Date: Sat, 24 Nov 2012 09:05:37 -0500 From: Sean Williams Subject: The Nicholson Boy, Chapter 1 The Nicholson Boy [The usual disclaimers apply here. Do not read if awesome stories are against the law in your country...] Chapter 1 "So...um... Tucker... what are you going as for Halloween?" The question came from Dan Fisk, third baseman. The place was Tennessee, and the year was 1999. I had already heard the same question six times already, about Halloween, and I had only been at this school for two weeks. "I don't know," I said. "Batman. Maybe Batman. Why do y'all care about Halloween so much?" "Are you serious?" asked Fisk. We were on the baseball team together and to say that his head looked like a giant dick was probably the understatement of the year. Even the part of his face where his chin faded away and his veiny neck appeared was like the part of a cock where the head slopes down to the shaft. "I mean, I know you're new and all," said Dan, "but, man, what is your problem with Halloween? I mean, Halloween is a huge deal and all. At this school it is." Fisk took a swig from his root beer. He shook his head in disbelief. "Yeah, that's sort of what I don't get, man, I mean..." "Did you say Batman?" asked Brian Matheson, who had just walked up to our table in the cafeteria. He clapped me on the back and sat down beside me. Huge grin plastered across his face. "Man, what is this? 1968? I mean, are you fucking serious, man? Batman? You might as well put on some green tights, call yourself Robin, and spread your fucking ass cheeks at the park. Let some random dude fuck you so hard you can't walk the next morning. Batman? Bruce fucking Wayne? Bruce? Brucey? Are you fucking serious, man?" Matheson was on the baseball team, too. He was the star pitcher and a grade-A, bonified, pussy magnet. Matheson had a a black book with the names of all the sorority babes in our college, ranked by the size of their boobs, the profuseness of their pubic hair, and some sort of table that took into account how many other guys they had slept with and how far away they were (in months) from being virgins. Matheson had a theory that girls that were within twenty and thirty months of being virgins had the wettest pussies, especially if they were redheads. All the redheads in the virginity table were astericked, no matter how long ago they were virgins. "Yeah, Batman's pretty lame, man." "I mean, you might as well put on a fucking dress... a fucking tutu or whatever... and some panties, and fucking..." "Alright, what's wrong with Batman?" I ask. "There's nothing wrong with Batman, but, man, have you ever heard of fucking originality? What the fuck is wrong with y'all up in Kentucky? And, I mean, to say nothing about the fact that we're on the baseball team. We're the kings of the fucking school, man. We're on the baseball team and we have a standard to uphold, my friend. Halloween's only two weeks away, Tucker, and I expect better from you." "You met me last week, Matheson." "Hardly an excuse, lamezoid." "Alright, who are y'all going as?" "George Bush." "Gorbachov." "Gorbachov?" "George Bush? Whatever." I swiped Fisk's root beer and took a sip, then I tossed it back to him over the table. "How long have you been nursing that root beer, man? It's stale as shit. And... um... I still don't get what the big deal is about Halloween. Is this a Tennessee thing? We don't give a shit about Halloween in Kentucky." "You also don't give a shit if the girl you're fucking is your sister," said Matheson. "It all has to do with that Nicholson kid," said Fisk. "That kid that got killed back in '69. Frank Nicholson," and with that Fisk finished off the last drops of his root beer. "Crashed his Camaro right into the stands during a baseball game. On Halloween. Died on the spot." "Horseshit. Goddamn horseshit." "It's all true," said Matheson, laughing and putting his arm around me. "That Nicholson boy died during a game, on Halloween. Ever since then, kids always get dressed up at St. Mary's. It's just what we do here. If you get dressed up, you might just see Frank's red Camaro, riding off into the night. He might just give you a ride, Tucker." "Lucky me. And let me guess, this Nicholson kid's Camaro only appears at midnight?" "Yup." "Horseshit." "It's all true, my friend. We all get dressed up so we can see Frank's blazing red Camaro." "Yeah, maybe Frank might give you... um... a hummer in the backseat or something." I shake my head and look away. "It's true, that Nicholson story," said Matheson, steely blue eyes gazing deep into mine. Matheson licked his lips as he looked at me and within milliseconds my cock was twitching and leaking precum. "Ask around. If either one of us is lying we'll lick your balls after practice tomorrow night. I'll take the left one." "I'm not licking this fucker's balls," said Fisk. "Alright, so