Date: Sat, 11 Jan 2003 20:12:39 +0000 From: Jeffrey Jeffy Subject: Amherst Academy Part 1 "Amherst Academy Part 1" By Jeffy All of the usual disclaimers apply. This story is entirely fictional. No house pets, rain forests or lab animals were harmed in the writing of this story. It is intended for adults only. You can send comments or constructive criticism to Jeffs71@Hotmail.com. Flames will be ignored so don't bother. This story has been copyrighted by the author. You may, of course, download it for your enjoyment, send it to your friends, even use it on your website as long as access to the site is free, it is not changed in any way and I'm credited as the author. This story depicts minors and adults having unprotected, unsafe sex. Obviously, this is not real life and should be taken as such. Otherwise, enjoy! Please be patient with me, this one will start a bit slowly, but I have some ideas I want to work out. It will be worth the wait, I promise. Please check out my other stories, also posted in Nifty: * And the Angels Sing * Back Doodles * Be My Valentine * Big Bully * A Brewster Cousins Thanksgiving * Fool for Love * Jon and Brett * Little Brother and the Sex Club * The Littlest Wrestler * Party Animal * Take Two and Call Me in the Morning * Tied * "Y" Boy "Ooooo, I know!" - - A. Einstein Prologue The airport was crowded, as always. I walked at bit slowly, leaning on my walking stick, until I found an unoccupied seat. I levered myself down into it with a sigh. "Why don't you rest for a bit here, and I'll go check us in, OK?" I cocked my head up at my tall young redheaded companion. "James, don't you dare treat me like an old man! I can still tan your hide when necessary," I scowled my best scowl up at him. I could tell James was doing his best not to let his grin get away from him by his completely straight face. I smiled at him, unable to stay angry with the person I loved most in the world. He finally relaxed and grinned right back at me. "Now why don't you go check us in? I'll be right here," I told him with as much dignity as I could muster. "Of course, be right back," James murmured in his quiet way. I looked around, taking in the sea of humanity in the airport. They were all in such a hurry to get here or there, to get on or off a plane. I sighed, trying to enjoy the moment ;our vacation had been wonderful, but it was time to get back to reality. I suppose that the trip to the airport just serves to get us back into the world at times like that. I sighed again. Glancing around, I looked at the family sitting near me. The tall, dark-haired father had two equally dark haired sons of about 8 or 9; they looked to be twins. The boys were the spitting image of the father and were just as cute as hell as they did what boys that age do best, namely driving their parents to distraction. Looking at their cute little mugs, I thought they reminded me of someone I'd known so many years before. I closed my eyes and let my mind wander back. Chapter 1: Accidents Will Happen What a gorgeous day! I rolled down the road with the top down in my brand new T-Bird. The car was just about my only indulgence, and one that I felt I richly deserved. I lived in a nice one-bedroom apartment in Morristown despite my rather high-powered position at a big investment firm in the city. I was putting quite a bit of money away for a rainy day and was still able to live as I wanted to. Life was good! I've always been a big Thunderbird fan, especially the older two-seaters, so when the new one came out I knew I just had to have one. A bright red one. Definitely red. I went right down to the Ford dealer and plunked down cash on the barrelhead, and a short time later I drove my new car home. I absolutely loved it! I drove to the Convent train station, enjoying the warm spring morning and concentrating on getting to the station on time, as always. I wasn't aware that my enjoyable morning ride was about to be rudely interrupted. As I made the green light and moved through the intersection at Columbia Turnpike, I saw a flash of white out of the corner of my eye. BOOIIIIINNNNNGGGGGG! Isn't it strange what we remember, and what goes through our minds in moments of stress? Somewhere in the depths of my stunned brain, I was dimly amazed that the sound of a car crash would be exactly the same as the collision sound effect in the Saturday morning cartoons I'd watched so many years ago. Even in later years, all I could remember was the flash of white and that sound, not the moment of the impact, or even how it felt at the time. I lost touch with the world for some time after that, content to float in a gray void. I now know that I was in shock and that my mind just shut down in self-defense. It was comfortable, that gray nothingness, as I floated for some timeless time. Slowly, oh so slowly, I became aware of the world again. Needless to say, the void had been preferable. I was still in my shattered car, which had been so new and beautiful just a moment before. As my vision cleared more, I found that I was looking at the underside of some monstrous white SUV, which was partially on top of my car. God! I felt a great weight on my left side so I looked away, to my right, straight into the face of a firefighter. He was a Black man with a bushy mustache and a kind smile, which was incredibly false at the moment. His face was a bit gray as he looked down at me. This was, I thought, a very bad sign. "Don't worry about a thing buddy, we'll take good care of you. I'm just gonna start this IV, OK?" He suited actions to words as he cut away my right sleeve and deftly plunged the needle home. He kept on talking, trying to distract me, but I paid him no attention. My stunned brain was still trying to make sense of what had happened and catch up to the present. In some corner of my brain I knew that the sensation of weight on my left side was ominous, but couldn't really find it in myself to be afraid. I should have been. The fireman's partner showed up, a White guy this time, with a big paramedic's box. He looked me, then at his partner; he gulped as his face paled. The guy gave me a smile that was as false as his partner's had been. Bad, definitely bad. He rummaged in the box