The Foxwood Chronicles

By FreeThinker


          The following may contain scenes of sexual activity between underage males. If you feel you may be offended by reading this or that it may be illegal for you to read this in your jurisdiction, please proceed no further. The author neither condones nor advocates the violation of any laws. Because the story begins in 1982, the characters portrayed herein may engage in behavior which could be considered unsafe or unwise, if not illegal. The author neither condones nor advocates unsafe or unwise behavior. The author, however, cheerfully condones and advocates exercising your imagination and your ability to think critically and rationally. Please do not copy or post this without the author’s permission.

            If you would like to read other stories I have written, you may go to the Prolific Authors link on the Nifty home page and choose “FreeThinker.”

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Also, please visit my blog, ChrisThinker, for discussions of politics, religion, culture, life, and all the things your mother told you not to discuss in polite society.

Be good. If you can’t be good, at least be interesting.




The Foxwood Chronicles

Chapter Five

Our Lips Are Sealed


Can you hear them, They talk about us
Telling lies, Well that's no surprise
Can you see them, See right through them
They have no shield, No secrets to reveal

It doesn't matter what they say
In the jealous games people play
Our lips are sealed

There's a weapon. We must use
In our defense, Silence

When you look at them
Look right through them
That's when they'll disappear
That's when you'll be feared


It doesn't matter what they say
In the jealous games people play
Our lips are sealed


Careless talk, Through paper walls
We can't stop them 
Spreading rumors, So far from true
Dragged up from the underworld
Just like some precious pearl

                   Jane Wiedlin, T. Hall; “Our Lips Are Sealed,”

                       The Go-Go’s; Beauty and the Beat. IRS Records, 1981.


Evan was almost ashamed that his encounter with Adam Stuart had made him hard. Almost, but since he was trapped in Corn Country, he was determined that he was going to get it wherever he could find it and if the retarded kid could be persuaded, well…. But, he wasn’t about to become Adam’s babysitter. No way.

Grant steered the Land Yacht up the road to the Foxwood Country Club as Evan fought to deflate somewhat before exposing himself to the cream of Foxwood society. A white wooden fence separated the road from the manicured eighteenth fairway and Evan could see a couple of older men in hideous, undoubtedly polyester, attire riding a golf cart toward the clubhouse. The clubhouse. The clubhouse? That was the clubhouse? It looked like some fifties ranch-style home in Orange County. They weren’t serious, were they?

“I think it would be wonderful if you could pal around with Adam,” his grandmother was saying.

“Nana, he’s retarded,” Evan whined as the car pulled into a space near a plate-glass window.

“And, you’re a brat from Brentwood, so I think you’re evenly matched,” she replied.

Evan rolled his eyes as Grant chuckled. The men exited the car and opened the doors for the ladies. Evan started to loosen his tie in the oppressive heat and humidity of the early afternoon, but his grandmother emitted a warning cough. He sighed, leaving the tie as it was, choking him in the late June sauna of the Plains.

The scowling insurance salesman from the church was just approaching the front door of the clubhouse as Evan’s group came up. “George” seemed to be in improved spirits, because he smiled at Evan’s grandmother and said, “So, Dorothy, this must be the grandson from California you were telling me about.” 

“Yes,” she replied, pushing Evan forward. “George, this is Evan, my grandson. Evan, this is George Duncan, my insurance man.”

As Evan shook the man’s hand, he felt him squeeze much harder than was customary, as if he were testing him. Evan tried not to look as if he noticed and squeezed back just as hard. Finally, after the point at which it had become obvious, George relented.

“You should meet my son, Jesse. I suppose you’re a sophomore this fall?”

“A freshman,” Evan replied as he struggled to maintain a modicum of dignity as the Luke Skywalker clone stepped up and shook his hand.



Jesse’s smile immediately put Evan at ease and their eye contact sent a thrill through him. Twice in one morning, he thought. He wasn’t feeling quite as suicidal as before.

