Date: Sun, 30 Sep 2007 03:06:26 -0400
From: carl_mason@comcast.net
Subject: CHRIS & THE COACH - 10

CHRIS & THE COACH - 10

Copyright 2007 by Carl Mason

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

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

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


CHAPTER 10

(Revisiting Chapter 9)

Chris chuckled and continued.  "Frankly, I'm glad that we followed the Kirk Douglas
movie ending for the play rather than some of the alternatives.  When Varinia rolled out
of the city gate in that cart, saw me, and came over to say goodbye and show me our
newborn son, it was the easiest thing in the world to project a mixture of overwhelming
pain and pride!  And as we found out as we mixed with the audience after the play, they
got it!  Oh, man, Seth, what an evening!"  Saying not a word, Seth responded by ripping
the micro thong off his body, rolling over on top of his buddy, and ending discussion...at
least for some time!

When Coach Kearns returned home later that afternoon, he looked into Chris' room
after knocking lightly on the door.  Before him on the carpet, their bodies still joined, lay
the two naked hunks.  Grinning, he quietly closed the door and moved away.

(Continuing Our Story:  The Senior Olympics)

     Prelude

One more tradition - a tradition that the Administration did its best to ignore - awaited
Seth before graduation ended a successful and totally enjoyable year.  On the weekend
after Memorial Day, seniors who had won their block letters in all sports joined together
at the forest retreat of a wealthy alumnus.  Two groups were invited to join them, one
comprised of sophomore and junior letter winners, the other of freshmen who had won
their letters during the year past.  Over the years, a little beer and some light hazing had
become involved in the totally private and male affair.  Nevertheless, it was understood
that these activities were not to interfere with an afternoon and evening of fun, food,
and comradeship - and, thus far, they'd gotten away with it.

Arriving around 1:00 p.m., the seniors moved food into the large, well equipped cabin,
gathered necessary equipment, and set up facilities for cooking and serving a tasty bar-
be-que.  The sophomores and juniors arrived around two o'clock and laid out the
courses for the athletic events.  Given the fact that the frosh teams had been especially
successful that year, some eighteen freshmen arrived in a chartered bus around three
and were immediately taken to the cabin.  As they had been led to expect, they were
given instructions on their duties, told to strip, and to secure their assignments as
slaves to selected seniors.  (Neither they nor their masters knew of the assignments
before the fact.)  The initiation ritual would end their period of servitude.  When
prepared, they were allowed to join the others.

Sitting in the shade with several of his football buddies, including Seth Callum who had
won another letter during the baseball season just past, Chris sipped on a brew and
watched the freshmen jocks spread out over the property.  (Before they could enjoy the
pool or the other activities, they had to find their "masters" and present their assignment
card.)  Naturally, Chris knew several of the boys, but his eyes were suddenly drawn to
one whom he hadn't seen since late fall.  Wade Hempel, whom he had tutored in
football skills and met in a disastrous photography shoot (see Chapters 3 and 5), was
part of the pack.  Chris swallowed and frowned.  He knew that Wade had been
hospitalized after his bout with heavy drugs, but had lost track of him before the
Holidays.  For instance, he'd neither seen nor heard of him at school during the winter
or spring.  The youth had probably grown an inch or so.  More surprising was the
muscle that he had added to a physique that was already impressive.  Suddenly,
Wade's eyes turned in his direction.  Red with embarrassment, the lad hurried over and
threw himself down at Chris' feet, a trembling raised hand holding the assignment card.

Chris crouched down beside him and placed a hand on his heavy shoulders.  "Would
you like to go somewhere where we can talk privately?" he quietly asked the seemingly
unstrung youngster.  "Yes, sir...please," Wade whispered.  Excusing himself from his
friends, Chris helped the boy to rise and led him over to a large fallen tree somewhat
deeper in the woods.  Quickly, his eyes ran down the powerful teen's body.  He had
definitely added solid muscle to his arms, torso, and thighs.  Unless he was mistaken,
an impressive package was also noticeably larger.  Even though he was a redhead, he
sported a smooth, overall tan.  Further, other than an extremely short military-style
haircut, there wasn't a hair on his body below his eyes.  He sat beside Chris, eyes
lowered, trembling.  "You ok, Wade?" the older boy asked in a tone that didn't conceal
his concern.  "Sir, yes, sir!" the boy answered snappily, springing to attention.  Chris still
had the feeling that Wade was scared out of his wits.  "Hey, Big Guy," he continued, "I
haven't seen you since the hospital.  What's been going down in your life?"  He reached
out and helped the strikingly attractive mid teen to sit down on the log again, this time
slightly closer to him.

