Goin' Down In Four Horse Crossing


© 2014

by

Jonathan Longhorn


Copyright © 2014 by Jonathan Longhorn (jonathan_longhorn at yahoo dot com). All rights reserved. Except for the use of less than two pages in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means is forbidden without the express written permission of the author. Express permission is granted to The Nifty Erotic Stories Archive for storage, indexing, retrieval, and display of this work.

Disclaimer: The material in this work is for mature audiences only and contains graphic sexual content and language. It is intended only for those aged 18 and older. All of the characters in this work are assumed to be at least 18 years of age.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and settings are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, names, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental. In the real world having sex without using a condom can be very dangerous to your health. Don't ruin your life or your future. Slip it on before you slip it in.

Note: There are some references in this story and others, to things mentioned in another of my stories, Target Nemesis: The Tentacle Lord's Revenge, which you can find here: http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/sf-fantasy/target-nemesis-the-tentacle-lords-revenge.html. The story itself is about the movie being watched by characters in several of my stories - in which an alien warlord bent on revenge, `has his way' with an Earth Forces Brigade hero. While I hope that you would enjoy reading that story, it may be a bit brutal for some readers and you do not need to read that story first in order to understand or to enjoy this story.

All trademarks used in this work are the sole property of their owners and have been used without permission or endorsement.



Chapter 4


Elizabeth Braddock had risen to the silent wantonness in her son. He had never complained or whined. He had never said anything negative about the move, leaving his school, his friends, his teammates ... football... She knew that leaving his lifelong best friend, Dane ripped his heart out and shredded it every which way from Sunday. She had heard the final conversation, the sniffles—she had seen the tear streaked faces. But, Clint had never argued or complained about it. He had been the perfect son. The perfect big brother. The perfect `help' before they had packed up and made the move.

Since their arrival here in Texas, at the farm, he had been the perfect ... everything. All of the above, plus the patient, helpful grandson and he had taken to farming with surprising speed and ability. He still had a lot to learn but he was picking it up in amazing time. Even his grandfather had commented on it. `That boy's got dirt and crops in his blood' and `That boy's gonna be just fine out here, you just wait and see'.

But, he was alone. He was aching for friends. He was aching ... period. He was keeping it all locked tight, though. But, she had recognized Clint's pain and growing unease, even if he was keeping it swallowed down and locked tight. She `knew' her son. He was so much like his father.

She had grabbed him by the shirt collar when he came in from the fields and the livestock and she had marched him into the hallway, away from everyone. She kissed his cheek and told him how proud of him she was, and—how proud she knew that his father was as he looked down on them all from his place in the heavens. With that, she shoved cash in his hand and ordered him to get cleaned up and get out of the house for the evening. Go to a burger joint. Go to the roller rink. Find a pool and buy a membership. Find a gym, although with all he was doing around the farm, he really didn't need to work out. Go bowling. Do something. Anything. Go to a movie. Just go out for the night. Explore. Cruise. Do something that was just for himself for once.

He had showered and dressed and hit the pickup that his grandparents had bought for him and he headed out. He couldn't believe that he had his own, brand new extended cab pickup truck, fully loaded. He could even dock his iPod and play it through the super cool Bose stereo system that came with the truck. And, with some really kickass speakers. It still had that great `new truck' smell. But the best thing? It was all his. He didn't even need to use it around the farm because they still had Grandpa's old pickup truck with the built-in locking toolbox in the back. So except for rain and stuff—it did rain here right?—his truck stayed fairly clean and unscathed.

He still didn't know a single sole here or really any of the hangouts for the crowd that was in his age bracket. They passed that B&T's Way Station place a few times and it looked like it could be one of the local hangouts. There was a Sonic down the road toward a place called Trestle Ridge. And there was a Dairy Queen that they had discovered. The kids loved the cones and floats and splits there. He enjoyed the shakes but his grandmother had said to check out the shakes at B&T's sometime and he'd have feelings that she couldn't discuss with such a youngin'. Eww, but that sounded enticing nonetheless.

But with the farm chores and his duties at home, he hadn't had time to explore much of anything yet. Or anywhere really. He didn't even know if there was a pool within 100 miles but of course, there was the big pond there on the property with a dock and lighting. He didn't think it had octopi or sharks or eels. He'd have to ask about moccasins, he supposed.

What to do?

What to do?

What ... to ... do?

Bowling? Alone? He could pay for two people and then compete against himself. Oh, yeah—that sounded like fun. Who did he root for? Himself, or ... well ... himself? How did one high five one's self?

