bottom spankings?"

"What can I say? He likes it." Marty actually blushed a little and said,
"And so do I."

"Dare I ask if you've fucked him?"

"You dare ask, and the answer is, I haven't and I won't.  Not that
Jeffrey hasn't asked about doing it, especially after he barged in not
long after I moved into the apartment and caught me and Rich doing
it on the floor. Now that was a wild time, especially since he was only
ten. I had a long talk with Mr. B after that one."

"Jeff squealed?"

"No, I told his dad what happened. I mean it's his house, and his son,
and the kid was only ten. What else was I supposed to do? It all
worked out and we all learned from it."

"Could you close the door, please?" Marty asked me. "The a/c runs
better that way. Jeffery has no concept of what is up and down
sometimes."

"I thought maybe, considering how quiet and serious his dad is, that
Jeffrey kind of went wild away from home since had to be a good little
boy here. Nicky always calls him JJ."

"That's him. Jeffrey James Bednarzyck. Nicky is the only person who
can call him JJ. But then only JJ calls Nicky, Nicholas. I know those
two keep Mayfield Middle School a pretty interesting place."

"It gets crazy here when Nicky and JJ are together. And believe me,
Jeffrey is crazy; at home, anywhere, at any time. Little Sammy is the
one who is like his dad. He is very quiet and thoughtful." Sammy,
Jeff's brother, was nine.

"It gets crazy at Noah's house, too. Those two are a dangerous
combo of very very smart and really really hyper boys, even if J.J.
seems quieter there than here."

"He knows better than to misbehave away from home. He's wild, but
he's a well brought up wild boy."

I got off the stool and closed the door. As I sat down Marty chuckled
and asked if I'd done anything at all with Jeff when he visited Nick.

"No. I didn't even know you had until now. I know he and Nicky aren't
shy around each other. Which brings up the question of whether or
not you've messed around with Nicky?"

"Outside of one jerk off session with him and Jeff, I haven't. Jeff says
Nicholas is all his and I can't have him, which is fine since I'm not
really into boys of that age very much, J.J. excepted of course.
Besides, I use that as leverage to keep Jeff from wanting to do sex
things with me and Rich. I can't play around with his friend so he can't
play around with mine."

"Which doesn't stop you from messing with Jeff."

"Sometimes I think I don't have much of a choice in the matter," Marty
said with a chuckle.

Marty's dinner ended up being totally excellent, including the potatoes
au rotten. Marty and I shared a lot of good times from the past as we
ate. Marty laid out two generous slices of cheesecake. Marty said he
was still learning the art of making desserts, but Mrs. B was a great
dessert maker and had no problem whipping one up for him. Marty
called Jeffrey, telling him it was time for dessert.

After Marty called him, the twelve year old came over with three
dishes of ice cream, his being the largest. "You guys got cake, so you
don't need lots of ice cream," he said. He was wearing as little as he
had the first time over, just his tattered pair of shorts with his white
briefs showing through in places, including the front since he hadn't
bothered to zip up. Jeffrey talked non-stop during dessert, which
made me thankful Marty wouldn't let him stay for dinner

"XYZ," Marty told him, which for those of you who don't know, is
shorthand for examine your zipper.

Jeffrey looked down at his zipper, and instead of zipping up he
unbuttoned the shorts, letting the flaps lay open. "Now I feel nice and
cool," he said. I was sure I could detect a bugle in his briefs.

"Jeffrey, if you think getting all sexy is going to make us ask you to
spend the night, your thinking is a bit off base," Marty said.

"I wasn't thinking that. I just wanted to be cool. The air conditioning
doesn't seem to be working right or something. Hey, it's not like you
haven't seen my underwear. You two have both seen me naked." I
had been skinny dipping with him at Noah's house a couple of times.
"But in case you forgot, here's what I got." He yanked down the front
of his briefs and flashed us both. Jeff did indeed have a boner, the
first time I'd seen him hard.

"Eat your ice cream and scoot," Marty said, as friendly and patient as
always.

"My cum is almost as thick as this melted ice cream." Jeff said. "Do
you want to see it?"