Batman's out of the question, I guess," I say. "Y'all gonna have to help me think of something else." "Robin. Green tights. Leave a hole in the butt for access." "Fuck you, Fisk." After lunch, I walked over to the quad and found a bench in a corner, the southeast corner where the art department was. The bench was under a tree and it overlooked the slope down to the lake. I put my Jansport down on the bench and then I laid down with the back of my head against the bookbag. I was tired from non-stop baseball practices to the point where I felt like my pitching arm would either explode or fall off. Besides, I was done with class for the day so I figured I would hang here for a bit. It was strange. The quad was usually pretty busy this time of day with kids getting out of class or going to class, but today was weird. As quiet as the hay loft in an abandoned barn. "You don't mind if I sit here, do you?" I heard a voice ask this in what you might call a sort of thick Memphis accent. "Huh? Oh yeah. No problem." I sat up and tossed a smile to the man that had walked up to the bench. I hadn't even seen him coming. "Sorry to make you get up," he said. He had black hair that was combed over to one side and wore a brown and blue flannel shirt. "You looked pretty comfortable there, friend. Sorry to rouse you." "Fuck, I shouldn't have been lying here like that in the first place. My fault." The young man nodded and took a seat on the edge of the bench where my feet had been. A key ring rattled as he sat down. "I reckon you might call this a nice spot for a rest. Right in the shade. And you got the lake right behind you. It's nice. And no one to bother you." "Yeah, I wasn't really plannin' on taking a nap here, but I just felt the urge." The man opened a paper bag and fumbled inside. "You don't mind if I take my lunch here, do you? I have this thing where I don't like to take my lunch indoors." "Fuck it. Help yourself." Out of the bag he produced what looked like a peanut butter and jam sandwich. Some kind of strawberry or raspberry jam, I guess. In this thick, crumpled, shiny, paper. "Man, am I hungry." "You look it," I said. "Damn, I might say you look like you haven't eaten in a week. Fuck, maybe I should invite you over to my dorm for dinner." The guy was on the slender side with a chiseled, squarish face. These thick, strappy muscles appeared in his jaw and then disappeared as he chewed on his sandwich. His brown eyes were set deep in his face. "You sure can swear," he said. I chuckled. "You know, you look just like this neighbor I used to have," he said. "When I lived on the river. It's that blond hair. And your eyes. Green, right?" "Yeah." "What's your name?" "Tucker Allston." "You go to school here?" "Yup. I play baseball. The school part is sort of incidental, I guess. What about you? You're a student here, too?" "Yeah, I guess you can say so. It's kind of complicated." After that, I just sort of watched as this guy finished off his sandwich and then very slowly ate every last bit of the dullest green apple this side of the Mississippi. When he was done, he put everything he hadn't eaten back into the brown paper bag and folded it neatly. He placed it on his lap and just leaned back with his arms splayed out on the rim of the bench. One of his hands touched my shoulder. I glanced over at him when I felt it, but I didn't move an inch. Then we just sat like that, beside one another, enjoying the view, I guess, until I said: "Fuck!" "There you go again." "No, it's just I forgot I have to walk all the way to town. The lightbulbs in my room blew out this morning and I forgot they don't have the type I need in the campus store. Leave it to me to get the one room with the Wilson-era light fixtures." "Wilson-era?" "Woodrow Wilson." "Oh. So you gotta walk to town, so what?" "Well, look at my shoes," I said. I was wearing these wingtips that squeezed my toes so tight that I almost thought it would be better to amputate my legs and wheel myself to class in a wheelchair rather than have to wear them. Stupid, I know. They were a size too small. Underneath my varsity jacket I was wearing a dress shirt and a clip-on tie. "I had a presentation today and I had to wear these goddamn shoes, but how am I supposed to walk all the way to town in 'em?" "No car." "Nope." "Take mine, then." "Your car?" "No," said the man, laughing and shaking his head. "That's some thought. You know, my car's outta whack. My engine keeps shredding my engine belt. It's the second time this year. So no car for me either. Actually, Tucker, I meant my shoes. My boots. Here." And, one by one, the man took off his beat-up work boots. They were kind of old-fashioned with these metal hook things at the top for the laces and it took a while for him to get them off. I got a good look at him as he took off his boots and