"Sir, I'm your slave," Wade said.  "I guess that's the way it should be."  In a completely
dispirited voice, he added,  "Drugged-out perverts don't deserve anything better.  You
don't have to pretend."  Pausing but for a second, Chris put his arm around the boy,
saying, "I never looked at you that way, Wade, and I damned well don't now.  As a
matter of fact, I still consider you to be a friend.  What's happened to you since the
hospital?"  Haltingly, the youth raised his face until he could look directly into Chris'
eyes.  Evidently trusting in what he saw, he suddenly relaxed physically and allowed his
head to rest against Chris' shoulder.

"Well, sir," he began.  "No 'sir'!" Chris interrupted sharply.  "Just 'Chris'."  The lad's eyes
began to tear up, but with an almost silent sob he abruptly shook it off as Chris
tightened his hug.  "After they got the drugs out of me, the Social Welfare people had
me in a County home for a couple of weeks," he began, "but Dad convinced them that
he would pay for 24-7 medical and educational care outside his home.  I was in the
same clinic a day's drive South until yesterday afternoon when I was driven back up
here.  Evidently, Dad had heard of this tradition and that you would be involved.
Brother Samuel told me that Dad still respects you...thinks you might be a role model
for me.  I stayed overnight in a motel with Brother.  He will pick me up when I call him
tonight and return me to the clinic.  Dad's paying for all this, but I haven't been allowed
to see him or any other family member.  Brother said that was by order of the social
worker appointed by the Court."

"What was life like at the clinic, Big Guy?" Chris asked.  "I guess there were between 15
and 25 of us there at any one time," Wade recounted.  "It was run like the military
camps you see on TV.  No frills...but all the basics: simple food, tight rules for every
minute of the day from 5:00 a.m. until 11:00 p.m., heavy work on the clinic farm six
days a week with school in the evenings.  (There were special programs for the drug
dependent, as well as those who weren't aggressively heterosexual.)  On Sunday,
although I worked extra hours on some especially difficult and messy jobs, there was
some recreation and individualized exercise programs.  The constant message was
'Drugs are for fools and criminals, homosexuality is against God's laws, and complete
honesty is required at all times'.

"There were monitors in the dorms at night - and, believe me, no one fooled around!  If
wet dreams weren't enough, you were allowed to go to one of two 'counselors'.  After
asking a lot of questions - mostly about what was going on in the school - they would
tell you to drop your shorts and then jack you off.  No affection...nothing but relieving
the pressure in exchange for answers.  Once it was over, you cleaned up and returned
to your duties.  No one wanted to do this.  Everyone would snicker, for instance, when
you returned to the others, but you did it when you had to...sometimes more than once
a day."  Blushing, he added, "Once, I went four times during the same day.  There were
always guys waiting in line.  God help the guy who tried to take care of it himself.
Brother Primus told us that we received drugs each day to reduce our sex drive.  I don't
think they worked very well, but I saw almost no 'illegal' sexual activity.  Guys who didn't
cooperate were sent to another institution run by the Brothers.  The word was that it
was a place where you didn't want to be.  Let's see...what else?  Oh, yeah.  No
personal possessions...no visitors..."  "Dress?" asked Chris.  "Very thin, almost
transparent white cotton shorts with drawstrings...worn until they just about fell apart.
You'd get a fresh pair each morning that you'd wear until shower time just before lights
out," Wade replied.  "Nothing more.  If you got them too filthy or ripped during the day,
you simply took them off and turned them in.  You didn't get another pair until the next
day.  Nor did you get another pair without turning in the first pair - or what was left of it."

