Date: Sun, 24 Feb 2008 08:46:23 -0500
From: carl_mason@verizon.net
Subject: DENNY LAWRENCE - 5

DENNY LAWRENCE - 5


Copyright 2008 by Carl Mason

All rights reserved.  Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal
enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without
the written permission of the author.  However based on real events and
places, "Denny Lawrence" is strictly fictional.  Any resemblance to actual
events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.  As
in real life, sexual themes unfold gradually.  Comments on the story are
appreciated and may be addressed to the author at carl_mason@verizon.net

If you would like to read additional stories by this author, please turn to
the "Authors/Prolific Authors" link at the beginning of the Nifty Archive.

This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both
adults and teenagers.  As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the
personal enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature, adults.  If you are not of
legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you
trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral
dilemmas in your life, please leave.  Finally, remember that maturity
generally demands safe sex.


CHAPTER 5

(Revisiting Chapter 4)

As he puttered around at the kitchen sink, Pat looked out the window and
saw Denny watching the sunset over the lake.  Quietly, he went outside,
walked down to the water, and put his coat around the lad's shoulders.  It
was their last night at that beautiful place, at least for this time.
Despite the chilly air, they walked for a while along the lakeshore in the
moonlight.  It's doubtful that either felt the cold.

(Continuing Our Story - Coach)

Pat Mahan looked up as Denny entered the living room with a thick sandwich
and a soft drink.  "Pigging out, sport?"  "Yeah, boss," the muscular teen
replied.  "Just spent an hour in the exercise room.  Gotta keep up the
strength!"  Dr. Mahan continued, "Do you think you're ready for a really
new kind of challenge?"  "What's up?" Denny countered.  "The local School
District contacted us," replied the young man's mentor.  "They are planning
a lacrosse camp and need a coach for the thirteen and fourteen year-olds.
The program's going to last two weeks.  Personally, I can't think of a
better recommendation than for a handsome High School All-American
candidate, but I don't make recommendations before passing them by the
individuals involved.  Interested?"  "Wow!  Thanks, boss!" the youth
exclaimed excitedly.  "I could be VERY interested!  Who's the contact?"
Within two days, he was speaking with Kevin Riley, the District's Director
of Physical Education and Athletics.

Riley sat back in his chair.  Staring penetratingly at the young man
sitting across from him, he said, "Well, I guess we've covered the
essentials.  I've seen you play, Lawrence, and, frankly, I've seen no
better...and damned few anywhere near as good.  At the end of the year, we
ought to be toasting a great All-American.  On the other hand, we've got a
new program, and I know you've had your troubles.  Pat Mahan tells me that
you've made tremendous strides in getting your life back together - and I
trust the guy.  What do you think?  Are you ready for a position with this
much responsibility?"  "I'm ready, sir," Denny said seriously.  "Count on
my giving it my very best!"  "I intend to do just that," the Athletic
Director said, grinning and holding out his hand.  "By the way, you'll have
my youngest, Colin, in your crew.  I'll pray for you!"  Laughing, the two
men shook hands and Denny departed.

In the week he had prior before traveling up to the lake where the camp was
being held, Denny made sure that he talked with Sam Prescott, his high
school coach up at St.  Anselm's School.  Mr. Prescott was delighted with
what Denny was doing, gave him a two-hour crash course in coaching, and
sent him home with his phone number, some ideas, and a packet of very
special note cards.

As Denny got off the school bus in front of the rustic Administration
Building, he was immediately surrounded by a dozen, very excited early
teens.  "Coach!" a well-built carrot top yelled above the shouting, "Saw
you totally destroy Xavier Prep last spring!  Awesome!  Glad you're here!"
"Hi, Colin!  Thanks!" Denny responded.  "We're going to have a great camp
this summer.  See yuh!"  The big teen hoisted his pack and stick, passed
through the crowd of admiring kids, and headed up the stairs of the
Administration Building.  About a foot from the door, Colin Riley turned to
his friend and ofttimes partner in crime, Tom DeLong.  "How in hell did he
know my name, Tommy?"  he asked.  Hearing the question, Denny paused and
leered at the redhead before opening the door and entering the building.