"Jeffrey!"

"Just kidding," he said with a grin that said he wasn't kidding at all.

We finally made it through dessert. Jeff surprised me by gathering all
of the dishes, rinsing them, and putting them in the dishwasher. Marty
had already cleaned up his cooking utensils.

Jeff had zipped up his shorts but didn't button them. As a result they
were barely hanging on to his slim hips. I was getting hard just
looking at his sexy little butt and, like Marty, I wasn't really into kids
his age, except Nicky—or at least so I told myself.

As he closed the dishwasher his shorts dropped to the floor so he
was standing in just a loosely hanging pair of white briefs; he had
been barefoot all day. There was a pronounced bulge in the front.

"Am I good?"

"You're good," Marty said.

"Happy?"

"I'm happy."

"Can I get my butt warmed?"

"No. You've been good, not bad."

"But my butt needs warming. You can do it to me for showing off my
boner. That was bad."

I was thoroughly amazed by Jeffery's behavior. When I'd seen him at
Noah's house he was loud and full of energy, but he displayed none
of the sexuality he was showing around the two of us.

"Just five whacks. Please. Come on, Marty, show Eric what we do. It
will get him all turned on."

Somebody getting spanked was not a turn-on for me, not that I
needed to be turned on. I was rock hard and leaking into by briefs. I
couldn't say much about his little fetish because when I was in middle
school I was into water sports, and got pretty involved with it at times,
especially with the twins and Korey who had the same interest.

"Okay, five whacks, and then you're outta here."

"I promise." Jeff dropped his tight fitting briefs and revealed a hairless
boner that looked to be a little over three inches and as skinny as my
index finger. He stepped out of the briefs and walked to the couch,
waiting for Marty to sit down. "You aren't gonna take your pants off?"

"Not this time."

"Okay," Jeff said matter-of-factly. He lay across Marty's lap, showing
his very nice little bubble butt, his round cheeks looking spankable,
even to me. Marty raised his hand and gave him five quick spanks,
created a grunt on each one, leaving slight red marks on his butt
cheeks after each one. After five Marty stopped and Jeff looked up at
him. "Five more and I bet I shoot on your pants."

"Bye, bye Jeffrey. It's been fun."

Jeff jumped to his feet and pulled on his shorts, leaving his briefs on
the floor. "Are you guys gonna fuck?"

"Bye, Jeffrey. Have a good evening."

Jeff gave me a wave and blew a kiss at me. "Nicholas keeps saying
you're really sexy, but I never believed him. Now I do. But you always
looked kinda sexy naked in the pool so I shudda believed him. See
ya." He started out the door and stopped. "You guys can smell my
underpants if you want." And then he was out, closing the door this
time.

Marty was laughing hard after Jeff left. "Like I said, Hurricane Jeffrey."

"He is so not like that at Noah's house. I mean he's full of energy and
I figured he and Nicky played around, but he didn't really flirt with
Noah and me.  I wonder if Noah knows what evil lurks under that
innocent smile."

"I think that's the way he is around me. You just happened to be here.
He gets to let his pants down or something like that."

"Did you hit him as hard as you could? It sounded pretty hard."

"Hell, no. I'd hurt his little ass if I did. I sting it a little, and he seems to
like it up to a point. We never go beyond ten strokes, and he has
never had an orgasm from spanking...at least not directly."

"And he's always bouncing all over, you said."

"Well, almost always. Mr. B calls us...I think the word is
kindred...souls. He says we both can totally light up a room, but
sometimes, when we come down from what we are, we can hide
ourselves in darkness. Only I think he calls it hiding in our own shit.
That don't happen much, but there have been times when he's come
back here into the cottage, come into my bed, put his arms around
me, and just fallen asleep. Sometimes he doesn't even remember
coming here. I try to help him out, let him know the things I do when
I'm down and dark, and hope he never thinks the way out of it is the
way I decided to go at his age."

"Do you think he messes around with his little brother?" His brother,
Sam, was nine, and apparently the exact opposite personality of Jeff.