He could go to one of several places that had pool tables. Sheah. He'd lose playing himself.

Movie?

Hmm.

A movie. Okay, yeah. He could do a movie alone. He could go see `that' movie. The movie that he was dying to see but thought he would never get the chance. He had stared holes in the poster last week when he brought the kids for Friday and Saturday Movie Night.

Yeah. `That' movie. This was his chance. He could go. Nobody knew him yet. He could catch `that' movie. In the dark. By himself. And probably not embarrass himself. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully.

So, here he was. In the parking lot at the movie theater. Still peacock proud of his new truck. He'd cruised around the lot 7 times looking for the perfect space to slip into. He finally hit the right row at the right time as someone was backing out of the first space in the row—under a street light. It was right smack across the drive from the entrance of the theater and the box office.

Perfect.

He pulled in. Put the truck in park. Shut off the lights. He sat and gazed at the sidewalk filled with milling people for several moments. Yeah, he could do this. Snacks. Movie. Alone. Dark.

A new adventure in a new world.

The late, late showing. At The Stagecoach Megaplex Theaters in Four Horse Crossing. He was surprised at how big the complex was—how many screens it had for such a small rural town. Considering what they were showing, the owners had to be pretty progressive. He pulled the keys, popped open the driver's door, and stepped out. He gave a gentle shove and the door responded obediently, swinging shut ... click. His thumb fondled the keypad of his remote and then pressed the button on the left. Lights flashed once, twice and then there was a soft beep followed by a mechanical voice informing him that `system is armed'.

As he ambled across the drive from his parking place—his shiny new boots clump, clump, clumping against the asphalt, he focused on a trio of guys that looked to be his age. Really good looking guys. The shortest of the 3 was cute as hell and built like a brick fire hydrant. When he got close enough to make out voices and other sounds over the general murmur of a closely packed crowd, he heard a giggle that could drop an elephant to his knees. He smiled when he realized it was coming from that `short brick fire hydrant'. The other two were taller, over 6' easily and seriously good looking.

He shifted his gaze along the front of the theater, the ticket boxes, and the movie posters. There, at the far end of the posters, another guy about his age. Wow. The guy was stunning. In fact, he might actually be the best looking guy he had ever seen. He was 6', maybe 6'1". He was beautifully put together from all that his tee and tight fitting gray cords revealed. And, holy fuck—that ass. That ass was a masterpiece.

His tongue snaked out and slithered across his lips. Oh the things he could do with that ass... He felt a stirring between his legs. He looked down to study the front of his count-the-little-tiny-hairs tight Wranglers and studied his bulging crotch. The stirring was probably his cock nodding its agreement about his assessment of that butt across the way.

He was drawn back to the trio and then `duo' as the taller of the three broke away and approached the guy that was standing alone looking at the Target Nemesis poster. They fist bumped and talked. The cords and tee guy looked nervous, uncomfortable. Like he felt like he was under the eye of the world. Man, did Clint understand that. He hated that.

Eyes.

Eyes on him.

Eyes everywhere.

One good thing about this move to `The Texas', he guessed. Nobody knew who he was. At least, not yet. He guessed once people got his name, realized he was `that' Clint Braddock... Well, at least for now, no eyes. No eyes on him. Anywhere.

He watched `cords stud' bend and scoop up a wadded burger sack off the sidewalk and let loose a perfect arching bomb. Nothing but trash can. Score! Hmm ... wouldn't it be something if this guy turned out to be his competition for quarterback when walk-ons and practices were under way.

The four of them disappeared into the lobby of the theater complex.

Sigh.

Maybe they would share classes? Maybe they would get to know each other and they could take a shot at being friends after school started? He wondered if they were on any of the teams? He wondered if he would end up competing for a slot against any of them?

Well, he supposed he had to actually `meet' them first.

Sigh.

He stepped up to the ticket booth, cash in hand. He wondered what flick they were heading into. Probably that robot transforming earth in flames battle-galactic flick that Cullen had been so excited about the other weekend when he brought them out. Gosh—the kids had been so over the top amped that night. And, the next night when they went back for the other two kids' flick pick.

He had to smile.

He had been their hero that night. To all four of them. All four of them at the same time. That didn't happen very often. That felt nice.