“You are sending him to Catholic, aren’t you?” George asked suspiciously.

“Of course,” Evan’s grandmother replied.

“Good. No sense letting him waste away with the Morlocks, if you can help it. Though it’s too bad this town doesn’t have a good private school for Protestants.”

“George,” his wife admonished with a blush of dismay.

“I understand,” Evan’s grandmother replied, seeking to sooth the poor woman’s embarrassment. “But, Foxwood Catholic’s a wonderful school.”

George grunted as he stepped aside to allow the Sinclairs and the Vanderlyns to enter the clubhouse. Evan caught Jesse’s eye a second time as he passed, but the older boy quickly turned away.

They walked through a lobby that vaguely resembled a funeral home in the Valley and entered a large dining room. The only thing that told him he wasn’t in the cafeteria at his old school were the white table clothes and the picture window looking out over the rather flat golf course. Evan was learning to keep his comments to himself

The group found a table with a nice view near the window and a waitress took their drink orders. The adults ordered Bloodies. Evan tried to slip a fourth one in, but his grandmother made certain the waitress knew it was a virgin. Evan rolled his eyes as the adults grinned. Before the waitress brought the cocktails, however, another family approached them and began commandeering the table beside theirs.

“Dr. Atherton, I presume,” said Evan’s grandmother with a twinkle and Evan saw that standing beside a rather nicely dressed man with a handsome face and smile were the two dark-haired boys from church. The older of the two met his gaze for a second, his deep blue eyes contrasting strikingly with his dark hair and tan, before quickly looking away. Evan smiled inside, becoming increasingly confident that he was going to make not a few young men in Foxwood aware of their potential for walking on the wild side.

“Dorothy, how nice to see you. Rosemary, looking beautiful as always. Grant, you’re not taking your blood pressure medicine again, are you?”

As everyone laughed, Evan noticed the younger of the two boys looking at him with barely disguised hunger in his eyes before quickly turning away with a scowl that would have made George the Insurance Salesman proud. Evan smiled to himself as his grandmother introduced him. He stood politely and shook hands with the doctor.

“And, this is my oldest, Ryan.”



Dr. Atherton chuckled.

“Boys have such a well-developed capacity for witty and nuanced conversation, don’t they?”

As the adults laughed condescendingly, Evan rolled his eyes and saw Ryan do the same. They shared a derisive grin.

“Charles,” Evan’s grandmother continued. “Your boy plays tennis, doesn’t he?”

“Like John McEnroe,” the doctor replied proudly, “except with good manners.”

Once again, the adults all chuckled. Evan was glad he hadn’t eaten yet or he might have hurled. He was contemplating ways to switch drinks with one of the fogies when his grandmother said, “Well, Evan was on his school’s tennis team back in Los Angeles. I think he may be looking for someone to give him a work out.”

“Well, I’m sure Ryan here could give him one heck of a work out.”

Evan struggled not to laugh as he thought, Yeah, I’ll bet he could, while Ryan tried not to be obvious about rolling his eyes again.

“So, um, I’m gonna be out here Tuesday afternoon, if you want to play,” said Ryan with a cool, “I can’t be bothered” voice.

“Sure,” Evan replied, confident he’d blow the kid away, possibly in more ways than one.

Ryan tossed his head to clear the hair from his eyes and nodded.

“Cool. After one?”


“Well, cool,” Evan’s grandmother declared with exaggerated enthusiasm.

“Oh, I forgot,” Dr. Atherton said as he turned back while his family took their seats. “You should have Evan’s medical records sent to my office.”

“Oh, thank you! I appreciate the reminder. I need to talk with George, too, about changing my insurance.”

Evan wondered, suddenly, whether Dr. Atherton was going to be as casual and nonchalant about the condition of his anus as his doctor back in LA was. Oh, well. Perhaps, it was time to start edumacating the yokels!