"He's twelve and horny, Sam is cute and available. He says Sam's
jerked him off a few times and he's sucked Sam, but that's been
about it. Jeff seems to be pretty honest with me, so I take his word for
it. No reason for him to lie, since he knows whatever he does with
Sam is okay with me as long as he doesn't play bossy big brother
and make him do something against his will."

We were both sitting on the couch, very close to each other. We both
knew what we wanted to do after dinner, and while Hurricane Jeffrey
was a distraction, he may have helped get us pretty horny.

"It's still kind of early. Let's go for a walk," Marty said, "just to talk
some more. I want to say some things before we start making out."

"Sure. But it's hard to walk with this hard thing I have pushing at my
pants."

"You'll live. It will go away, and then, like magic, I'll make it come
back."

So, we set out for a walk through the neighborhood. Like any town,
Mayfield had its nice areas and its poor areas and its areas in the
middle. Mr. B lived a nice part of town, a lot of big old houses, many
of them pretty old, some newer houses, nice sidewalks, and tree-
lined streets. Noah and Hunter both lived close to here.

We walked silently for awhile, but the silence was finally broken by
Marty. "You know I'm not great at being serious, but it's something
I've learned to do better the last couple of years, pretty much
because I've had to." Marty's life wasn't the easiest of my friends, as
you probably have been learning. "I didn't want to say this stuff at the
same time I was ready to jump your bones."

I decided that saying nothing and listening was the way to go. Marty
needed to say whatever it was he had to say on his own. Like I've
said before, Noah may be the only one of my friends I love and
respect more than Marty, and Noah being my boyfriend probably has
everything to do with that.

"I've said a lot to you about my days as a teenage drunk." That is
true, but what he said is a topic for a later time. "But one thing I never
told you was why I picked you to dump my problems on and why I
trust you more than anybody in the world except Mr. B."

"You trust me more than Rich?"

"Yes, even more than Rich, and I'd trust Rich with my life. But there
are things Rich still doesn't understand and may never understand,
and I've learned I have to accept that. He grew up in a pretty
sheltered family, which is not how I grew up."

"I kind of did, too."

"But you've got a lot more smarts about life than Rich does."

More silence followed. We were walking at a pretty good clip; two
athletic boys like us don't just go out for a slow stroll. Marty was about
to say something when Mrs. Donohue, an English teacher at the high
school, saw us while she was working in her garden. We exchanged
greetings and moved on.

"There were a couple of times, back around when eighth grade
started that you just happened to come by my house right when
things were really dark for me. They were so dark that I...well, I
thought I didn't want to live any more."

I listened to him with all of my heart and soul, stunned at what he was
saying.

"That first time you just dropped by for no reason. I was drunk as
usual and being an asshole as usual, but we ended up jerking each
other off. The second time...it wasn't much after that, but you have no
idea of what you just coming by meant to me."

I knew I had been helpful those two times. Hell, even with him being
drunk and an asshole like he said he was, jerking off with him that
first time seemed like just two guys jerking each other off, nothing
more. Now I was about to find out how much more there was to it.

+++++++++++

<Seventh Grade, Marty's house, Monday, August 13>

Marty heard his dad come home, but didn't bother getting up off of
the couch. Watching an old "Star Trek" was better than seeing his
dad. Besides, he was pretty stoned, having just purchased weed from
Randy, who was going to be a frosh at the high school. Marty thought
it was pretty good shit. He'd drained a couple of beers to help take
care of cottonmouth and he was feeling pretty good.

Marty figured his dad must not have stopped off at the tavern after
work, since he was home pretty early. In fact the dim thought
processes of his brain told him that he was actually home before he
usually got off work.

What Marty's dad saw was his thirteen year old son slouched on the
couch, wearing nothing but a loose fitting pair of blue briefs that were
riding so low on his son's hips that he could see some of his pubes
sticking out of the waistband. He could see the redness in his son's
eyes not to mention two empty beer bottles on the coffee table
among a pile of potato chip crumbs.

"Goddamn it, you are just one sorry piece of shit," was how Marty's
father greeted him.