he gave this impression of being slight and strong at the same time. It was different. When he was done, he handed the boots to me. He sat beside me in just these thick wool socks. "We're about the same size. And my boots will get you town better than those dress shoes will." "I can't take your boots." "Sure you can. Why not?" "Don't you have to walk home?" "I do, but I'm not far from here. I'll get home just fine. I'll put on your shoes," and he reached down and helped me out of my shoes, "and tomorrow we'll meet here again and switch." I shook my head, I still couldn't believe it, and I watched as this guy put on my wingtips. Then I picked up a boot and slipped my left foot into the left boot. Later that night, when I was back from town, I changed into my gym clothes and headed over to the campus gym. We didn't have baseball practice that day because coach was out of town and I felt like a workout. While I was doing pull-ups in a corner, I could hear Matheson by the bench press talking his usual smack about a girl that he scored the night before. The usual "Oh shit, her pussy was so tight!" that he usually talks. I could see him from where I was and he was wearing a sleeveless muscle shirt and track shorts. His muscles looked swole from the bench press, but I was kind of tired so instead of going over and saying "what's up" when I was done with my workout, I threw my towel over my shoulder and headed over to the locker room. I was taking a shower in the locker room and the hot water and the steam felt awesome running down my sore body. I usually didn't get the shower all to myself, it was usually pretty packed with guys from my college, with the occassional assistant coach from one of the sport teams, and so I took advantage of the alone time to take extra long in the shower. The lights were sort of dim and it felt kind of awesome. I turned on multiple shower heads to get as much steam as I could. There was usually one body beneath every single shower fixture, but today there was only me. The air in the showers was thick with steam and my body got sticky with the heat real quick. I must have stood like that in the showers for over half an hour. I didn't jerk off but my dick got hard from the water running down the shaft. When I was done in the showers, I turned all the knobs off. I walked away and when I reached the wall that led from the showers to the lockers, I turned it and walked toward my locker. I was drying off my hair with the towel and I didn't notice that there was someone sitting on the bench in front of my locker. I thought everyone had left the gym by now. I threw the towel down on the bench and that's when I heard: "Man, that's some hang-down." I flinched and that's when I saw Matheson. "Man, I didn't even see you." I covered my "hang-down" with my hands. Good ole Kentucky modesty. "How long you been sittin' there?" "About half an hour. What the hell were you doing in there? Beatin' off?" "No," I said. I shook my head and started turning the dial to unlock the combination lock. "I was just thinkin'." "About?" "Nothin'. Just how much of an ass you are." "And?" "And that story you and Fisk were talkin' about today. It was weird." "You mean that Frank Nicholson story? It's true. I told you, man. He crashed his Camaro right into the bleachers on Halloween. Exactly thirty years ago come Halloween. I can't believe you don't know that. It's like a school legend. Man, you don't have to cover your junk. We're grown ups, I don't care. I mean, I've seen your junk before. Nothin' to write home about." Matheson reached up and pulled my hands down so my cock and balls were out in the open again. When my hands were down, Matheson held on to my fingers for a few seconds with his hand. I didn't know what to make of that, so I looked at him and he dropped his hand. Matheson sighed and then he took his shirt off. His pecs were huge with a little bit of chest hair across the cleft and around his nipples. I tried not to stare but it was a pretty impressive chest. Matheson must have noticed me looking because he flexed his chest and biceps and made them twitch. "Next week, you and me," he said. "Bench press. You have a nice rack there, but we can bring that mother fucker up a bit." Matheson reached over and patted me on the chest. "Yeah, not bad," he said. My "hang-down" was still right in front of his face and when Matheson brought his hand down, he grazed it. "You like that?" he asked. I didn't say anything, but I turned around and fumbled for my bag. I guess Matheson liked what he saw because he patted my ass with his hand. "That sure is a nice ass. Ooo-eeee!" "Fuck you, Matheson. Maybe your dirty ass should take a shower. You smell like a fuckin' donkey." "Hey, that's not very nice," and Matheson stood up. I was still fumbling in my locker and I did not turn around. I could