Date: Sun, 2 Dec 2012 09:13:32 -0500 From: Sean Williams Subject: The Nicholson Boy, Part 2 The Nicholson Boy Chapter 2 [The usual disclaimers apply here. Do not read this story if it is against the law in your country to read about handsome jocks swallowing the man juice of other jocks in the locker room, or to generally have a good time.] When I woke up I realized that I wasn't in the Camaro anymore. Honestly, the first thing that I noticed was the smell of bacon and beef sausage. That smell hit my nose like a Mack truck. I guess I was really hungry. Then I opened my eyes. I was in a dark room and the only light came from the half-open window by the bed. I sat up and I saw a picture of Joe Dimaggio on the wall, and then a picture of a 50s-style pin-up girl beneath that. Her boobs stuck straight out like she had styrofoam cups in her bra. "What the fuck is going on?" I said to myself. I sat up and I rubbed my eyes with my fists. I tossed one leg over the side of the bed and then the other. I stood up. I saw that there were clothes tossed all around the room: mine and someone else's. It was kind of a messy bedroom, like a teenager's. I spotted Frank's work boots right by the foot of the bed. I already figured that this was his house. Now I needed to figure out where he was and somehow I knew that he would be in the kitchen. Since I already knew that I had spent the night with a ghost or the Devil or I don't even know, I figured that the worst thing that could happen when I walked into the kitchen was that maybe I would get a blowjob from Satan or something. I wasn't scared at all. Not at all. I wasn't in Kentucky anymore. "You're up," I heard someone say as I walked into the kitchen. It was that Memphis accent again. "Yeah, I'm up." "You're looking mighty good," Frank said. I was wearing just my boxers and they were a size too small so they hugged my cock, balls, and ass pretty tight. Yeah, I was sauntering, showing off a little bit. Why not? "One might say you're looking damn fine." "I know." "Ha," Frank laughed. He was standing in the kitchen which opened out onto the dining room. I shit you not when I say that he was wearing a crisp white apron over a white t-shirt and jeans. "You know?" Frank asked. "That good ole Kentucky modesty. Have a sit down, friend." I had a "sit down" at the rough-looking dining room table. I looked around the room. No sign of Satan or any of his minions, so I figured I was pretty safe with just this ghost or whatever he was. "Um... are you wearing an apron?" "Yessir," said Frank. "I reckon I should wear an apron if I'm making breakfast, don't you think, buddy?" "Yeah, about that," I said. "Can I have some? Breakfast smells damn good. You might say that the smell of those sausages right woke me up." Did I really just say 'you might say'? Shit, now I was talking like him. "Yeah, I make a mean breakfast I've been told," said Frank. "I made this all for you, Tucker." "Question." "Shoot, buddy." "How did I end up in the house, I mean, your house?" I asked. "This is your house, right?" "Yessir," said Frank. "I carried you in." "What do you mean you carried me in?" "You fell asleep in the Camaro and it got right cold in the car so I slungs you over my shoulder and carried you in like a sack of peeled potatoes." "Peeled Potatoes. Okay. Er... thanks." "It was my pleasure to do it, Tucker. You already know how I feel." "Yeah, I'm beautiful or something like that. It's a pretty good line, man." I sat up straighter when Frank brought several hot plates of food out of the kitchen and set them down on the table. He had flapjacks, beef sausage, pork sausage, bacon, scrambled eggs, sunnyside-up eggs, potatoes, grits, and oatmeal. He even had hot syrup in a pitcher and, naturally, a plate of butter for the flapjacks and the grits. It was like I had died and woke up at the pancake house. Frank put his hand on my shoulder after he had set the food down and kissed me on my forehead, right by the hairline. Frank went back into the kitchen and returned with another plate of food. He set it down at the place setting at the table directly across from me. "This one's for me," Frank said, sitting down and picking up his fork and knife. On the plate was a juicy looking steak with sauteed onions on top and eggs beside. "Steak and onions for breakfast?" I asked. "Why shouldn't I eat steak for breakfast I'd like to know?" Frank said not another word and before I could completely blink my eyes I heard the sound of him chomping down on steak that he had brought up to his lips. There was a pause for a minute or two as I sat and watched Frank have a go at his breakfast. It must have been pretty early in the morning, but Frank's black hair was gelled and combed to the side and he looked like he was pretty much ready for the sock-hop. Well, except for the apron. I figured that Frank was probably dead, but he looked pretty damn good. He wasn't decrepit or anything. Honestly, the