The boys had even slept with him that night once they wore themselves out recapping the movies nearly word for word and scene for scene. `With' him and `on' him and well, `all over' him like puppies. But he was so exhausted that sleep wouldn't be an issue, even being at the bottom of an adorable puppy pile. Poor little Hayes was so amped over movie night that Clint wondered if he would ever settle down but true to form, the switch flipped and `boom'. Amped chandelier swinging, stomping monkey had gone out like a candle flame being blown by a hurricane. Fortunately, he was on top of Clint when he passed out cold so he didn't hit the floor or a table edge, the side of the stove, the fireplace surround, the...

He nodded to the guy at the booth. Caught the smirk and twinkle that was produced by his choice of movie and the `e-n-j-o-y the show big guy' the guy had said through the glass.

As he walked to the front doors, he wondered what the chance was that those guys were going in to see Target Nemesis? Fat? Slim? Yeah, right? Probably door number three—the `Yeah, right' door.

*****

Brandon Gilchriest rolled his eyes as he slid his still smoking debit card into its slot in his wallet and then into the back pocket of his cords. He stared at the tray of drinks, food, and snacks waiting for him on the counter.

Well, it wasn't like Nate hadn't warned him. Right?

4 64-ounce drinks—2 Dr Pepper, 1 Big Red, and 1 Coke.

9 Slices of pizza—4 kitchen sinks, 2 beef only, 2 pepperoni only, 1 meat smorgasbord.

8 Hot Dogs—4 with chili and cheese, 2 with just chili, 2 plain dogs with mustard and relish.

3 Burgers—1 with chili and cheese, 1 with the works, 1 with mayo and relish.

2 Large Nacho boats—bean and beef, extra cheese, and—with the jalapeno slices on the side.

4 hot buttered and salted popcorn monster buckets.

3 boxes of Gummy Bears.

4 King-Size Butterfingers.

2 enormous dill pickles.

3 boxes of Junior Mints.

4 large bags of M&Ms.

He figured by the time they were halfway through the movie, he'd have a `brand' from his red hot debit card permanently emblazoned on his left butt cheek. He wondered if it would work if he swiped his butt cheek sometime. Huh. He'd have to try that. Well, if he could find a place to drop his pants next to a scanner, and...

Okay, in all fairness, some of that elephant choker tray of food was his. But, still...

Stacey McCollum smiled sweetly as she slid the candy bars, bags, and boxes into a large sack for him. She blushed profusely when he smiled back.

"You must be really hungry, Brandon," she giggled as she reached across the counter to hook the bag handles over his wrist and then lifted her eyes to meet him. "Coach Brookshire is working you out way too hard."

Brandon laughed. He didn't really say who it was all for. Something told him that he didn't have to say anything. He had a feeling that nothing much escaped Stacey. He decided to just let her feed off of her imagination.

"Well, you know us growin' boys, Stacey."

Her eyes glued to Brandon's butt—the unanimously voted on, most perfect boy butt in the county as he walked away from the counter. She sighed admiringly. Her head tilted curiously when she realized that he was walking to the far end of the lobby, to the theater that was showing Target Nemesis.

She wondered if she should warn him about how `far' that movie went in certain areas. That was definitely not the usual theme that he got dragged into by `the girlfriend'. Maybe she should have warned him about the tentacle-clad alien warlord raping the superhero? In `very' explicit detail? No, he was probably used to superhero rape scenes if he was dating `her'. His girlfriend was a high maintenance, banshee bitch.

She watched that masterpiece of a butt disappear inside the theater and then she giggled. Now `that' would be something to watch—Brandon Gilchriest being sexually dominated by an alien with a few dozen tentacles.

"Gay sex is so hot," she said softly to no one but herself. "That, or boys kissing boys."

She let her mind create a movie of `that' idea for several moments before she realized that someone was standing at the counter—waiting for her. She turned to face her new customer and her jaw dropped. He was beautiful. He was absolutely beautiful. And, his eyes were totally glued to that same cords clad butt that she had just been salivating over.

Oh, my ... my...

New meat.

Sigh.

She just loved boy on boy stuff. Okay, she'd never seen it in `real skin on skin life' but thank goodness for the internet. She downloaded tons of gay fiction to her tablet. She was kind of addicted to gay shorts on video channels and even the full-length movies that she could download. And, she had seen Target Nemesis. Seven times already. The lead actor—the superhero of the planet—was so hot. She'd seen everything that he had starred in since his first show on that children's channel. He was beautiful, stunning, and had the body of a superhero now that he was in his early 20's. And, oh my ... his butt and other assets were as devastatingly perfect as the rest of him.