for a second, then came up with a syringe, which he inserted, into my IV. I lost touch with the here and now as the strong drug took effect. It was like falling face-first into a pit of black feathers. WHOOMPH! When I came to again, I was STILL in the car. I was much more aware of my surroundings now, which was definitely not a good thing. Every sense was supernaturally sharp as I took everything in. They'd managed to get the SUV off my car, which they were in the process of cutting to pieces to get me out. The whole left side of my car was crumpled in. I heard the fire trucks in the background, the radios, the yelling of the men as they worked. Some woman was screaming in the background, cursing like a sailor at the policeman who was apparently trying to handcuff her and threatening him with her lawyer. The first fireman placed a protective sheet over me, effectively cutting off my view. "OK, here we go, ready, one, two, THREE!" Before I could say a word in protest the weight suddenly came off my left side. Metal screeched in protest. My vision grayed out again as I was sucked down into a black whirlpool. I felt movement. Thank God I was out of my car! I looked up at the ring of faces that surrounded me and squinted in the bright sunlight. I was now strapped securely to a gurney. Glancing around, I noticed a helicopter, it's blades spinning idly. I grinned through my oxygen mask, thinking of the scene in "Garp". The paramedics probably thought I was nuts, or totally out of it. They'd actually landed a helicopter in the middle of Columbia Turnpike! They quickly loaded me in and took off, making like a bat out of hell for St. Barnabas in Livingston. All I was aware of was noise, wind, and pain. Mostly pain. The world existed in a red haze as I tried to squirm, even though I was strapped down. I don't really remember much about the short flight, but I do remember the rather bumpy landing (I guess the pilot was in a hurry) and the wild rush to get me to the operating room. They didn't even bother with the ER, just took me right to surgery. Another bad sign. There was suddenly a ring of faces above me, all in surgical masks. One of them spoke. "HI, I'm Dr. Richards, and I'll be your surgeon today. The others are my students, so, you see, you don't just have one doctor you have a dozen doctors. Don't worry, we'll take good care of you." "Doc, please, I need all my parts. Don't cut anything off!" I have to admit that I wasn't thing too clearly, my fear finally kicking in. I could see his eyes crinkle as he smiled behind the mask. "We'll do our best, which is very good indeed." I stared up wildly. "I'm Jewish Doc, if..." "I'm Baptist myself. Don't worry my friend, we'll take good care of you." He looked over at another doctor, nodded, and that was all I knew. I floated. I wasn't in the gray void but somewhere different. Gradually awareness came back to me, stunning, crystalline awareness. This place was different. My mind worked as it took in my altered awareness. I tasted sounds, heard colors, saw things I could not possibly have imagined. I was a sparkling being, composed of light and energy as I began to move through this incredible, amazing realm. "This is wonderful," I thought, "why would anyone go back?" Strangely enough I had no thought of my life, the people I'd left behind, or anything else as I began to move and explore. I became aware of others like me nearby, and with wonder I began to move toward them. Pain. I was aware only of the pain at first, pulsating and throbbing throughout my whole body. I felt my heart beat, lub-dub, once, then again, and again in it's rhythm. I wept as the essence of what I had recently become shattered into a million pieces and slipped through my grasping fingers. I felt cold as air began to move through my lungs, in and out. I looked up into the kind face of an older man, weary, with lines of fatigue at the corners of the eyes. He smiled down at me. "You're in ICU, the operation is over. And you still have all your parts," he told me. I wept again. "Thank you," I whispered through my tears. He just patted me on my right shoulder and smiled again as he left. A nurse came in, smiled at me, and inserted a needle into my IV. I was parted from consciousness once more. I honestly don't remember too much about the week I spent in ICU since I was in and out a lot of the time. The little I do remember is, well, humiliating as seen through the haze of drugs they had me on. I mean, really, I'm a bit old to have my diaper changed! Especially by a pretty young nurse! Strangely enough, I never even considered mentioning my stunning near (maybe) death experience to anyone, even though I did think about it quite a bit. Eventually I just decided that I'd find out soon enough whether I'd experienced something real or just imagined it. Finally, I was moved out to a real room. They hooked up a thingy to my IV that I could push when I was in pain and I'd get a dose of painkiller. Patient pain management they called it. The first time I'd gone about 6 hours without a pain shot, and believe me I pressed that button! Around mid morning a counselor came to talk to me about my injuries and prognosis. It was a conversation I'd been dreading since I'd been trying very, very hard not to think about it. I mean, after all, I was aware of the way that my whole left side was immobilized beneath casts and bandages and knew that I'd likely never be the same again. I was right. Dr. Delaney (my regular doctor) walked in, accompanied by an older woman (the counselor) and another big blond man, who I found out was a physical therapist. He introduced himself as Al, while the counselor said to call her Dr. Williams. Her bedside manner left a bit to be desired. The counselor spoke first. "Jeff, I won't lie to you, your injuries are very extensive. The accident basically crushed your left side. Your left arm and leg were broken in multiple places, along with your left side ribs. Most of them are now artificial, by the way. We had to do a hip replacement on the left side also as well since the joint was totally destroyed. The surgeons also had to remove your spleen to stop the bleeding. Your heart stopped on the operating table, but we were