guy looked so handsome and kind that I felt really comfortable with him. I felt like he would never hurt me and it felt kinda good. I was so far away from home. Well, maybe not that far, just one state south, but Tennessee felt like the other side of the world. The food in front of me looked so fingerlickin' good but I just had to get this one question out before I feasted on it. Eating the food of the dead might have booked me a one way ticket to hell or something. I didn't know the rules. Hell may not be that bad if Frank Nicholson was there, but I had some stuff I wanted to do before I died. I mean, I really wanted to see the Grand Canyon, Glacier National Park, and the Braves play the Red Sox at Turner Field. "How did you die?" I asked. "What are you talkin' about?" Frank asked, not loooking up at me. He seemed to be enjoying that steak so damn much that I wished he had made one for me, too. Who knew ghosts ate steak and eggs for breakfast? "I'm not dead." "Er...." "It's 1969. Maybe you're the one who's dead." I sat there, then I shrugged. It was fine. We didn't have to agree. Plus I was right hungry, so I picked up my own knife and fork and digged into the breakfast that had been made for me. Three different kinds of meat! Sweet Jesus, this was gonna be the best breakfast ever. As I put one of the beef links in my mouth, I heard the sound of Frank's laughter. "I'm only kiddin'," said Frank. "I'm dead." "How did you..." "Crashed my Camaro right into the stands during a baseball game. Bang! Dead!" "Batman?" asked Coach Gunn, slamming his hand down against the locker. "Are you fucking kidding? Bruce Wayne?" It was October 25th. "You might as well put on your sister's panties and a tank top and hitchhike down to the Manhole in Memphis. You better be sure your ass will be damn sore the next day! Bruce fucking Wayne! You gotta have a better idea than that! I know you have it in you, Allston." "What is it with you guys and Halloween?" "See, there was this kid Frank Nicholson, crashed his Camaro..." began the coach. "Yeah, I already know that story." I turned and looked away as I said those words. "I mean, I get that I need to wear some kinda costume, it is Halloween and all, but who gives a shit what costume it is? I mean, damn, what's the big deal?" "The big deal is that we're on the baseball team and we have a reputation to uphold, you fucking upstart," said Fisk, walking up to me and the coach in the lockerroom. Behind Fisk loomed Matheson, who I hadn't really spoken to since he sucked me off about a week ago. "We already told you that, Allston," said Matheson, walking up beside me and putting his arm around me. I avoided eye contact. "How's it goin', dipshit?" "Yeah, I'm fine," I replied. "You avoidin' me?" "No." Coach looked at Matheson, then at me. He had a weird gleam in his eye. Did he figure out what the two of us had done? Had Matheson told him? I wondered if coach might say something. Coach Gunn was only an assistant coach, actually the only coach on the staff that didn't have a beer belly six inches below his belt, and he was pretty much one of the guys. He must have been in his late twenties or early thirties and he was cool and more down with the players than with the other coaches, but he could still make my life pretty difficult if he thought I was a butt surfer. "Alright, so we need to figure out a costume for Allston," said the coach. "Any ideas, retards?" "Gorbachov?" said Fisk. "You're going as Gorbachov, you fucking idiot," said Matheson. "Oh yeah," said Fisk. "How about Spider-man?" "Spider-man?" asked Coach Gunn. He raised his hand like he was gonna slap Fisk in the back of the head. "Peter fucking Parker? I mean, are you fucking kidding? What the fuck is wrong with you, Fisk?" "Spider-man's gayer than Batman," said Matheson. "I mean, he's basically a complete fag." "Alright, how about a villain," said Fisk. "How about... uh... Doctor Octopus? That would be a pretty crazy costume." "Doctor Octopus?" asked the coach. "How are we gonna get like eight tentacles in six days?" "Not to mention that Doctor Octopus is even gayer than Spider-Man," Brian Matheson said. "I mean, the dude has like nine dicks or something." "I got it," said the coach, slapping me on the chest. "This little son-of-a-bitch is gonna go as Flash Gordon!" "Who the fuck is Flash Gordon?" asked Matheson. "No... uh... he's that guy from that movie," said Fisk. "Um... fifty thousand leaugues under the sea, or whatever." "That's Captain Nemo, dipshit," said the coach. "Yeah, I know who Flash Gordon is," I said. "He was in some fifties movie or something. That's a good one, coach. I like it. I mean, it sounds gayer than Batman, Spider-man, or Doc Oc... put together... but it's a pretty easy costume, right, coach? Isn't it like just a shirt and shorts?" "Yeah," said Coach, "and I happen to already have a costume at my house because my little brother went as Flash Gordon last year. It'll fit