Feeling the arm he had around Wade going to sleep, Chris withdrew it and flexed his
muscles.  The boy just burrowed into him a little further and murmured how good his
arm had felt.  "Oh sure," Chris said unthinkingly, and began to rub the youngster's
shoulders, upper arms, and back as he thanked him for his report.  Chris realized that
the boy was silently sobbing as he continued.  Finally, Wade whispered, "Oh, Chris,
thanks so much.  That feels great!  Please don't stop."  After another minute or two, he
whispered, "Do you want me to tell you something else, something that no one else
knows?"  "I'm listening, friend," the curly-haired one murmured.  "I never want to get
close to drugs again," Wade whispered, "but I've dreamt of you every night of the six
months I've been in that hole - and sometimes the thought of you is all that got me
through the day."  The burly athlete wrapped his arms around the boy and hugged him
tightly as his sobs became audible.  As an almost automatic response, his fingers
squeezed the redhead's hard pecs.  Suddenly, Chris felt the lad's entire body stiffen
and then jerk sharply, four, no five times.  As Wade slumped back into his arms, he
resumed trembling and wailed, "Oh, Chris.  Forgive me, but I love you.  I always have.
Do you have to tell the Brother what I've just done?"  "What you've just done?" replied
Chris.  "I didn't see you do anything, Big Guy - and I try to tell the truth, too."  Hearing a
horn, he added, "Chow's on, slave!  Get yourself together and let's get down there!"
Wade struggled to his feet and walked away a short distance, kicking some dirt and
leaves around.  Finally, he turned back towards Chris, licking the last of something off
his hand.  Noticing that his idol was grinning, he approached, threw himself down on the
ground, and kissed his shoes.  "Yes, master...my master," he chanted.  In a completely
different tone of voice, he added, "Let's hurry!  I'm starving to death!"

     The Great Feast

In accord with their instructions, the slaves stood in line to secure their masters' dinners.
Sophs and juniors were responsible for senior lettermen who hadn't been assigned
slaves.  And great meals they were:  thick steaks, potato salad, sliced tomatoes and
cukes, French bread and butter, and ice tea or soft drinks.  When they returned for
dessert, they found two kinds of pie plus ice cream.  The seniors sat around, making
audible comments about the frosh beef on display.  (Actually, it was quite a display, for
all eighteen boys - most still fourteen, a few approaching, or having recently reached
their fifteenth birthday - were muscular athletes.)  Coming off a year during which they
had been leaders in their class, the tradition called upon the seniors to take them down
a peg or two.  In addition to the nudity and slave duty, for instance, any senior could
stop a freshman for "inspection".  A hand might sweep over the boy's body,
occasionally touching a sensitive part; he might be asked to describe a designated body
part at the top of his voice.  Pretty innocent stuff...as long as the times weren't
hysterically homophobic.

When Wade returned to serve Chris in the area where he and several friends were
sitting, for instance, Seth Callum called Wade to attention.  (He and quite a few other
seniors had noticed that Chris' slave was among the best built of the freshmen.)
"What's your sport, Frosh?" Seth growled.  "Football, sir!" Wade sang out.  (A murmur
of approval swept through the little group, all of whom were varsity football lettermen.)
Seth's hand paused at his impressive package.  Cupping the boy's heavy balls in a big
hand, Seth continued.  "In most towns 'round here, you know, you'd have to register
that cock as a 'dangerous weapon'.  Describe it for my friends...and let's hear you!"
Wade drew himself up to his full 5'8", threw out his chest, and in a somewhat strangled
voice, yelled out:  "Six inches soft, 8.5 inches hard, sir!  Two inches in diameter, sir!  In
great demand among all those who demand quality, sir!"  Chris noted that Wade had
neither shown the slightest embarrassment nor had he backed off from Seth's grip.
Winking at his buddy who was having obvious trouble keeping a straight face, Seth
growled, "Good answer, guppy!  Nice haircut, by the way."  When there was still no sign
of embarrassment, Seth loosened his hold on the boy's balls and slapped him on his
solid rump.  "Get down there and get your food, Red...and when you return, you can sit
with us."  A quick grin crossed Wade's face at the invitation, but he quickly reverted to
his soldierly visage.  "Yes, sir!  Thank you, sir!" he barked, turned on his heels, and
started towards the food tables.  As he marched away, he heard laughter behind him
which brought the grin back to his handsome face.  (He also struggled to prevent his
great cock from going hard!)