able to successfully resuscitate you. You were on the table for a little over nine hours." I was stunned. I mean, I knew I'd been injured seriously, but I'd never imagined this level of damage. The tears rolled down my face as I took it all in. "Will I ever walk again?" That was the first thing that came to mind. They looked at each other briefly, trying to decide what to tell me. Then the Al spoke up. "You'll need extensive physical therapy, which we'll begin just as soon as the casts come off. At first..." "Answer my fucking question damn you! Will I?!?!?" My reasonableness was slipping a bit. The big blond man took a deep breath. "Jeff, there's always hope, you have to remember that. You may, someday, be able to walk with crutches if you work very hard and you're very fortunate. I've seen it happen before, but you have to remember how severe your injuries are." I felt the gray walls of depression closing in around me. "Go away!" I turned to face the wall, unwilling to deal with reality any longer. They looked at each other then got up to leave, telling me not to worry. I turned my face to the wall again and cried again in pure rage and frustration. I pushed the pain machine button again and again, even though I knew it was programmed to give only one dose every four hours. I wallowed in self-pity as the drug took me away. I soon discovered that having too much time on your hands is much, much worse than not having enough. I mean, here I was, anchored to a hospital bed for who knew how many months, and time just seemed to stop. It flowed around me like a river, parting around me while I remained there in bed. It seemed that I'd always been in that bed, and would always be. Between the pain pills and the general depression I was feeling, well, let's just say that it was a serious downer. The folks from work came to visit a couple of times, but that was about it except for my buddy Sid. He showed up like clockwork every Saturday, always cheerful, cajoling, and otherwise trying to cheer me up. He brought me my laptop computer, so at least I could chat and roam the web. I think I'd have gone insane otherwise. How many times can a person read a 1972 Golf Digest? The only other person to visit was my lawyer, Marty. We'd always gotten along very well, playing golf on several occasions. He had a fearsome reputation throughout the state, mainly based on his win in the U.S. Supreme Court a few years back. It was rumored that if he were attacked by a shark, the shark would come out second best! I was soon to be very thankful for his predatory nature. He assured me that we had a great case, but the woman's insurance company just refused to settle. I could almost see him licking his chops over going to court with this one. I also found that it's almost impossible to sleep well in the hospital. There's always noise, people scurrying this way and that, not to mention all of the pages and such over the intercom. It all added up to a very unrestful couple of months sent on my back, having my diaper changed. And damn, did I ever itch under the casts! Finally, finally the day came for the casts to come off. I had been both looking forward to it and dreading it at the same time. On the plus side, it meant that I would at last be able to begin my rehab, but I was sure I wouldn't like what I saw when they came off. I was right. I went up to x-ray to ensure that I was healed sufficiently (I was) then they brought me back down to my room where the doctor went to work with this little circular saw on the casts. I just closed my eyes and tried to think of something else, anything else, as the saw's vibrations went right up my spine. Crack! The last bit of cast on my left arm came away and I got to see my surgeon's handiwork after so many months. My arm looked thin and wasted, but what I really noticed were the scars which ran up the entire length of my arm. Not to mention the pain of trying to use those muscles after so long. A nurse had to support my arm as the cast came off and they began to work on the rest of me. I felt like a lobster being pried out of its shell. A long, tedious, painful time later I was free of the supporting casts. I floated in a haze of pain as my long immobile muscles and bones protested loudly. I'd thought I would at least be able to move around when the casts came off, but I found out the hard way that reality isn't like that. All I could was lay there and twitch weakly. Finally, the pain medication kicked in and I risked a look down at my left side. My left chest was a mass of scars, as was the hip area. More scars ran all the way down the length of my leg, showing up starkly against the white skin. "Very nice, you've healed beautifully," Dr. Richards murmured. I could see the nurses nodding in agreement. "You call this fucking beautiful?" I couldn't help it, my rage just exploded from my mouth of its own accord. Dr. Richards looked at me with steel in his gaze. "As opposed to having no leg and no arm, yes, I call this beautiful. That was very nearly the case, by the way. We could easily be fitting you with prostheses right about now." I was ashamed of my outburst. Here this man had all but worked miracles on me, and I was yelling at him. "Sorry Doc, it's just a bit of a shock. I didn't really expect..." He patted my shoulder in a reassuring way. "That's OK, just remember you've got a long road ahead of you. Tomorrow we're moving you to a rehab center, and that's where the real work begins." He smiled at me and left, waving cheerfully. As I lay there, I didn't quite know what to feel or think. After a time I drifted off to sleep, dreaming of running. The next day came early as I was moved to the rehab center like an inert bag of cement. I couldn't do much to help as I was gently lifted, rolled, moved in the various stages of going to a waiting ambulance and then to the center. A short drive later I was there, ensconced in a comfortable bed in a bright, cheery room. My therapist Al came in a short time later. "Jeff, so glad to see you! You're looking better," he enthused. Shit, just the way he bounced into the room was enough to tire me out. He gave me a serious look. "Take it easy for today, then tomorrow the REAL work