Her head tilted as she studied her new customer for a few extra seconds. Who was he? Where did he come from? Was he just passing through and stopped for a movie? Did he move here? Where did he live? Would he go to their high school? Was he in sports? With `that' body he must be in sports. Powder blue Wranglers and a skin tight tee under an unbuttoned long-sleeve denim shirt was a really good choice. Really. Really. Good choice. She wondered what he looked like under all that covering.

He should just come armed with a resume. It would go more quickly.

"Hi, beautiful," Stacey said with a knowing grin.

The new boy turned away from that godlike vision that just disappeared behind the far theater doors at the end of the right corridor and his eyes went wide. The waterfall of color draining from his face was quickly replaced by a flush of cherry tomato red when he realized he'd been caught, staring. Geez, he hoped he wasn't licking his lips, too. Yeah, cherry red, like that new Mustang convertible sitting in the middle of the lobby that the theater owners were giving away.

He cleared his throat and fidgeted on his side of the counter. Helplessly, he stole another glance down the corridor to the doors the guy had disappeared behind. He looked back to her lopsided grin—a grin devilishly falling into a smirk. Fuck! They hadn't even finished unpacking yet and he was already busted!

"Hi. I, um..."

Okay. Regroup. Start over, Braddock. You can do this.

"May I have a Monster Butter Bucket and 2 dogs dry." He went for his wallet and then his head snapped up. "Oh, and a 64-ounce soda." Recovering slightly more, he regained a touch of his modest swag. A `swag' that had subjected him to relentless harassment from his friends and teammates back home, but also, one that had charmed everyone without fail ... every time. "Make it the lady's choice, please."

Yeah. Good one. Lady's choice for his drink. Get her concentrating on her job instead of his eye faux pas.

Stacey's grin grew.

Oh. My. Gosh. He's beautiful!

He was even more adorable when he was wading through the embarrassment pool. He ranked up there with Brandon. Even with Bobby Jenkins except Bobby was a dork. Beautiful but a total dork.

Her mind went back to that boy-on-boy movie in her head. This new boy and Brandon would be perfect for the lead roles. That would be so hot. It would make Hell sweat.

"Dr Pepper."

His head tilted.

"You look like a Dr Pepper guy. Lots of ice? Little ice? No ice?"

His brow knit. He really preferred Coke but since she'd just caught him blatantly checking out that guy's butt, maybe he should go with it.

"Light ice, please.

"Condiment packs?

"Oh, and—yes—Dr Pepper is fine. Thank you." He paused. He considered. No, he'd end up squirting condiments all over the theater. "No condiments. Just the dogs straight up."

"So that's hot buttered popcorn, 2 dogs dry, and a 64-ounce Dr Pepper for the devastatingly handsome Mr...."

Well, that was subtle. Any less subtle and she would have hit him with a sledgehammer.

"Clint," he said quietly. He wondered if the blush was lessening.

He tried to get his knee to stop wobbling. He had always been the calm, cool, collected, owner of that mild swag. He didn't handle being caught off guard or embarrassed very well. Never had. But, he'd been caught staring. At another boy! He sure didn't need to be caught sweating it out. He'd probably never see her again anyway. Well, except for every time that he came to the theater when he brought his siblings, or—on those rare occasions—like tonight—when he was able to slip away and venture out alone.

"Clint Braddock."

She offered a huge smile and a perky wave. At least, she hoped it was perky and not ridiculous. Or, worse. One of those 7th grade oogle crush finger waves that was always followed by a 6th grade giggle that never knew when to stop. She stepped away from the popcorn machine and slid the enormous bucket toward the new boy. Stepping away again, she got his dogs and his soda. She came back to the counter and placed everything on a tray for him. He was still sweating it out. She reached out and laid a pat ... pat ... pat on his hand. Oh my, his hand felt good. And double oh my, would she love to see him with another boy. She almost felt flushed.

"I'm Stacey. It's my pleasure to meet you, Clint Braddock." She leaned over the counter and motioned for him to do likewise. He leaned toward her. "And, relax, Sweetie. We all have secrets in the world of the theater."

He smiled gratefully and blushed again when she winked. Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, he paid his tab. He picked up his tray and focused on the string of doors with glowing marquees above them that spread out to his left and right; trying to figure out which theater was showing his movie choice: Target Nemesis: The Tentacle Lord's Revenge.

With any luck, those guys that he had seen outside the theater, who probably went to his new high school, wouldn't see him going in or coming out of `that' movie. That was the kind of trouble that he definitely didn't need.

Not in a brand new school.

Not in `Texas' of all places.

They'd probably string him up, or—worse.

No way José. He turned and started for the corridor of theaters only to stop when Stacey, the Snack Bar girl called out.