Having signed in and met those whom he had to meet, the new staff member
headed across the camp towards the Eagle's Nest, a substantial log building
that housed the thirteen and fourteen year-olds who had come to camp
primarily for lacrosse.  The building was the scene of complete chaos as
nineteen young teens were getting ready for supper.  Some were rushing
around in underwear shorts; most had towels wrapped around their waists;
three of them were in the nude, proudly displaying their advanced
equipment.  As Denny entered the main room, a wet towel suddenly came out
of nowhere and almost wrapped itself around his head.  At the same time, a
muscular redhead crashed into him in the melee, all but knocking him over.
With one hand, "Coach" scraped the towel off his face; with the other, he
held onto the very naked redhead.  "Can you hit that hard on the field,
Red?" he chortled.  A very embarrassed Colin Riley stared at the floor,
mumbling, "Sorry, Coach."  " Tis ok, beast!  Let's get ready for supper!"
With that he dropped his hand from Colin's sturdy shoulder and made his way
towards his partially walled space near the door.  As he went, he tousled
heads and slapped backs (and a few rumps), greeting those by name whom he
had already identified by pictures.  Soon they were all on their way to the
Mess Hall where they shared several tables.

Reaching the Mess Hall a few moments after the bulk of the kids, he saw
that his crew had saved a seat for him.  On one side was the ever present
Colin Riley; on the other, another fourteen year-old who had to be an
athlete, one "Corky" Paramus.  Denny hadn't met Corky (he had probably just
arrived), but he was an open-faced, good- looking kid who wore his jet
black hair in a Marine Corps "high and tight".  "Evenin', guys," he managed
to mumble before the Camp Director called upon everyone to say grace in his
own way.

If dinner didn't prove it, the first evening campfire program did: Status
among the 13 and 14 year-olds was going to be revealed by how close you
were allowed to get to Coach.  Those decisions were being made by the
oldest, the most physically developed and, presumably, those who had the
most lacrosse skill.  Denny wasn't exactly surprised to note that this
"elite guard" included the three youngsters who had been cavorting around
the bunkhouse in the nude before supper - i.e., Colin, Robby Brown, and Sid
Rubino - plus Corky Paramus.  In any case, when Denny was introduced as the
coach of the "Eagles", the fearsome foursome led a wild demonstration.
When Val Thompson, a well-known college lacrosse coach, was introduced as
the new mentor of the 15 and 16 year-old "Bruins," however, a few hisses
and audible mutters of "Bruins suck!"  "Bruins suck!" broke out...until
Denny stood and glared at the perpetrators.  In any case, whenever he
turned around during the program, he was offered popcorn or a soft drink.
(He could even have had his choice of candy bars!)

Later that night, his reputation was enhanced when he agreed to referee the
"Mother of All Pillow Fights" in the Eagles Nest.  (Needless to say, he was
solidly bashed by both sides before the Head Counselor stuck his head in
the door and suggested that it was "getting late".)  The capstone of his
reputation, however, was laid by the fearsome foursome.  In the morning, as
just enough light crept into the main room to see the next bunk, Denny slid
out of bed and prepared to begin the day with his usual jogging.  Before he
could get his shorts all the way up, however, the Big Four were clustered
around him, dressed, and ready to awaken the rest of the cabin.  Though he
convinced them not to do that, he did allow the four yawning, staggering
early teens to accompany him.  (Indeed, it was the last time that all four
of them made it.  Only Colin's morning jog record was perfect.)

As soon as everyone had breakfasted, Denny inspected the sports equipment
they had brought from home - the helmets, body armor, gloves, footwear, and
sticks.  Most of the guys checked out perfectly, though he did speak with
one 14 year-old about the way in which his net pocket was strung.  "A
little loose, Jon.  Let me show you how to tighten it up a bit."
Embarrassed, the youngster flared slightly, exclaiming, "Sir, my brother
did that for me!"  "No problem, Jon," Coach replied, but when the netting
has slipped so that the ball rests below the sidewalls of the stick head,
it can cost you.  You wouldn't want a one-minute penalty as the team was
setting up a winning goal, would you?"  "Nah, Coach," the boy replied, "I
just didn't want you to think my brother did that on purpose."  "Your
brother wouldn't do that, Jon," Denny said quietly, tapping the kid lightly
on the upper arm.  "I've played against him, and he's not that kind of guy.
Now let's get ready to go over to the field!"

Joking with the kids as he worked, Denny loaded all of his gear onto a cart
and wheeled it over to the playing field.  Once there, he checked out the
gear of six day campers.  Finally, he blew his whistle and shouted, "Ok,
team, close in where you can all see my face and hear me, and take a knee."
A couple of minutes later, looking out over the twenty-six heads, he blew
his whistle again.  The boys, all of whom had played some lacrosse, quieted
down immediately.  "I'm Denny Lawrence," he began.  "I've played a little
lacrosse for St.  Anselm's School."  "Yeah, All-American!" Colin muttered
to Tommy.  After glaring in the redhead's direction and then grinning,
Coach continued.  "For two weeks I get to work with you on lacrosse
essentials.  And our essentials are important - more important, maybe, than
the skills in many sports.  If I had to pick out the biggest difference
between the top player - the guy who's playing in every game...leading the
team - and the average guy who spends a lot of time on the bench, it's that
the top player can really catch, throw, cradle, and handle ground balls.
Ok, let's get down to work!  Everyone three times around the
field...jogging!"