begins. You'll go through hell, absolute hell, and this will be tougher than anything you've ever done before. That's just for starters." Somehow, I believed him. He went on, "I want to introduce you to my assistant, Sven. He's in training to become a physical therapist." I noticed someone standing slightly behind him. I looked closer, wanting a better look at this Sven. I saw a gorgeous, slim, blond vision of loveliness which literally stunned my brain. He was slimly built but muscular, white-blond hair, high cheekbones, and oh what beautiful blue eyes. He looked to be in his late teens. Oh, my. I felt another part of me responding to Sven as the boy smiled shyly at me. This might not be so bad after all. I couldn't have been more wrong. Every day was pure torture as Al and Sven tried to remind my broken body how to move and respond as it once had. I'd always taken good health and mobility for granted, not realizing how hard it was for others who were not so fortunate. I found Al to be abrasive and sarcastic, always pushing me, demanding one more stretch, lift, or whatever. I began to nurse an absolute hatred of the sadistic bastard, vowing that however hard he pushed me I'd push myself harder. I didn't realize until much later that this was just what Al wanted. Sven, on the other hand, was a soothing presence. He was a quiet lad, but insistent in his own way. He had a way of making me want to push myself harder just to please him. And that, of course, what just what HE wanted. They had very different approaches, but both seemed to work, at least on me. Therapy was beyond hard, and beyond painful. I spent my days vacillating between despair and determination to recover. I've always been a bit manic-depressive, which my injuries and forced inactivity brought out in a big way. Only Sven's presence made it even marginally bearable. I wanted that kid in the worst way. Not to mention every other way! Things came to a head (literally) one day when Sven was helping me out of the tub. He, as usual, was wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of white shorts. God, he was gorgeous! The shorts showed off his bronzed, nearly hairless legs perfectly while his shirt did the same for his upper body. I slipped a bit while he was helping me (read lifting my helpless butt) out of the tub, and I reflexively reached out for whatever I could grab. The whatever in question turned out to be Sven's crotch. I held on for dear life while he settled me on the edge of the tub, then realized what I was holding and let go, not before I felt his cock throb beneath my hand. "Sorry about that, it was just a reflex. Hope I didn't hurt you," I told him. "No, it's OK," he said in his sexy voice as he smiled at me. I figured what the hell, then did something totally out of character for me. "Here, let me make it feel better," I said softly as I began to stroke his dick through his shorts. Sven, much to my surprise, didn't object at all. "Here, let me," I murmured as I struggled to free his dick one-handed. Damn, I couldn't unfasten his shorts with only one hand! Looking up at Sven, I realized that he wasn't going to help me. If I wanted his dick, I was gong to have to get at it myself. I gritted my teeth and managed to bring my left hand up. Shit it hurt! Determined, I clumsily unfastened his shorts however much it hurt (which was a lot, believe me). Finally, I was able to slide his shorts down. I was stunned. I was looking at the most beautiful teen throbber I'd ever seen. It was long, slim, and uncut, the very image of absolute beauty. The head peeked out of his foreskin as I looked, a bead of pre-cum forming at the slit. There was a small tuft of blond hair at the base, and none at all on his wonderful, full balls. I began to stroke it gently, carefully, retracting the skin and the letting it slip back up when I decided that I just had to suck it. I suited actions to thought as I licked up and down, covering his dick in my spit as I worked until I at last took the head into my mouth. His pre-cum tasted sweet and pure, just like the rest of him. I began to suck and lick in earnest, playing with his balls, gently squeezing with my good right hand. Sven smiled down at me, then took my right hand in his. Hmmm, I thought, maybe he didn't like having his balls played with. He spread his legs wider, inviting me to do just that. Then I got it, he was encouraging me to use my left hand. I gritted my teeth as best I could with Sven's dick in my mouth and began to play with his balls again, this time with my left hand. God it hurt! Soon I was able to ignore the hurt as I licked, kissed, licked, slurped and sucked with abandon. Time seemed to stop as I lost myself in what I was doing. Sven, being a normal teen, couldn't hold out forever, a fact reinforced by the twitching of his dick in my hungry mouth. I backed off until I was sucking only on about the first three inches, wanting his load where I could taste it. A couple of seconds I got my wish as Sven began to come in my mouth as only a teen boy can, long, copious blasts of it coming again and again. I swallowed for all I was worth, loving every second. Finally he was done and I took my mouth off of his softening dick. I looked up into his lovely face, panting, as he did the same. He looked down at my left hand still squeezing his balls. "Good," was all he said. He fastened his shorts and helped me out of the tub, deftly wrapping a towel around me and depositing me in my wheelchair for the trip back to my room. I felt strangely satisfied, even though I hadn't orgasmed. I settled down to a nap, happier than I'd been since the accident. My improvement, though not rapid, was steady from that point on. Every day I seemed to get a little stronger, was able to do a little bit more. The highlight of my days was still Sven helping me in the bath since I knew I'd get to suck his glorious, beautiful dick. Strangely enough Sven acted exactly (and I do mean exactly) the same toward me. He was calm and professional at all times, by turns gently encouraging and gently demanding. I was hopelessly smitten with him. As much as I loved Sven, I hated Al with equal intensity. I loathed his smug face, his powerful body, and most of