feel the heat as Matheson approached me, he must have been only inches away. I felt him reach around and grab my cock and balls. "You like that?" he asked me. I didn't say anything and pretended not to notice the firmness of his calloused hands as he cupped my balls. "Oh, you're just gonna pretend like I'm not grabbing your dick right now?" "Matheson, anybody could walk in right now. What the fuck are you doin'?" "Turn around," Matheson said. I knew that I shouldn't do it, but I turned around. Matheson grinned. "God, you're like a Catholic school girl." "And you're like..." but I didn't know what to say. Matheson, still smiling, shrugged. He got down on his knees. My cock was already semi-hard, but I instantly turned rock solid as this big meaty dude got down on his knees in front of me. Matheson looked up at me with his big blue eyes before he took my cock into his mouth. "Mmm," he moaned as he took hy cock down all the way to the base. I could feel my eyes rolling into the back of my head as Matheson deep-throated my dick. He slowly let my dick slide out of his mouth and said: "My best skill isn't my pitching arm." "Alright, what is it?" "No gag reflex." Matheson took my dick back into his mouth and soon he was deep-throating it again. He lapped at the underside of my shaft as the head of my dick tickled his uvula. It looked like Matheson not only didn't have a gag reflex, he didn't even have a cough reflex. I'm sure I must have given his epiglottis a pounding with my dick. As Matheson massaged my dick with his lips, I felt his hand creep up to my ass. He mumbled something as he rubbed my ass with a few fingers, but I couldn't make out the words. I moaned as the pitcher slipped one finger into my ass. As his finger plunged deeper into my ass, my cock pushed deeper into his throat. I looked down and saw that Brian was jerking his fat dick as he deep-throated my dick. That almost sent me over the edge. "Oh shit, I'm gonna cum," I whispered. Matheson mumbled again and I think he said: "Not yet." Matheson pushed two fingers into my ass and then three. Soon he was fucking me with his hand. I couldn't hold it in any longer and I started leaking pre-cum into Matheson's mouth. "Ohhhh fuuuhhhrrr," Matheson mumbled with his mouth still full with my cock. When I looked down I saw that Matheson was cumming and that's when I started to cum too. I unleashed into Matheson's mouth and he had no trouble swallowing every drop. When I was done cumming, my dick slipped out of his lips with a loud plop. Matheson laughed and I pulled him up to his feet. I pulled Matheson close to me and we kissed. I tasted my own salty cum on Matheson's lips. The next day, I came back to the bench, by the art department, and laid down as I had before. I was pretty tired as I had relived the events of the gym yesterday that night in bed. I didn't sleep a wink. So I thought I might take a nap on the bench. Jansport flat on the bench, head on top of Jansport. I closed my eyes for a second and I didn't think about yesteday. In that second I was back home, flyfishing with my uncle. We wore our boots and we stood in the stream. My uncle Jim told me that this part of the stream was called the cataract. That's where we were. I tossed back the fishing pole and was just about to cast it forward when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I opened my eyes to see someone in a black leather jacket standing over me. I squinted and realized that it was the guy that I had met the other day. Same place. "Hey, man," I said as I sat up. He laughed. "I should've just let you sleep." "No, it's cool," I said. "If I fell asleep I mighta woken up with no wallet." "It ain't that bad, is it?" "I don't know if it is and I don't know if it ain't, but I'm not taking the chance." "Where you from?" he asked. "Kentucky." "Kentucky's like Tennessee, ain't it?" "I guess it is. I don't know. It feels different, maybe just because it's not home. I'm from the woods, you might say." "Moonshine." "No. I mean, I guess. If you drank my moonshine you might never wake up." He sat down beside me. "Ain't that the point?" "I guess. Maybe. Man, you look pretty good in those shoes. Mayhaps you should keep 'em." "You think they look good on me? These wingtips?" "Yeah. They're yours, man. If I have another presentation, I'll just have to wear my tennis shoes and stand behind a table or somethin'. Keep 'em." "No, thanks," he said. "I need my boots back." "Oh, alright. Let's switch." I unlaced the boots and he unlaced the shoes and then we each handed one pair to the other. We did this with a manly shake of the head, without making eye contact. As the guy put on his boots, he asked me: "Did they get you to town alright? The boots?" I said that I got to town alright, but when I got there I found out that no shop had the lightbulbs I needed. I got