you like a glove." "Alright, Coach," said Fisk. "That means you're stuck giving Tucker a ride home. Dude, we need to get you like a bike or something for Christmas cuz man am I tired of giving your poor ass rides all the goddamm time." "Wait, I thought I was giving Allston a ride home," said Matheson, looking angrily at the coach and Fisk. "I mean, not that I care, but I had already planned on doing it, so..." Coach leaned in close toward Brian. "Stay in your lane, mother fucker," Gunn whispered in Matheson's ear. I don't think Fisk, who was about as smart as the dumbest kid on the short bus, heard it, but I was damn sure close enough to hear it myself. Fisk and Matheson left soon after that and I was left with coach. "Pack your shit, Allston. We're going to my place to get your Flash Gordon costume!" I was surprised that Coach's place was not some shitty bachelor pad but this really nice house in a good neighborhood about ten miles out from campus. He even had pointsettias in front of the house. My Mom is a flower person so I know all about that sorta shit. I followed coach in and he told me to follow him to the back because the Flash Gordon costume was in a closet in his bedroom. He asked me if I wanted anything to drink. I said a Coke would be fine and coach laughed. "Yeah right," he said. He handed me a beer as we walked into his bedroom. Coach found the Flash Gordon costume on the top shelf of his bedroom closet. He had a huge smile on his face as he showed it to me. "Whaddaya think?" he asked me. "Yeah, that's definitely a Flash Gordon costume," I said. "Try it on," coach said, handing it to me. "Um... I don't think that's necessary, coach," I said. "I mean, it looks like it'll fit me good." "Listen to your coach, kid," said Gunn. "Try that mother fucker on. While you're doin' do that, I'll get you another beer." Actually, coach returned with two beers. He told me I looked like a total fag in the Flash Gordon costume but he was lookin' at me wide-eyed like it was prom night and he was about to get some pussy. I took the first beer coach handed me and he goaded me on to chug it. Coach was a big dude, this jacked 6'4 blond dude, and I felt weird saying "No" to him so I chugged it. After that, he handed me the second beer and I chugged that too. Within a few minutes, my head felt kinda cloudy. I looked over at coach and he looked pretty good in his tight blue coaching staff shirt. His massive pecs seemed to bulge out of the shirt and I could even see the outline of his abs through the fabric. In spite of how jacked coach looked, I felt like I better try my darndest to pay attention or something that I really might not like might happen. I walked over to coach's bed and sat on the edge of it. Coach walked over and sat down beside me. He hit my knee with one of his own big knotty knees. "What's goin' on with you and Matheson?" he asked. I swallowed. "What're you talkin' about, Coach?" I said. "Nothin's goin' on." "Oh, C'mon, little man, you can tell me. I'm your coach." "It's nothin', Coach. I mean, we're on the same team and all, but it's not like we're fucking or anything." Coach raised his eyebrows and then he laughed like he had just heard the funniest thing in his damned life. "Wow, if I want you to spill the beans all I have to do is give you three beers. I wasn't even tryin' to do that." "What were you tryin' to do?" I asked. "I was just tryin' to give you that Flash Gordon costume." I laughed. "That's it." Coach laughed again, too. He didn't say anything. "Stand up," he ordered. "Let me get another look." I stood up and I turned around a few times. I felt kinda weird doing it. "You got some strings hangin' out the back of the shorts there. Turn so your back is to me." I turned around so that my back was to the coach. I felt his warm hand on the inside of my thigh as it creeped up to the hemline of the shorts. Coach pulled out one thread, then another. He was moving really slow. I knew something was about to go down, I just didn't know what. I felt Coach Gunn's hand creep up to my ass crack. "What the fuck are you doin'?" I asked, but I didn't move an inch. "I need to... um... examine you for a hernia." "Uh... what?" "A hernia." "Isn't that on the other side? I mean, I didn't think hernias were by the butt." "Some of them are." Coach stood up. I could feel him standing behind me, like this authoritative person, like a cop, right behind me. With one hand, he pulled down the red Flash Gordon shorts. I was standing in just the Flash Gordon shirt and my jock at that point. Coach held me steady with one hand wrapped around my chest. His other hand crept in between my ass cheeks and spread them apart. Before I knew what was happening, I felt Coach Gunn's big middle finger push into my ass. "Ahhhhh. Oh fuck," I whispered. "You like that?" Coach asked. "Yeah." Coach pushed the finger as far as it would go and I felt my prostate tingle. Actually, I don't know if it was