all the way he pushed and taunted me constantly, exhorting me to push myself past my limits. He always demanded one more lift, sneering at me when I said I couldn't do it. Time went on, and summer turned to fall. Then the big day came. I was going to try to walk today, to stand on my own two feet. I was rolled up to a set of parallel bars set at waist height, braces on my legs. Al stood behind me and hauled me upright then let go, forcing me to grab the bars to remain standing. Suddenly my bad left arm gave way and I crumpled, bashing my head on the bars on the way down. I just sat there and shook my head, clearing out the pretty stars and flashing colors. I looked up and saw Sven looking concerned while Al, the bastard, just stood there stone-faced. Nobody made any move to help me up. "What's the matter, can't stand on your own two feet? Get up, we don't have all day to spend while you lay there!" Al had a superior smile to accompany this. I have to admit, my blood boiled and I saw red. I wanted to smash Al's smug face in, but that wasn't going to happen while I was sitting there on the floor. I just grabbed the bars and hauled myself up, inch by painful inch, until I was once again standing my own two feet. Every muscle in my left side shrieked and protested this abuse but I was too pissed off to care! Slowly, oh so slowly, I began to put one foot in front of the other, still supporting most of my weight with my arms. Bu the time I reached the end of the bars (they were about six feet or so long, but it felt more like six miles) I was soaked in sweat and shaking violently. Relieved, I sat down heavily, almost knocking the wheelchair over. I looked up at Al and was hugely gratified by the shocked expression of surprise etched on his face. He thought I couldn't do it, huh? I showed him! Sven, on the other hand, just smiled down at me in pure delight. For myself, I couldn't dredge up any emotion other than total, complete exhaustion. My progress, although not rapid, was steady from that point onward. I constantly chafed at the slow (to me) pace of my recovery, but Al seemed quite pleased with me. I still insisted on having help getting in and out of the tub, in case I fell or needed help, which Sven was happy to provide. Maybe it was the fact that I still sucked his gorgeous teen dick every time, I don't know. I knew that I'd need a cane of some sort to get around, so I ordered myself an Irish Blackthorn walking stick from some site on the Internet. If you've never seen one, it's a basically branch with the thorns left on, finished and lacquered a deep black. It's a very intimidating, nasty-looking piece of work, and very practical for self-defense since the thorns tend to leave deep, ripping wounds. I figured it was in keeping with my rather strange sense of humor not to have just a regular walking cane. It was at about this time that my lawsuit finally got to court. I'd met with Marty, my rather predatory lawyer, from time to time during my recovery. He always assured me that things were proceeding fine, even though I thought it was taking forever. I thought going to court would be exciting, you know, like on TV or something, but it turned out to be almost terminally boring! I didn't have to go every day, but Marty did want me there sometimes so that the jury would have a face to put with the case, so to speak. It became obvious to everyone that the opposing lawyers were using every tactic in the book to stall and drag the case out as much as possible. They started out by arguing that their client (who sat there smugly, convinced that her money would buy her out of this mess) was not in control of her car, that the cruise control had come on unexpectedly. Marty, bless him, was ready for this and produced affidavits from certified mechanics that there was nothing wrong with the cruise control. Then they argued that I wasn't even involved in the crash and that it wasn't a serious wreck (Marty had to restrain me at that point). Marty then produced medical records, police reports, and what seemed like the entire production of a paper mill for about a year. Things went on like this ad nauseum, until the day that their lawyer began arguing that the accident hadn't even been all that serious. Without telling Marty (I know, only a fool surprises his lawyer) I had both wrecks hauled by flatbed to the courthouse parking lot. The next day in court, as the opposing lawyer began to speak, so help me I raised my hand just like a schoolboy to get the judge's attention. Soon everybody in the room was staring at me. "Your honor," I began, "I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of having both vehicles brought to the courthouse today. Maybe you, and the ladies and gentlemen of the jury (I got that one from TV) would like to go out and see them for yourself?" The judge smiled at me (which was more frightening than his usual dour expression) and agreed, much to the chagrin of all of the lawyers involved. Hell, I just figured it was a way of braking up this endless logjam! Once outside, the judge examined the VIN of each car to make sure they were the vehicles in question. They were, of course. This was the first time I'd seen my car's corpse (so to speak) and even I was shaken. My beautiful new T-Bird was a crushed hunk of twisted metal bent into almost a U shape. Her SUV wasn't that much better; it's smashed in front end testified as to the violence of the crash. As the jury looked at it and shook their heads I found myself feeling lucky to have survived at all. After a few minutes of this, we all trooped (or rolled in my case) back up to the courtroom. Marty put his arm around me, smiling. "Don't you EVER fuckin' do something like that again without consulting me first!" I noticed the members of the jury looking daggers at Marty's esteemed opposition. "It worked, didn't it?" "We'll see, but you should have asked BEFORE pulling a stunt like this on me." I have to give it to him, his smile never wavered in the slightest. When the judge got himself settled, he called both sets of lawyers into his chambers for a rather long conference. They were in there for like an hour, and when they came out Marty looked like he wanted to do cartwheels