When Wade rejoined Chris' group of close friends, he first knelt before his master and
offered him some seconds: a smaller piece of steak, another scoop of potato salad, a
refill of iced tea, etc.  Looks of approval flashed back and forth between the seniors, not
all of whom had fared as well.  Quickly he was incorporated into the discussion that
focused primarily on prospects for next year's varsity and the events of the Games that
would begin after a brief rest.  Not all of the seniors had spoken before he was asked
about the position he planned to try out for in the fall.  "I had always thought of myself
as a running back," he said shyly, "but I'm building up pretty fast as a result of my work
and exercise program.  Maybe, I'll try out for tackle."  Chet Healy, the varsity right tackle
who was sitting behind Chris, reached down and rubbed his knuckles over the
youngster's short red hair.  "Good man, Wade!  Give me a ring before I head off for
State and I'll try to share a few tips with you."  Later, when the group began talking
about the Olympic events, the redhead volunteered that he was considering wrestling
and the discus.  As heads nodded in approval, Chet Healy said that the fourteen-year-
old would probably have to go head to head with Mike Nagy in both events.  "He's
fierce, kid.  Fact is, he lettered in both wrestling and track and field.  Still, if you're game,
you'll learn a lot."  Cries of "Good luck!" and "We'll be pulling for you" were heard before
discussion continued.

     The Games

A second blast of the horn sent slaves and masters alike to the "log mansion" where
they would prepare for the Games.  Sophs and juniors headed for the basement;
seniors and their slaves to the Great Hall on the first floor.  Once having entered the
Great Hall (known throughout the East for its soaring glass windows, rare polished
woods, stone walls, and African hunting trophies), they found three slightly raised
daises.  Three athletes at a time would mount the low platforms where they would be
ceremonially disrobed by their slaves.

As Chris and Wade waited their turn, Wade's eyes turned to the slave of Jeter Brown,
the All-State sprinter.  "Spectacular!" he thought.  Shyly, he managed to say, "Hi, I'm
Wade and this is Chris Kearns."  The dark blond, blue-eyed, beautifully built vision
turned towards Wade and in strongly accented English said, "Hallo, Wade.  I'm Dolph
Tamirov.  I guess everyone knows my master, Jeter Brown."  In a rich baritone, Jeter
laughed and said, "Thanks, Dolph, but I guess everyone knows Chris Kearns, too!"  The
two seniors shook hands cordially.  Dolph's face turned crimson as he breathed,
"Omygod, it's Spartacus!"

Standing side-by-side, the two fourteen year olds quietly continued their conversation.
"You're not from around here," Wade suggested.  "No," Dolph replied, "My father is Dr.
Sergei Tamirov, a physicist in the United States for two-years to work at the federal
laboratory in Lawton.  (Author's Note:  I don't know where the name "Dolph" came
from either, for the Tamirovs were clearly "Great Russians," the dominant ethnic group
in European Russia.  Perhaps there was a Swede in the family tree! <grin>)  Wade later
learned that Dolph was the ranking junior gymnast in the Russian Federation.  Though
being groomed by the Putin Government for a future Olympics, he had been allowed to
come to the States with his father, though only for one year.  In any case, he and Wade
were clearly the outstanding physical specimens among the freshmen athletes.

Ere long, Chris mounted his dais and Wade preceded to fulfill one of his fantasies, i.e.,
to strip his idol.  Several onlookers in the Hall commented that this boy at least knew
the meaning of the word "ceremonial"!  That is, he would remove each piece of clothing
with something of a flourish and then step aside to fold it and place it in the storage
basket.  This, of course, allowed the many onlookers to enjoy one of the most striking
physical specimens they would encounter in their lifetimes.  There was only one
exception to this rule.  As he gracefully removed Chris' briefs, he remained standing
close to him, surreptitiously running his thumb up the back side of Chris' long shaft.
Chris could have killed him - even though Wade thoroughly enjoyed every second of
the program!  Finally, as they stood illuminated by a spotlight with Chris' arm around his
slave's shoulders, they were formally announced and admitted into the Games.  From
there, they went out into the hallway where there was a large map with directions to the
various venues and posters with event times.