The adults at the table relaxed with their cocktails and chatted about all the inane crap that adults waste their time with in social situations as Evan looked about the dining room. There was a disturbing pattern emerging as he did so. A number of people were glancing his way, some discreetly, some quite obviously, as they spoke with one another. Evan knew they were discussing eccentric Dorothy Vanderlyn’s grandson from California. They were probably speculating about whether Evan did drugs or was gay, maybe what evil influences he would bring from the Left Coast. Evan felt a sudden rush of resentment and contempt for the provincials surrounding him. Perhaps, he should give them something real to gossip about!

“Dorothy, how are you?”

Evan looked up and saw a man of about sixty in a black suit with a key chain hanging from a vest.

Franklin, how are you?”

“Excellent. Excellent. I was hoping I could ask you to sign a petition some of us are circulating. The cable company is adding that new pornographic music channel to their service next month and we want the town council to threaten them with forfeiting their franchise if they do.”

“You mean MTV?” Evan asked with surprise.

“The man nodded suspiciously at Evan, who looked at his grandmother incredulously.

“You mean you people don’t have MTV?”

His grandmother shrugged her shoulders.

“I’ve never even heard of MTV.”

The man, Franklin, scowled.

“It’s a dreadful channel that just started last year. People claiming to be musicians use it to spread filth and degradation. They play films all day long and all night of the most unspeakable things. We certainly don’t need anything like that in Foxwood.”

“It’s not pornography,” Evan objected, unable to believe what he was hearing. “Nana, the bands just basically play a song and they show them performing. Sometimes, they do artistic things, but the videos sure aren’t pornographic or dirty. I mean, like, everybody has MTV.”

“This is your grandson,” the man said, rather than asked, in a flat voice. “The one from… California.”

“Yes,” said Evan’s grandmother. She leaned forward and added softly, “His mother wrote… a soap opera.”

The man’s eyes grew wide with alarm as he took a step back.

With a twinkle in her eye, she said, in a normal voice, “Franklin, I’ll be happy to look over your petition.”

“Nana,” Evan said with disbelief as the man departed, “you’re not really going to sign that, are you?”

“Oh, of course not. I just need to placate my banker.”

Grant Sinclair chuckled.

“Don’t worry, Evan. Nobody takes Franklin Purdy seriously. Everyone knows he’s an ass. Darned busybody, sticking his nose in everyone’s business.”

“A shame,” said Rosemary. “I don’t claim to understand their music today, but the kids should have their TV channel. Franklin’s just being an old poop.”

Everyone chuckled and Evan relaxed.

It wasn’t until later, when their first round of Bloodies were finished and they were heading for the buffet, that Evan saw him. Tall, dark, muscular, with dancing eyes and a laughing smile as he and his parents greeted others in the club’s dining room, the guy made Evan breathless as he approached the buffet. His dark hair was shiny, parted in the middle and flipping around his ears. He wore his suit with a flair, like no one else in the room, and his confidence was awe-inspiring. Evan almost tripped when he realized he and his parents were also walking toward the buffet.

“Luis!” his grandmother declared as both groups reached the head of the buffet. “We haven’t seen you at Sunday brunch in quite a while!”

A man who looked to Evan to be an older version of the god who stood beside him, smiled and took his grandmother’s hand. Speaking with an elegant Spanish accent, he replied, “And, we have missed your charm and wit, Dorothy. Maria and I were in the Bay Area for a vacation. And, while we were there, we picked Michael up from Stanford. You know, he’s just completed his sophomore year.”

Evan was staring with lust shooting from his eyes, hearing nothing of the conversation except the words “Michael” and “Stanford.” Michael glanced once at him, gave a knowing, cocky smile that made Evan instantly hard, and turned his attention to Evan’s grandmother.

“How have you been, Mrs. Vanderlyn? I haven’t seen you since Christmas Break.”

“I’m doing well, Michael. But, we lost my daughter-in-law last month.”