while their lawyer looked defeated. The judge announced to all that a settlement had been reached, then thanked the jury for their service, and that was that. Without a word, Marty wrote a number on a piece of paper and gave it to me. I just looked at it, feeling faint. That was a LOT of zeroes! This was more money than I could ever spend in several lifetimes! Hell, Marty's cut of it was more than I could spend in a lifetime! At least I wouldn't have to worry about where my next meal was coming from. Now I could concentrate on nothing but physical therapy, which I did. Finally, the big day came. One day Al called me into a conference with him and Sven, ostensibly to evaluate my progress. We had these every so often, mostly so he could formally write things down on my chart, ask me how I thought I was doing, shit like that. "Well, Grasshopper, you have snatched the pebble from my hand. Time for you to leave," AL told me with a big, wide grin on his face. I couldn't remember seeing it's like plastered across his mug before. I just snorted. At least we watched the same old TV shows! "No, I mean it, you're a recovered as you're gong to get. Time to move you to outpatient status and give that bed to someone who truly needs it. You'll still have to come in for physical therapy three times a week." Sitting behind Al, Sven looked a bit sad at the prospect of my leaving. "Um, I'd hoped for some more improvement. I mean, I can get around OK now but . . ." Al looked at me with a serious expression on his face. "Hell, you can walk, do things around the house, and you may even be able to play a round of golf once in a while if you manage your other activities. That's pretty damn good, considering. Ahhh, speaking of that ..." Smiling, he took a ten dollar bill out of his pocket and handed it so Sven, who grinned right back at him. "I lost the bet since you're walking out of here on your own two feet. And it's one I'm happy to lose, too!" If Al's grin got any wider he'd crack his face! Where was that heartless, demanding son of a bitch I'd known and hated for the better part of a year now? Al went on, "It's my job to know which patients need coddling, and which ones need a swift kick in the ass. I recognized early on that you were in the latter category, so that's the strategy I used on you. Sven here got to be the 'good cop' to balance out my 'bad cop' routine. It's more in keeping with his character anyway." Sven just grinned at me as I silently agreed with Al. No way that sweet kid could pull off the 'bad cop' act. I just looked at them, trying to take it all in. Al deserved an Academy Award for this! And I still hated the bastard, too. I couldn't help it, my eyes just teared up. If not for these two, I'd be leaving in a wheelchair if I left at all. I hugged Sven close for a long moment, just to show him how much I cared. Then I grabbed Al, startling him severely, and gave him a firm hug as well. I walked out of the rehab center the next day, head held high, leaning on my Irish Blackthorn cane. Chapter 2 - Oh Mama, What has Your Boy Done to Himself? I'd never really noticed how ugly the tile pattern on my bathroom floor was, I reflected, as I hugged the toilet, wondering if I needed to throw up any more. I hoped not, since it seemed like I'd already barfed up every meal I'd ever eaten. You're probably wondering how I went from walking proudly out of the rehab center to praying to the porcelain god. It was easy. After leaving the center, I took a cab home, intending to do a little grocery shopping and get my apartment in order. I'd hired a cleaning service to do their thing and throw out all of the year-old science experiments that were no doubt in the fridge, but I wanted to go food shopping for myself. Sort of prove to myself that I could still do things. Yeah, right! The shopping part of things went OK, but I didn't count on the rest of it being so damn exhausting. I had to load everything in the cart, and then into the cab, then I had to drag it all from the cab, up the stairs, and into my apartment. And it seemed that it was all heavy! The cab driver took pity on me and helped carry the heaviest things (the milk, bottled water, and things like that) but by the end of it I was totally exhausted, sweating and shaking. I collapsed on the couch, intending to sit for a minute before putting everything away, but I somehow fell asleep right there. When I finally woke up, I levered myself up off the couch only to find that the ice cream had melted all over the counter and the milk was spoiled. I sighed; this was gonna be harder than I thought. Things got harder from there. Oh, I tried, believe me I tried. I even went back to work, but a week of going into the city, taking the trains and things I previously thought of as normal were just too strenuous. I actually fell asleep on the train several times and had to take a cab home from Dover. The only reason I even woke up there is it's the last stop on the line. And none of the train stations seemed to have elevators, forcing me to make the painful climb up the stairs to the platform. Everything just seemed harder and harder. I've always been a bit manic-depressive and I now hurtled headlong toward full-blown depression. My stubborn streak was stronger than ever as I insisted on doing my own shopping and errands, no matter how hard it was, no matter how much it hurt. I didn't want any help from anyone. Then I started drinking. This is especially dangerous since alcoholism runs rampant in my family, so I'd always been very careful not to fall into that trap. Yeah, I'm well aware of how stupid that was now, thank you, but in the depths of my depression it seemed like the thing to do. At a loss for what else to do with it, I gave all my money to some hotshot money manager to invest as he thought best, which he did. Spectacularly so in fact. It seemed like everything he touched turned to gold, so I just let him have at it. The other thing I had to take care of was a car. Since I had all this money, I decided to splurge and headed over to Karl's Kustom Kars over in Milburn, where I met with Karl himself. I explained to him that I'd been drooling over the P/T Cruiser since it came out, but that I