"Oh, Clint Braddock?"

Clint stopped. He looked down. Drink. Dogs. Popcorn. Napkins and 4 wipe packets. Wallet was in his pocket...

"Yes, Ma'am?" He turned on his heel and looked back. She was leaning on the counter, smiling. "I forgot something?"

"Yes, you did, Sweetie," Stacey said with a grin that could both melt steel and strike terror in the hearts of a superhero. "Brandon Gilchriest."

Head tilt.

Stacey checked the area to be sure they were alone enough to fill in the blanks.

"Butt boy," she said with a nod toward the theaters. "His name is Brandon Gilchriest."

Butt boy.

Brandon Gilchriest.

Yep, there was no question about it. Stacey had nailed him in the first few seconds of their association.

Sigh.

He nodded and started walking away.

"I am so fucked."

*****

Amazing.

Absolutely amazing.

Brandon had remembered each of their orders—perfectly—right down to condiment packets. He had remembered full ice, light ice, no ice. Everything. Perfectly. Without taking notes.

Must be that `quarterback playbook' kinda thing.

Bobby, Nate, and Jake were astounded. Nate had jokingly—sort of—told him that as a result of that ultimate waiter mode that he had just displayed, he had successfully completed the 3rd level task for membership into their `inner circle'.

"Third level?"

Bobby nodded. He made a sweeping gesture.

"Level 1," he said. "You had the balls to go out with us. No outward signs of fear for your safety."

Grin.

Grin.

And, grin.

Brandon laughed.

"You guys are nuts but I doubt your dangerous." He sipped at his drink and then added. "Thanks for inviting me."

Fist bumps all around. Well, as much of a fist bump as any of them could produce with so much food in their laps and on the snack bar tray and balanced on the seat rests between them.

Before he could ask, Brandon's next question was answered by Nate.

"In case you're wondering," Nate said after popping several Junior Mints into his mouth as a buttered popcorn chaser. "Level 2 of your journey into the inner circle is putting up with us `and' laughing at our jokes, wise cracks, and other unmentionable antics."

This last comment was followed by poorly executed seal barks and nyuk nyuk moves. Brandon shook his head and let out another laugh.

"Methinks Larry, Moe, and Curly are suddenly rolling in their graves."

OMG! He knew the Stooges!

Bobby put an arm around Brandon and pulled him into a tight buddy hug for a few moments.

"You're on a roll, B-dawg."

B-dawg?

Cringe. He wondered if he dare ask, but...

"So—what's the next task in my quest into the inner circle?"

No one said anything for several moments as they all focused on the action taking place up on the screen. Lord Q'a, self-appointed Supreme Leader of the Universe had Lt. Commander J. Stryker Magnum trapped in his tentacled grasp—a very buffed, very naked, extremely helpless to defend himself at this point, Lt. Commander J. Stryker Magnum—and was about to begin the final, unalterable possession and conversion of the humans' superhero.

"You have to go down on the three of us before the movie is finished," Nate said in an incredibly calm tone.

Brandon froze. His hand hovered between the popcorn bucket and his mouth.

His head swiveled slowly to his right—to Bobby—who stared straight ahead. It looked like he wasn't even breathing in that moment. Brandon was sure of it since he wasn't breathing either. Next, he changed direction ... his head swiveled to the left ... and he studied his other two companions. Like Bobby, Nate and Jake were staring straight ahead. Both, holding their breath.

"Excuse me?"

Nate slowly turned to laser lock onto Brandon's wide-eyed stare.

"You have to go down on all three of us before the end of the movie," he repeated.

"And," Jake whispered. "You have to swallow."

Blink.

Brandon's hand continued on up to his mouth and he engulfed the load of buttered popcorn.

Silence.

Another load of popcorn to his mouth.

He didn't see Bobby smirking at Nate and thumbing down toward Brandon's crotch and the huge bone that was snaking down the leg of his cords. Nor, did he see Nate return a broad grin and the waggle of his brow back at Bobby.

He slowly turned back to the movie screen; a tentacle that looked like an enormous hard-on began pushing its way into the helpless Lt. Commander's hole. Taking it. Preparing to fuck it into oblivion. The dripping, drooling, throbbing tentacle that had buried itself into the superhero's mouth pulsed and pulsed. And, the Lt. Commander swallowed and swallowed.

And, Brandon swallowed.





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This is just the start of a story which may or may not be continued. If there is enough interest, there MAY be additional chapters. The interest shown in it will be a determining factor in continuing the story.

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