"What fuck's matter with you," Marty slurred.

"You are what's the matter with me, shithead."

"Fuck you an' leave me alone." Marty was upset over having his quiet
little marijuana trip disturbed. He was seeing the ancient "Star Trek"
in a whole new way.

"Sit up!"

Marty didn't move a muscle.

"I said sit the fuck up!"

There was still no reaction from Marty, so his father reached down
with his big arms and yanked Marty to his feet.

"Do you know why I'm home early? Do you?" his dad screamed.
Marty could smell the beer on his father's breath.

"Leggo of me." His father squeezed his arm. "Leggo, it hurts."

"Let go, it hurts!" His father mimicked his son. "Well, I'll tell you why
I'm here! I'm here because I got called in by my boss, and you know
what my boss told me?"

"How the fuck can I know?" Marty was confused and just wanted his
father to let him go and leave him alone so he could get back to
feeling good.

"You're fucked up, aren't you. Drunk as shit and probably stoned.
Fuck, I try to teach you to drink like a man and this is what you do."

"You din't teach me shit."

"You're damned right about that. My boss calls me in his office and
says he heard my son Marty, that's you, you little fucker, might have
a drinking problem. My boss calls me in to tell me my son is a fucking
little drunk. How do you think that made me feel, huh?"

"I ain't no drunk."

Marty's dad shook him so hard his head bounced and his loose fitting
underpants fell halfway down his legs. "The fuck you aren't. You're
fucking drunk every day, like some alcoholic."

Deep in the dark recesses of his memory Marty remembered what his
brother had told him. "Takes one to know one."

Marty's dad had many flaws as a father, as well as some good
qualities. He was neglectful about giving his sons his time, letting his
kids learn about the world in their own way, yet he also took his sons
fishing and hunting, outings that both boys relished. He often yelled at
them and cussed at them after he'd been drinking, which was
frequently, but other than some swats when they were little, he'd
never hit either of his sons—until now.

He let go of Marty and slapped him across the face with his
backhand, knocking the stunned boy onto the couch. "You calling me
a drunk, boy? I take you fucking fishing and hunting and teach you to
drink since you was little, and now you call me a drunk. You're the
fucking drunk. And how does my boss find out you're a fucking
drunk? Tell me that!"

He yanked his son back to his feet, not even noticing that he was now
as good as naked and hit him one more time, then pushed him back
on to the couch, where he landed with a thud. Tears started flowing
down Marty's cheeks, shaming him as much as his nakedness did.
He pulled his legs up on the couch, turned his back to his father, and
put himself into a ball, his smooth athletic ass sticking over the edge
of the cushions. His father pushed his boot against Marty's ass.

Marty lay whimpering, his face buried in the back cushion of the
couch. "Get up, you little fucking wimp. A man would get up and want
to kick my ass, not crawl away crying. Your brother would be up
trying to kick my ass. You're a fucking wimp, fucking good for nothing
pansy." To Marty's father it was like Marty the football player and
Marty the baseball player didn't exist. His son was the naked thing
rolled him a ball on the couch, fighting down sobs.

"Leave me alone," Marty whined from the couch.

"I had to leave work early I was so pissed." What he didn't say was he
stopped at Larry's Tavern before coming home to confront is son.
"Get your ass in your room. I don't want to see you the rest of the
fucking day. I'm gonna get me a beer. Fuck, wouldn't it be nice if my
son knew how to drink and we could have a cold beer out in the sun.
But fucking no, somehow my boss finds out my fucking son has a
goddamn drinking problem. He says maybe I should look into some
fucking rehab place. Shit. Well it won't be a problem no more,
because no fucking more booze for you, here in the house or
anywhere. We'll take care of that drinking problem right now. Hard to
have a drinking problem when you don't got no booze."

With that he shoved his bottom of his boot into the cheek of Marty's
ass. "Get up, and get out of my sight."

"I hate you!" Marty told his dad as he struggled to his feet. He could
taste blood in his mouth. He started to walk away, forgetting that his
briefs had fallen halfway down to his knees. The briefs wrapped
around him caused him to stumble and, because he was too stoned
to catch his balance, he fell to the floor.