wanted something special, something along the lines of Brian Setzer's custom job, only not as flashy. Karl just smiled and told me he had enough to work with, so I gave him a substantial deposit and left. I was expecting good things, and Karl didn't disappoint. He called me from time to time for decisions on paint color, interior, etc, but mostly I relied on his recommendations. During this time I also got heavily into lurking in the newsgroups and downloading just as much kiddie porn as I could get my hands on. Boys, girls, it didn't matter, I downloaded everything I could find from every newsgroup I could come up with. I was a bit surprised that there was so much boy-porn out there as compared to girl-porn, but I guess lots of folks like boys, or the boylovers out there are just more organized than their girl counterparts. I filled up an entire 80-gigabyte drive with movies and pictures, went out and bought a 120-gigabyte drive, and filled that up too. I spent my nights drinking and lurking in newsgroups, just looking for something new to download and jerk off to. I also managed to drive all of my friends away, with one notable exception. After all, who wouldn't want to be friends with a drunken, self-pitying, depressed cripple? Everybody, it seemed, except for my buddy Sid. It seemed that no matter how much I ranted and raved, or drank, or how big a pity-party I was having on a given day, Sid stuck by me. He always seemed to find a way to turn things around so that they didn't seem quite so bad. Than one day Karl called. My car was ready! I took a cab over there and was rewarded with the car of my dreams. It was a lustrous, deep purple, gleaming from who knew how many coats of paint, with every amenity anyone could want. It was simply gorgeous, inside and out. Killer engine, state of the art sound system, I was in heaven! As I was paying Karl I saw a flatbed pull up with something on the bed, piquing my curiosity. "My newest project," Karl beamed at me. "C'mon, let's go have a look." I hobbled outside after him and what I saw literally took my breath away. "A 1970 Super Bird! Holy shit," I gasped. Oh, it was filthy, a real mess, but the body looked perfect under the grime. Bright orange, with Plymouth in big letters on the rear flank, it looked completely original, right down to the big decal of the cartoon Road Runner on the huge rear wing. The thing was a rolling hard-on! Or at least it would be when it was restored. I was in serious muscle car lust! "Yep," Karl said with satisfaction, "some guy had it in his barn under a tarp for the last 30 years if you can believe it. It's got 587 original miles on the odometer and I'm gonna do a frame-up restoration on it. One of the few built with the 427 Hemi engine, too." Karl was almost salivating. I calmly pulled out my checkbook and wrote Karl a blank check, then gave it to him. "What's this?" "A check for my new car. Call me when it's done. I want a killer sound system and modern air conditioning in it." Karl looked at me, aghast. "I know, it won't be totally original, but I'm going to drive it, not show it. Decide how much it's worth and fill in an amount when it's done." I was in heaven, my depression gone, if only for a little while. Karl looked at me mournfully, pocketing the blank check. "You do realize you've ruined my day, don't you?" I just chuckled. Which brings me back to sitting on the bathroom floor praying to Ralph. The drinking, not eating right, and not going to therapy had taken a devastating toll on my body and mind. I was skinny as a rail and had the beginnings of an ulcer on top of everything. "Jeff, where are you, damn it? I've been calling you for a half hour, don't you ever answer your phone?" That was Sid. I'd given him a key to my apartment, just in case. Seemed like just in case had arrived. I smiled a bit as I heard Sid come up the steps. He'd know what to do, I was sure of it. Yeah, I was pretty far gone all right. "Oh mama! Shit, what have you done to yourself now?!?" So saying, Sid bodily picked me up off the floor and deposited me in the tub, shaking his head. He efficiently stripped me and started the shower, cleaning me up, cursing a blue streak at me the whole time. Somewhere in my alcohol-sozzled brain I figured I deserved it. A couple of hours later, much warmer, more sober, and with food in my belly I sat and listened to Sid tell me off, but good. Finally he ran down. He looked both sorry and pissed, then he abruptly went into my bedroom and came out holding something. "Here," he told me, handing me my own 9mm Ruger pistol. The hammer was back and it had a full clip of high velocity hollowpoints in the grip. I just looked at him, then at the loaded gun in my hand. "You might as well use that and put yourself out of your misery now, quickly, instead of killing yourself slowly with booze. Because that's where you're headed! And someday soon, too! I can't stand to watch you do this to yourself any more!" Sid was shouting now; I'd never seen him this upset. Finally, this managed to penetrate my brain. He was right, if I kept this up I was gong to kill myself, and in the not too distant future, too. Did I even care any more? The answer surprised me. Yes, I did. I found that I did want to live. "I can't do it all myself, I whimpered, "I just can't." "Than ask for help, asshole, that's what friends are for!" The cords in Sid's neck were standing out nicely now. "Help," I whispered faintly. To make a long story a bit shorter, with Sid's help I got myself cleaned up and sober, and started going back to physical therapy again. I even bought a house, a nice 3-bedroom ranch in Florham Park, just off of Pinch Brook golf course. My money manager had been telling me to buy some real estate, and at least this way I didn't have to deal with my apartment's steps any more. Somewhere in all of this, I picked up my Super Bird. Driving it was almost always enough to lift my spirits, and I enjoyed the comments that I got about it. Kids tended to think it was a new car, which I found amusing. I got better, but I was monumentally bored. I needed something to do; I needed a job! Chapter 3 - A Glimmering on the Horizon I was looking through the on-line ads one day when I ran