For a good two hours the athletes had at it...with no holds barred!  Of the boys whom
we've been following, the most successful was probably Dolf.  He cut through the
competition on both the rings and the pommel horse as if it weren't there.  It had to be
painful for the older boys who competed.  Chris had his problems in the premier 1-stade
(200 yard) race, for he was just beaten at the wire by Jeter Brown.  Still, no one had
thought he could give the All-State sprinter much competition.  He then rested until the
last event of the day, the grueling 400 yard race in full armor.  Donning the replica
helmet, accepting the shield, and strapping on the greaves or shin armor - together
weighing some 50-60 lbs - he ran five fine athletes into the ground, finishing a good 20
yards in front of the runner-up.  In some ways, however, the most "interesting" day was
had by Wade who, as he had announced, took part in the discus throw and the
wrestling competition.

Wade finished a very respectable third in the discus throw.  As a matter of fact, his third
throw (out of five) was barely three inches behind that of an experienced junior who was
the runner-up.  The popular wrestling competition, however, provided one of the high
points of the entire day.  True, there was a tremendous crowd, for it was just getting
underway when Chris won his glorious race in full hoplite (heavy infantry) armor.
Spectators were actually climbing into trees to get a better view, because space at the
railing around the arena was jammed.  The eight contestants were first ceremonially
rubbed down with olive oil and then dusted with powder to make it easier to grasp them.
Earlier the clay soil of the arena had been dampened until it was quite muddy and
sticky.  Wade and Mike Nagy, the senior letterman and heavy favorite, both sailed
through their early matches without real difficulty.  It didn't take either athlete long to
throw his opponent to the ground three times so that he landed on a hip, shoulder, or
back.  Wade's semifinal match against a tall, powerful, and very agile junior provided
his first test.  Unfortunately, that lad was also a very dirty fighter.  Despite the official's
warnings, he either went for Wade's prominent genitals or attempted to distract him by
biting whenever he thought he could get away with it.  It was only after a full half hour
that the freshman saw the opening he needed to flip him onto his back for the third fall.
The match was over.

Mike Nagy courteously agreed to a fifteen minute intermission to give Wade a chance
to get rid of some of the mud that encumbered his body and catch his breath.  Most
spectators didn't think it would matter much, for it looked like a match between a giant
and a pigmy.  Further, as the final match got underway, it was obvious that the
freshman's previous match had been expensive physically.  Without expending great
effort, Mike took the first two falls.  Naturally, there was no break before the match
continued.  There was little doubt, however, that Wade knew his sport and that the
additional muscle he had put on gave him an extra reserve of sheer power.  In truth,
Mike's closest supporters were neither surprised  nor overly alarmed when the
freshman took the next fall.  It was two falls to one...in Nagy's favor.  For a few minutes,
Wade just tried to stay out of the powerful, experienced senior's grasp.  Then, playing
the wounded animal fast running out of time and energy, he slowly let Mike bore
in...perhaps just a little too far and a little too easily.  With lightening speed, he applied
a brilliant hold that threw Nagy into the mud on his right shoulder.  The crowd, which
now included almost all the participants in the Senior Olympics, went out of their
minds...two falls apiece...and a muscular "little" freshman who didn't look at all cowed.
Worse still for the All-State senior letterman, the crowd was definitely swinging to
Hempel.  Mike's pals began to call for him to do what was necessary to preserve his
record.  For instance, breaking your opponent's fingers was permitted!  Mike actually
snarled at them, making it entirely clear that he wasn't going to win that way...if, indeed,
he was to win.

Dusk was settling over the little forested valley before the match was decided.  By that
time, both athletes were clearly running out of gas.  Actually, it was settled by
something of a fluke.  After nearly an hour of maximal effort, neither young man was
moving very smartly.  As Mike circled away from Wade, one leg began trailing a bit
behind the other.  Seeing an opening that could end the match, Wade moved in quickly,
but tripped over Mike's foot.  (Author's Note:  Tripping was permitted, accidentally or
on purpose.)  The youth's chest hit the ground hard, the air clearly knocked out of him.
He rose, albeit slowly and unsurely.  Moving glacially but with purpose, Nagy picked him
up, lifted him into the air, and slammed him down on his back.  Mike Nagy remained
undefeated, once again the champion as so many time before.