Luis and his wife expressed the proper condolences before his grandmother put her arm around Evan and added, “My grandson, Evan, has come to live with me.”

Michael’s mother, a beautiful and regal woman with deep, dark eyes, gave Evan a kiss on the cheek and said, “Evan, I am so sorry to hear about your mother. You are welcome in our home anytime.”

Evan smiled and replied, “Thank you,” trying not to look at the intense, almost arrogant expression on Michael’s face.

“Michael,” Evan’s mother said, “I hear you’re making quite a name for yourself in the tennis world. Evan, here, is not a bad tennis player. Perhaps, you could give him a few pointers.”

Michael’s smile took on a different, almost sensual quality, as his deep brown eyes met Evan’s appealing, hungry blues.

“I’m sure I could show Evan a thing or two.”

“I don’t know,” Evan replied, trying to control his almost breathless voice. “I might give you a pretty serious workout.”

Michael grinned.

“Oh, I think I’m the one who’s going to give the workout!”

The adults all chuckled and Michael’s father proudly said, “Boys! So competitive.”

“How about tomorrow?,” Michael continued. “The club’s hired me as the tennis pro for the summer. I’ve got some lessons in the morning and a couple of matches late in the afternoon, but I have some free time after lunch. What do you say?”

The way his eyes bore into Evan’s made the younger boy want to fall into Michael’s sturdy arms. He struggled to maintain his dignity, though he felt his face burning fiercely as he replied, “Sure. Sound’s great!” though his eyes told Michael, “Take me, fuck me, make love to me!”

“Evan,” his grandmother said with a stern tone. He was afraid she had sensed the lust in his body and the innuendo in his voice, but his heart sank when she said, “Did you forget your lunch with Adam tomorrow? You’re spending the day at the Stuarts’. Remember?”

This was not the first time that Sunday that Evan had harbored homicidal thoughts toward his grandmother. He took a deep breath as Michael’s smile became almost condescending.

“Oh, that’s too bad. Does your little friend play tennis?”

Evan could have killed him for using such patronizing language, even as he dreamt of Michael taking the eager fourteen year-old and having his way with him. “I don’t think so, but he wants to learn.”

“Well, let’s see how good you are first. How about Tuesday instead?”

“What time?” Evan asked.

“Oh, anytime in the afternoon. I’m free all afternoon.”

Evan did not miss the emphasis Michael had placed on “all.”

“I’ll be there.”

 Michael chuckled.

“Well, we’ll see how big a challenge you are.”

The adults all laughed as they began to make their choices from the buffet.

Evan could barely control himself as he sat at the table with his grandmother and the Sinclairs. The Sanchez family were seated two tables over and Michael was positioned perfectly for Evan to watch him. Michael was quite aware of Evan’s attempts not to stare and seemed to be doing everything possible, as discreetly as possible, to unnerve the teenager. His eyes kept meeting Evan’s and locking on them, driving the boy insane. At one point, he took a celery stick and slid it slowly into his mouth, gently wrapping his thick lips around the stalk and holding it for a long moment before finally biting it.

Evan was so hard he could barely control himself. He knew that if this continued, it would become noticeable to his grandmother and the Sinclairs.

“Would you excuse me for a moment,” he asked as he slid his chair back. Quickly placing his left hand in his pocket as he removed the safety of the napkin from his lap, Evan quickly walked from the table toward the hallway outside the dining room. With both hands in his pockets, he found the men’s room and hurried in.

To his immense relief, the room was empty. He walked quickly to the last stall, stepped in, gave a final, fearful look about the facilities, and latched the door. He removed his blazer and hung it on the hook near the top of the door, unfastened his pants and released his throbbing seven inch erection. Sitting on the toilet, Evan slid his khakis down and spread his knees wide. He grasped his teenage cock and began furiously beating off.