When the last runner returned to the partially shaded area where Coach was
standing, he clapped his hands and shouted, "Ok!  Mr. Crossan, our Head
Counselor, is an EMT [Emergency Medical Technician] with the University
Ambulance Service.  He's going to demonstrate how you avoid many injuries
by properly stretching your muscles.  All yours, Paul!"

Very quickly, of course, everyone was completely immersed in lacrosse
drills: the quick stick, the long pass, how to avoid "thumbing" the ball in
the stick pocket, what to do with the damned butt end of the stick, picks,
dodges (including the "bull dodge" in which Colin excelled), overhand shots
and sidearm shots, and a host of checks.  Denny even recruited a buddy from
St. Anselm's to work with Corky Paramus, one of the most promising
goaltenders that he'd ever seen.  Then, too, of course, there was always a
bit of scrimmaging and a lot of games.  The days flew by, though the
lacrosse practices surely weren't the only thing happening at camp!  (It
was the case, however, that wherever you walked throughout the camp - and
at almost any time - you were likely to find individuals and small groups
practicing their skills.)

In the late afternoon, Denny often joined many of the youngsters in a swim
off the main dock.  He also took a major role in the campfire program,
becoming rather famous (infamous?) among the boys for his werewolf tales!
Immediately after supper, however, he always reserved an hour or two for
himself - to recharge his batteries, he always used to say.  It was on one
of his solitary jaunts around the lake that he heard a noise over on his
left.  Making his way through the brush, he came out on a rocky ledge
overlooking the water.  Sitting there, his legs drawn up in front of him,
his head down, the visor of a Red Sox cap hiding his eyes, he found Corky.
It was only when he realized that the lithe, handsome youngster was sobbing
that he hesitated.

"May I stop for a moment, Corky?" he murmured.  When the boy raised his
head, Denny could see that his face was a mess.  "What's up, Big Guy?" he
inquired.  "Oh, Coach, I'm dead meat!" his best goaltender wailed.  "No
way, Cork!  Somebody giving you a bad time?"  "No, Coach," the big kid
howled.  "It's my brother.  He's getting out of the Marines.  He's even
going to be here for Camp Day.  I love him, but he's going to hate me!"
"Want to tell me what's wrong, Corky?" Coach dared to ask.  "How could your
Big Brother possibly hate you?"  And because he was "Coach", the boy told
him, spilling out the long litany of pain and frustration that often
accompanies the adolescent's facing the fact that he is gay.  Denny talked
with him a long time that evening.  (He even missed the campfire, but,
thank God, he wasn't on the program.)  When they finally headed back, the
14 year-old holding onto the 17 year-old for dear life - at least until
they approached Camp - his goalie was in much better shape.  At least, he
knew he had someone in town with whom he could talk, someone he trusted.

The penultimate day of the session dawned bright and clear and, before
long, parents, friends, and siblings began to arrive for the "Camp Day"
festivities.  There were canoe races and swimming races and even chariot
races where a brave camper stood on the backs of his "team" and rode to
victory...or went down to ignominious defeat.  If you don't count the
Bar-B-Q that ended the day, the favorite event was undoubtedly the two
ten-minute-period lacrosse scrimmage between the Eagles and the Bruins.  As
expected, the bigger, stronger, and faster Bruins quickly scored three
goals against their thirteen and fourteen year-old rivals - but then it
stopped...cold...as the Eagle defense visibly stiffened.  Corky Paramus, a
Whirling Dervish in goal, blocked shot after shot from every angle.  There
was less than one minute to play when Colin Riley scooped up the ball from
the ground, lowered his shoulder and, like an enraged bull, headed up field
at full speed. Power-cradling the ball, he literally ran over two Bruins
who had been enjoying some substitute time.  As he neared the Bruin's cage
or goal, however, he saw that the area was thoroughly jammed up.  Just
before he reached the crease, Big Red flipped the ball to little Billy
Walker, third string attackman, the youngest and weakest of the Eagles, who
was trailing him on the left.  Without even thinking, Billy quick sticked
the ball into the net.  Needless to say, the field was a madhouse for some
minutes as the snarling Bruins slunk off and the Eagles celebrated their
great, albeit psychological, victory.

That night at the Bar-B-Q, Colin sat on Coach's right, Andy on his left,
and Billy in between his legs!  Denny did meet Corky's brother - long on
brawn and short on brains, as he had feared.  He was also buttonholed by a
jubilant Kevin Riley, Colin's dad.  Finally, he encountered one Pat Mahan,
who simply grinned, put a big hand around the back of his neck, and touched
foreheads.


To Be Continued