my prostate. It coulda been anything. Coach basically fucked me with his middle finger while I stood in front of him in my jock and my Flash Gordon shirt. After a minute or two of that, coach pushed in a second finger and then a third. The sensation of coach's big fingers in my ass was so strong that I almost fell forward on the floor. Coach's arm wrapped around me prevented me from doing that. Coach continued to fuck me with his hand and sometimes it hurt, but other times it felt really good. Then, he said: "I think you're ready for the real thing." "What do you... what do you mean, coach?" I managed to get out. My head felt so fuckin' cloudy. Why did I let Coach talk me into chugging that third beer? "My dick," said the coach. "Get over on that bed there and let me get some of that ass." "Naw," I said. "I don't wanna do that." I pulled up my shorts. "Don't play like that," said Coach Gunn. I could see his own dick throbbin' in his shorts. "Don't be a fuckin' tease. Why did you come here in the first place? I know what you want. Don't fuckin' tease. You'll fuckin' regret it." "Uh... I'm gonna go, man. Thanks for the costume. You don't have to give me a ride home, Coach. I can walk." "What the fuck are you talkin' about, Allston? You think I'm gonna let Matheson get that ass before me? Get the fuck over on this bed, you son of a bitch!" Coach grabbed on to my arm and tried to pull me over to the bed, but I swung around with my other arm and elbowed him. Right in the chin. "Ah! You fuckin' cocksucker!" I stumbled over to where my clothes were. I tried to grab them, but I was kinda slow because I was buzzed. Suddenly, I felt the blow of Coach Gunn's fist in my back and I fell flat down on the carpet, hitting my head against the wall. I blacked out for a few seconds. Things were not lookin' good in my world. I shook myself awake and when I woke up, Coach Gunn was pulling me over to the bed by one of my legs. "Coach, don't," I said. "C'mon, man." "Too late, mother fucker," said the Coach. "If you didn't wanna get fucked you shouldn't have come into the fuckin' house." Coach was kinda tipsy, too, and I didn't really wanna hurt him, but I didn't want this to go down the way it was shaping to. I wasn't gonna let someone do this to me, even if it was my baseball coach. I saw one of the empty beer bottles down on the carpet and I grabbed on to it. Before Coach knew what was happening, I had half-sat-up and brought the bottle down across his head. Coach fell back. He must have blacked out, too. I'm not sure because I stood up and ran out of the house. About an hour later, I was walking down the old county road back toward campus. I must have been really fuckin' stupid to let coach drive me that far away from school. A few cars stopped and offered me a ride as I walked along but I was feeling like I needed a walk to clear my head and I was scared, too, that something else might happen. I mean, I was wearing these ridiculous shorts. As I walked along, I really felt like a loser. Not only did I not have a car to be able to get myself home, but I set myself up to be taken advantage of like a little bitch. At that moment, I just wanted to die. That's when I saw the lights of a car appear behind me. Actually, I felt the heat of the lights on my legs before I even saw anything. The car pulled up beside me and I heard the sound of the passenger side window slowly being rolled down. "You got your car fixed," I said. "Yeah," said Frank. "What's wrong?" "Why does somethin' have to be wrong?" "You look like you're dog Joe died or somethin'. What is it?" "Nothin'," I said. "I'm just a fuckin' loser, that's all." "You're not a loser. You're a winner. You know that. You'll always be a winner to me." "Yeah, you just wanna fuck me, too. Just go, Frank. Drive off." "I don't know what you're talkin' about, Tucker, but I think you should get in the car. You can spend the night like you did last time." "Naw, that's alright," I said. "I'm almost home. I'll just keep walkin'." "Do you really wanna go home by yourself?" "Naw, not really." "Why are you wearin' a Flash Gordon costume?" "Long story, Frank." "You know I'll never hurt you, right?" said Frank. "And you know that whoever messes with you has to answer to me, right? Tucker, I would never do anything to hurt you, buddy, okay? Plus, if you spend the night I can make you breakfast tomorrow. You can get your very own steak. Onions and all." "My own steak?" "Yeah. Get in." I got into the car. [TO BE CONTINUED] [Thanks for the e-mails so far, guys. It's fairly amazing. This was originally gonna be a short two or three part story, but maybe I'll make it a little longer since people are actually reading it. I will try to get the next part up as soon as I can, but if you need something to tide you over you can check out some of my other stories: "Ben Leaves Bareacres Ranch", "Wrestlers Love The Kamikaze Shack", "Screwing The President", etc. Thanks, buds!"]