lucky though. When I got back home, I ran into the superintendent who said that there were some of what I needed in the basement. "Yeah, you got lucky, Tucker," he said. "You wanna go for a walk?" I didn't say anything but we both got up. We took the path that led off the quad and to the slope. We walked down the slope. The sun was on its way down when we started to walk and it was pretty much gone when we reached the foot of the slope. We sat on a bench at the foot of the slope for I don't know how long. We just sat talking about all kinds of stuff. By the time we got up again it was pitch black. I followed the man as we walked down College Ave. I didn't know where we were going and I didn't care. We walked past a bunch of run down houses and after maybe thirty or forty minutes of walking, we reached this field of high grass that was deserted except for a car that was parked in the middle of it. "That's my car," said the man. On the other side of the road was an old boarded-up house. We must have been outside of town now. This looked like an abandoned farm. He put a hand on the latch and pulled open the car door. It opened with a loud creak and I thought the red paint might flake off from the motion. The car dipped as we both got in. I climbed into the backseat. The man said "You mind if I smoke?" but he didn't wait for me to answer. He sat up for a second to take a silver cigarette case out of a back pocket and then he took a matchbox out of the glove compartment. He lit the cigarette and smoked it real calm like. I was sitting, but then I had the urge to lay flat in the backseat so that's what I did. The roof of the car had scratches on it and seeing it was like looking up at the stars in the sky. "What's the date?" the man asked. "You know what the date is, Tucker?" "October fifteenth, I think. Halloween ain't but a couple weeks away." "I know." "All people know how to do here is talk about Halloween. It's somethin' else." I laid there like that for I don't know how long. I laid there smiling. I don't know why. I was just real happy. Maybe it felt good to have my shoes back, I don't know. "You're really beautiful, you know that?" the man said. "What? That's a strange thing to say to somebody. I mean, to another guy." "I'm sorry." I didn't say anything, but I sat up in the backseat. Before I knew it, the man was climbing between the front seats and into the back with me. He sat down beside me. I looked at him. I swallowed. He put his hand on my thigh. He stroked it. He kissed me on the forehead gently, then he kissed me on the lips: he used a hand to pull my face closer to his. I took off my jacket and my shirt. I unbottoned my jeans and I pushed them down to my ankles. "Turn around," the man said. I turned around and laid flat in the backseat with my chest down against the fabric. I was in just my boxers and I felt the heat as the man's hand rubbed my back. Then I felt his fingers loop under the elastic of my boxers and pull them down. The man must have undressed, too, because half a minute later I felt his chest and chest hair against my back. I felt his dick and balls against the back of my ass. I felt his lips against my back. I also felt when he grabbed onto his dick and positioned it against my hole. "I'm gonna push in now," he said. "Alright," I said. As he pushed his dick into me, my whole body tensed. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but it felt good, especially feeling his body on top of mine. I think I must have cried out. "Fuck," I know I said. "It hurts?" "Yeah." "We don't have to do it," he said. I think I heard him laugh and I most definitely felt him pull his Johnson out of my ass. "Get up for a second." I didn't know what was going on, but I sat up for a second and felt the man position himself down on the backseat. He was laying with his back flat and then he scooted over and made room for me to lay down beside him. I laid down and he positioned my head against his chest. "We don't have to do nothin'," he said. "Nothin' at all." After a few minutes, I said: "We can't stay here the whole night. I gotta go home. Maybe in an hour." "We can stay here. Why not? You can't even see the car for all the oats. Not at night with the car off." "Is that what it is? Oats?" "Yep." "How do you know?" "I just know." There was another pause and then I asked: "What kind of car is this you got?" "A Camaro," the man said. "I want you to stay the whole night. Right here beside me. You can do that if you want too. I don't wanna hear no argument." I closed my eyes. I guess I could stay the night. "What's your name?" I asked. "You never did tell me your name." "You never asked me." "I'm asking you now." "Frank," he said. "Frank Nicholson." [TO BE CONTINUED] [E-mail me at the address above with comments, corrections, or whatever. More to cum. Thanks, guys!]