across one for a teaching position at an all-boys school way up north. Well, why not, I thought to myself as I fired off a resume to them. I'd gotten my NJ teaching certificate a while back when I was teaching a night course over at CCM, and I'd kept it current since then. I didn't hear anything for a couple of weeks, and I'd pretty much written it off, when I got a phone call from the Dean of the school, a Dr. Webber. We spoke for over an hour, touching on a great number of different subjects. It seemed to go pretty well, and I kept my fingers mentally crossed after I got off the phone with him. Somehow, I had a good feeling about this. My good feeling seemed to be on the mark. I got a call from a Dr. Webber a week later, inviting me up there for a face-to-face interview. I knew full well that getting one's foot in the door was the really hard part, and it seemed I'd done that successfully. For the first time in a while I had something to look forward to. The trip was very pleasant as I traveled first class all the way. The flight was smooth, the food in the first class cabin was good, making for a very nice flight. Dr. Webber had arranged for a limo to pick me up and I enjoyed the beautiful scenery in the countryside. The ride was about an hour, and I enjoyed every minute of it. That good feeling was still with me. We pulled up to a campus that just screamed "money". It looked like everyone's conception of a prestigious boys' school, right down to the ivy-covered brick buildings. The place was huge, much bigger than I thought. I did notice a bright, huge new building that was apparently a new aquatics center. Oh yes, definitely money! I was met by Dr. Webber, a tall, distinguished older man. He had an indefinable aura about him that made you want to trust him. We shook hands and walked around campus, looking at the buildings, the manicured grounds as he gave me the ten-cent tour. If anything I was even more impressed, both with Dr. Webber and the place in general. The other thing I noticed was the boys. The school year had just ended, so there weren't that many of them around, but they were around. They were, in a word, gorgeous. They greeted Dr. Webber with smiles as he addressed them all by name. They were all shapes, sizes, and ethnicities, but all seemed very happy there at the school. I had a hardon by about midway through the ten-cent tour. I did notice that Dr. Webber walked slowly, in deference to me. After the tour, we adjourned to Dr. Webber's study, an impressively large place lined with books and furnished with large, comfortable leather chairs. Again, his office looked like my conception of a ritzy private school. He had framed certificates on the walls, awards, you name it. I admit I was feeling a bit fatigued. We talked for a short time before we were pleasantly interrupted by a young boy. He was blond, with a snub little nose, red lips, and beautiful blue eyes and looked to be about eight or nine years old. He was about four and a half feet tall, dressed in a light blue polo shirt, dark blue shorts (and they were short, believe me), blue ankle socks, and black shoes. He was altogether the most gorgeous thing I'd ever seen. Just the sight of him made my heart beat faster! "Oh, Mikey, come on in. I've got someone I want you to meet." Dr. Webber made the introductions. "Mikey, this is Mr. Smith, he may come and teach here. Jeff, this is Mikey, one of our typical students. He just completed his first year here at the academy and is staying for summer session." Mikey walked across the room and handed Dr. Webber a folder, then came over to me. "H'lo sir. Nice to meet you." Mikey held out a small hand, which I gently shook, noticing his nice firm grip for a boy. I smiled at him and he grinned right back at me, bringing out the dimples in his cheeks. I was in love! My heart melted as I smiled back, totally enchanted with this little urchin. I was even more enchanted (and a bit startled) when Mikey slid into my lap just as easily as if he'd done it a hundred times before. I gently cradled him in my arms as he leaned back against me. So trusting, I marveled, stroking his back, so special. At this point I would have paid Dr. Webber money to come and teach here! I raised an eyebrow at Dr. Webber as Mikey slid onto my lap. I mean, here I was, a total stranger, and this incredible boy just hopped onto my lap. Dr. Webber just smiled back at me. "That's just how Mikey is. Don't worry about it, just scoot him on his way if you're uncomfortable," Dr. Webber told me. Uncomfortable? Ha! If I had my way Mikey could sit there on my lap forever! I had the feeling that this was some kind of test, but what just sort of test I couldn't imagine. They both seemed perfectly OK with the fact that I currently had a lap full of boy, so who was I to argue with them? The interview continued, but I have no idea if I made any sense or not to Dr. Webber as the sweet, clean scent of Mikey's hair filled my head. Talk about a distraction! God! My senses were already swimming as the boy on my lap shifted a bit, settling his small butt right on my now painfully hard dick. Any more of that and I'd explode in my pants, right there and then. Mikey, the little devil, smiled at me and slid his small hand in between the buttons of my shirt and began to play with my chest hair. Since he was facing away from Dr. Webber I knew he hadn't seen Mickey's actions. Now I REALLY was gonna explode! I was convinced somehow that Mikey knew exactly what he was doing. Almost before I knew it my job interview was coming to an end and Mikey was sliding off my lap. I tousled his blond hair as he smiled up at me, totally unrepentant. My head literally swam as I leaned on my walking stick and shook hands with Dr. Webber. Had I aced the interview, or really screwed the pooch? Hell, I had no fucking idea. The answer was waiting for me. There was a message from Dr. Webber waiting for me on my answering machine at home. "Jeff, this is Rob Webber. Things are looking very good for you here at Amherst Academy! Please give me a call when you get this message, I'd like to talk to you about coming to work for me." It seemed I had a job. Life had gotten interesting again! To be continued.