     Just Rewards

The young men slowly trekked to the area of the stadion or stadium, the site of most of
the track and field events.  By now it was lighted with flaring torches.  The three winners
in each event were smartly called to the podium and awarded the prizes they had so
honorably won.  Dolf, of course, came away with two wreaths plus two blue ribbons for
his double win in the gymnastic events.  Chris had a wreath pressed onto his brown
curls for his splendid victory in the "armor race" and also received the silver ribbon for
his second-place finish in the traditional 1-stade sprint.  After proudly receiving his
bronze ribbon for the discus throw, Wade stood next to Mike Nagy on the podium to
receive his silver ribbon for the wrestling event.  The owner of the property who was
making these awards actually shook his hand as he gave him the ribbon.  As the wreath
was placed on Mike's head for his victory, the young man paused.  Lifting the wreath
high in the air, he yelled, "We know who won this today, don't we, gang?"  In the face of
massive applause, yells, and cheers, he placed the wreath on Wade's head.  The filthy,
naked fourteen-year-old simply lost it, turning and throwing his arms around the
massive hulk as tears flooded his face.  After holding him for a minute or two, Mike
lifted Wade onto his shoulders as if picking up a feather.  Several minutes later at the
conclusion of the ceremony, the radiant youngster proudly rode into the great cabin as
if astride one of the Rajah's elephants.

Moving first to the basement where the boys were able to get quick, but much needed
showers, they were then led to the dining room of the massive cabin.  Moans and
groans of pleasure filled the air when they beheld the substantial snack prepared for
them by the owner's staff.  After they had eaten their fill, they were escorted to the
candle-lit Great Hall for an important event in the life of the school.  Namely, the
freshmen, plus a few new sophs and juniors, were inducted into the Block Letter
Society.  After a short program, the name of each athlete was called, whereupon he
and his senior sponsor came forward.  When asked if he recommended the admission
of Wade Hempel, Chris Kearns - his arms holding the boy close to his body - proudly
answered in the affirmative.

People - most weary and feeling great satisfaction - left for home pretty quickly after
that.  Oh, yes, that was after they reclaimed their clothes!  The area had been well
policed during the day, and a work party would return tomorrow for finishing touches.
Almost everyone had left when Wade reluctantly reminded Chris that he had to phone
Brother Samuel.  As they walked hand in hand up to the parking area, a thousand
things ran through each of their heads, but they were too weary to deal with them
tonight.  Tomorrow was another day.  It was probably enough that Chris leaned down
and they kissed.

Brother Samuel arrived about ten minutes later in an old four-door sedan.  After exiting
the car, he opened the rear door, silently pointed at Wade, and in a voice utterly devoid
of emotion told him to change into his school clothing.  The youth immediately headed
for the car, removing his old (but clean) short-sleeved yellow shirt, blue shorts, and
plastic flip-flops as he went.  Clutching at his arm, Brother Samuel drew Chris slightly
away from the auto.  Looking down at the ground, he murmured, "Mr. Hempel tells me
that you understand a great deal about the many problems of helping these drug-
addicted perverts to resume some place in life.  He has been reluctant to offer any help
to us with regard to Wade, but, perhaps, we might come to some understanding. My
card..."  With that he headed back to the car, motioning for Wade to get out and move
to the front seat.  His face frozen, his left hand tightly clutching the wreath given him by
Mike Nagy and his two ribbons, the boy immediately did as he had been ordered.  The
thought went through Chris' head that the boy had surely been correct about those thin,
draw-string white shorts.  They surely didn't conceal much, especially if the boy was
built "large", let alone "very large" as was Wade.  If the youngster also had dark genital
hair, he doubted that they would conceal much of anything!  Without a word, Brother
Samuel closed the rear door, got back in behind the wheel, and drove off.

A few miles down the road, Brother asked Wade if he remembered the rule about
personal possessions.  "Yes, Brother," the lad whispered in an utterly defeated voice.
"Fine then," Brother continued.  "If you will open the window and rid yourself of that...
trash."


(To Be Continued)