"Christ, you can't even walk. Hell, I don't care if you have to fucking
crawl, get to your goddamned room."

Marty lay on the floor face down, sobbing into the rug. "I don't believe
it. You're going to be fucking fourteen in a month and you cry like a
two year old and you still have your fucking teddy bear. Just get out
of my sight. You've got to be some kind of bastard cuz there ain't no
way you're my goddamn son." His father left for the kitchen.

Marty tried to pull up his underpants, but they had dropped even
lower when he fell. He finally kicked them off and crawled away. His
father came back, guzzling a beer as he watched his son crawl away
naked, a boy who was close to being completely broken.

When Marty finally made it to his room, he reached under his bed and
pulled out a box. He opened the box and pulled out one of two bottles
of vodka he had stashed away, along with a couple of baggies of
weed. He took a long swallow, relishing the warmth and the feel and
the calming effect on his already spinning mind. He looked up at
Mortimer, the bear his father alluded to, then remembered nothing
more until he woke to pee around midnight. He managed to crawl into
the bathroom, but couldn't make himself stand up, so he peed on the
floor and fell into it and dropped back to sleep.

That morning he woke up, still in his puddle of urine. He pulled
himself up and looked into the mirror. He saw his bruised face and
shivered. While he didn't remember all of the details of yesterday
afternoon, he remembered enough to relive the humiliation he felt.
His face was tender to his touch. He knew he would have to stay
away from any other kids so he wouldn't have to explain what
happened, not that he hung around with anybody, but now he had to
be sure nobody looked at him closely.

After showering he went downstairs to find something to eat. He
hadn't eaten since lunch the day before and was starving. His brother
John was downstairs and just shook his head when he saw his
brother's condition.

"I heard you and dad got into it yesterday. You look totally like hell.
Shit, Marty, why do you make things so hard on yourself?"

"Leave me alone. I just want to eat."

"Whatever, I'm just trying to help. Dad said if you pulled any beer out
of the fridge I could kick you ass."

"Whatever."

"Better me than him. I won't do it for real."

Marty ignored him and poured some cereal. He had no idea what he
was going to do for the rest of the day, or for any other day. He was a
loser, just like his father said, and everybody knew it, including his
brother.

"Me and Tanner are going to meet with some chicks. Dad counted
the beers, so don't even think about taking any. I've never seen him
so mad as he is at you."

Marty sat sullenly at the counter stirring his cereal around.

"Okay, whatever, see ya bro."

As soon as John left, Marty went to his dad's room and opened the
top drawer. There was some money in the drawer, but that wasn't
what Marty was interested in. He rifled through the stuff in the drawer
until he found what he was looking for, the magic key, the solution to
all of his problems. This time he wasn't going to wuss out. He was
going to follow through and make his dad, his brother, his teammates,
his classmates, Rich, Connor, Steve, everybody, wish they hadn't
treated him like shit.

He went back to his room and pulled out the bottle of vodka he'd
opened the night before. He drank and coughed, then drank, and
swallowed, and waited and then drank some more, willing the buzz
he loved so much to take him over and to give him the courage he
needed to do what he knew was the best thing for everybody.
Nobody wanted a loser in their life.

He headed for his dad's little den where his safe was. Just as he
crossed the living room the doorbell rang. Who the fuck is that? he
thought. Well, they can come back later because I have more
important things to do than answer the fucking door. The bell rang
again and he decided to get rid of whoever it was so he could be
alone to do what he needed to do.

When he opened the door he saw Eric standing in front of him. He
had a feeling of déjà vu come over him; it was Eric who had
interrupted him last time he was going to do this.

"What do you want?"

"I came to see you." Eric was pretty certain that Marty had been
drinking. The fact that it wasn't even noon yet told him a lot, even as
a twelve year old he knew that was trouble. The bruises on Marty's
face threw him off some as well.

"Well, I don't want to see you, so fuck off."

Eric wasn't about to be swayed. He thought that somewhere under all
of the anger and bitterness he could still find his friend.