He closed his eyes and saw the image of the beautiful Michael Sanchez gazing so arrogantly, so sensually, into his eyes. He thought of melting into the college student, of feeling his strong arms wrapped around him, feeling the heat of his body and smelling the fragrance of a strong, hot, aroused man as he made love to him.

Michael’s cock had to be huge and thick and uncut. Evan thought of falling to his knees before the god-like Michael and pulling back the foreskin, making love to Michael’s cock and balls. His eyes closed and his face scrunched into an expression almost of agony as his hand desperately jacked. He unconsciously opening his mouth and extended his tongue as he dreamt of sucking and licking and loving Michael, of licking the sweat from his balls, of lapping up the precum from the tip of what had to be the most beautiful penis in the world.

Evan was panting when, suddenly, he heard the door to the restroom open. He froze as he listened to the sounds of conversation outside and of footsteps crossing the restroom on the tile. Evan held his cock as it throbbed in his hand, not daring even to breathe. The sound of a zipper opening and of urine splashing against porcelain echoed through the room. He couldn’t tell if one or two men had entered. Nonetheless, he remained frozen, his naked legs open, his rigid seven inches standing up rampantly from within the tan lines around his thighs.

After a moment, the flow ended and he heard the zipper rise. The footsteps headed for the door and, even in his insanely aroused state, Adam was disgusted that whoever had come in hadn’t washed their hands. As soon as the door closed, he listened carefully and, hearing nothing, gratefully resumed his frenzied masturbating.

His panting had grown loud as his hand beat and jacked his throbbing penis. His thoughts were becoming disjointed and incoherent as images of Michael paraded through his mind. He saw Michael’s eyes, those cocky, sexy eyes locked on his, those full lips curled into a sneering smile. He imagined the Latin god in his tennis whites, running back and forth across the court, serving, volleying, returning. Finally, he saw his fantasy of Michael’s cock, huge and hard, triumphant before Evan’s face, dripping precum on his smooth tanned skin.

Evan came. With a nasty grunt, his head fell backwards as a sensual sneer broke across his face. With one hand, he desperately stroked himself while the other sought to block and catch the streams of hot semen as they shot from his cock. After a few seconds, Evan realized that he was making almost girlish crying sounds as his orgasm ebbed to nothing.

Evan leaned back, his mouth open as he gasped for breath, his hand wrapped around his still rigid penis. What a cum! Oh, man, he thought. If this is what he does to me when I’m just choking the chicken, what’s it going to be like when he’s fucking me? And, he will fuck me, Evan declared to himself. He will fuck me.

Movement caught Evan’s eye. His heart froze and terror broke out on his face as he realized with horror that an eye was peering in the crack between the door of the stall and the framework, a deep, dark brown eye with long, thick lashes, a laughing, arrogant eye. The eye of Michael Sanchez.

With a barely audible chuckle, the face disappeared from view and Evan heard the sound of loafers against bathroom tile until the door opened and closed. Evan’s mortification could not have been greater. Michael had seen him, heard him, witnessed him wanking like a mad boy, like some horny out-of-control eleven year-old just discovering the joys of whacking off. He wanted to die. How could he return to the dining room now? How could he allow Michael Sanchez to see him?

In Evan’s world, it had always been joked that tops always thought they were in control, but everyone knew it was the bottoms who ruled. Evan was a bottom, a most definite bottom and he had always determined whom he was going to be fucked by. Always. Suddenly, that certainty, that control was shattered. Michael Sanchez was in control, and that frightened him.

And, turned him on. Hard.

Humiliation and embarrassment oozing from every pore, Evan wiped himself off and struggled to regain some degree, however slight, of composure before returning to the dining room and what, he knew, would be the derisive, laughing eyes of Michael Sanchez.



Thank you for reading Chapter Five of The Foxwood Chronicles. I hope you enjoyed it and will write to me at Also, please visit my blog, ChrisThinker for discussions of politics, religion, culture, life, and all the things your mother told you not to discuss in polite society.