"I just thought you might want to know that we were having a Go to
State meeting at Noah's tomorrow, with swimming after. We're going
to interview somebody for the coach's job."

"Not interested." Marty treated Eric the way a housewife would treat a
door-to-door salesman.

"I was just hoping you would be." Eric didn't know what else to say.
He was twelve and could only think of so much to say to a friend who
was clearly troubled. "Well, I thought I'd try. We'd really like to see
you there. Besides being our friend, we need your bat. I mean you
are a really good player."

"We? Who's we?"

"Everybody. We want you to be part of this."

"Why do you keep bugging me? I'm nothing but crap."

Eric was taken aback by the question. "I'm not trying to bug you. I'm
just trying to be a good friend."

"I don't want any friends."

"Yeah you do, you want me."

The two boys stared at each other, Marty standing over four inches
taller than Eric. For whatever reason, Marty took a few steps back
and Eric filled the space by stepping into the house.

"You need to go now," Marty said. He raised his arms to turn Eric
around and move him out the door. As he did so he dropped the key
on the tile floor of the little foyer. As he stooped over to pick it up, Eric
could see it was the key to a padlock. The thought crossed his mind
that Marty was going to use it to steal cash from his parents, which
Marty told him he had done in the past.

Marty looked down at Eric after he stood back up. Everything was
welling up inside the young teen as he stared at the only person
who'd been genuinely nice to him since summer baseball ended, and
even before then.

As Eric reached out to hand back the key, Marty ignored it and
grabbed on to Eric. Eric stood still, not sure what to expect. What he
got was Marty bending down and burying his face on Eric's right
shoulder and bawling uncontrollably.

++++++++++

<Junior year, Marty's bedroom>

The memories of that emotional morning came flooding back. I
thought Marty was never going to stop crying, and I had no idea what
to do about it, so I just let him do what he needed to do until he cried
himself out.

We neared Marty's little apartment, our walk almost at an end.

"I never did tell you what that key went to," Marty said.

"Key? What key?"

"The one I dropped on your second visit, just before I soaked your t-
shirt for the next half hour. I had it in my hand the first visit too, until I
set it down so I could jerk you off."

"Oh, yeah, that key. I thought it was for where you parents kept their
money and you were going to steal some."

Marty took a deep breath as he felt a current of emotion run through
him. "No, it wasn't that," he finally said quietly. "It was the key to my
dad's gun box." It took a moment for the magnitude of what Marty had
just told me to sink in.

"Oh, shit," was all I could think to say, which was something in itself
since I rarely cussed. Marty's confession was so huge it made my
stomach churn. I shuddered all over at the thought of what was going
on with Marty back then.

"Yeah. You know I only ever took that key out of dad's drawer twice.
And both times you showed up at the door."

I just nodded, not knowing what to say.

"I don't know if I would have followed through. Maybe I would have, or
maybe I would have chickened out. Or maybe chickening out would
have been opening the box and doing it. I'll never know the answer
and I guess I don't want to know. I didn't ever open the box and all I
know is both times I really wanted to I didn't because you were my
friend."

I knew about Marty's dad hitting him the day before. Marty had told
me everything as the two of us sat on the same couch where he had
been so humiliated the day before and Marty sobbed on my shoulder
for over a half an hour. I remember telling Marty he needed to get
some kind of help, and him saying that as long as he quit drinking he
didn't need help. The fact that he was half drunk when he said it
never had any real meaning to us—I guess we were too young to
figure out what the problem really was. All I know is we both cried on
each other as we sat on that couch.

 I had never revealed to Marty that I was the person who told his
father's boss about how I thought Marty had a drinking problem, and
that was still my secret.

Well, we're only as sick as our secrets, Marty once told me when he
unloaded a ton of his secrets on me. Since Marty had just told me a
new secret I figured it was my time to come clean.

"I was the one who told Coach Miller about your drinking," I finally
confessed. Coach Miller was Marty's father's boss. I waited to see if
that confession would bring a special evening to an end.

"I was always sure it was you," Marty said. "You were the one who
always was trying to help me, and that was your way of doing that. I
even hated you at the time, because I thought you ratted me out, and
later figured out it was one of the many reasons I loved you. I'm glad
you finally told me, I mean we're all as sick as our secrets." I smiled
when I heard him say that and I took his hand. We held hands as we
walked the last block to Mr. B's house.

"Speaking of Coach Miller, how about what happened with me at the
swimming pool at Noah's the next day when he was at our meeting. I
know I embarrassed the hell out of you."

"Yeah you did, but at least I knew that Marty the daredevil hadn't
vanished."

As we entered the driveway Marty said, "Do you know how bad I want
to fuck you?"

"I think I have an idea."

I had thought a lot about how the sex with Marty would turn out. In
some fantasies it was great sex, in some it was hard and rough, and
in some we just couldn't make each other compatible in bed. But
none of my fantasies were about a night full of sensuous lovemaking,
a night where his seven inches filled my ass, a night where his
overflowing love filled my soul.

It was a night that we had been building towards since the first time
he jerked off in front of me in the school shower when he was a
sexually shameless twelve year old. It was a night that we'd
unconsciously set our sights on when we sucked each other off in
Coach Eklund's bathroom. It was a night that started when Marty
confronted me in the hotel hall in Pasco.

It was a night that became inevitable after we jerked each other off on
his bed on a summer afternoon when he was drunk and when we
cried on each other on another summer afternoon not long after that.

Hell, it was even foreshadowed when I helped keep watch while
Marty fucked Gavin, who was a seventh grader then, in the boys'
bathroom in school towards the end of Marty's eighth grade year.

While a lot happened between us while we were in high school, it was
the things in middle school that led us into Marty's bed, him at
eighteen and a soon to be graduating senior and me a junior at
sixteen, still a long way from adulthood, ready to put everything
together as we reached the point on our journey we'd been trudging
towards for a long time.

Marty fucked me hard, but it was never rough. With Noah I had pretty
much become the top, and me actually getting fucked didn't happen
much. But on this night with Marty I was willingly subservient to him, I
wanted him to take me, to make love to me in his own way, to direct
me, but not to dominate me. I still wanted my own will to be a part of
the process.

His cock touched me deeper than anybody ever had, but then my
own experience at being fucked was limited. I'd had maybe a half
dozen cocks up my ass, but not with the size and power of Marty's.
But all of that experience was gone now as I felt almost like a virgin in
the presence of the big, hard muscled, athletic senior.

I found myself lost in him, in his cock, in his aura. Marty was not
Marty the sexual showoff I had first known back when I was eleven.
He was Marty the lover who was sure of himself and of what he could
do in bed, and sure of what he meant to me and of what I meant to
him. It was lovemaking at its zenith. I'd had my best times in bed with
Noah, and there were many more great lovemaking sessions yet to
come between us, but what happened between Marty and me was
sex that was as good as I'd ever had and maybe ever will have.

When he poured his cum into my bowels he set me off to an orgasm
that drenched my sweaty torso with my own hot cum. And after we
recovered we did it again, more slowly, more deliberately, until my
being shook inside of me as my body quivered, as waves of pleasure
washed over me from my groin up to my face and down to my toes.
Our kisses were wet and deep, his cock filled my bowels, the love we
felt for each other was indescribable and profound beyond imagining.

When we finished we couldn't talk, we could barely move, we could
only kiss lightly and rub our hands over each other.

"I love you Eric," Marty said when we finally gathered out wits. "I
always have."

"I love you Marty. You are so special in my life."

"You know this will be our only time," he said.

"I know. It makes it even more special. I will never forget it and never
forget what you mean to me."

"Kid," Marty said, "I could never mean to you what you have meant to
me. Nobody could and don't you ever forget it."

We fell asleep, our hard teen bodies wrapped in each others arms,
but that night our bodies felt like we were twelve again, and we were
just discovering what those bodies could do.

We might never sleep together again, but our love had been
cemented on this amazing night in Marty's bed, and it was a love and
friendship that we both knew would live for the rest of our lives.

Next: Coach Miller