Date: Thu, 13 Sep 2007 08:52:10 -0400
From: carl_mason@comcast.net
Subject: CHRIS & THE COACH - 6

CHRIS & THE COACH - 6

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 6

(Revisiting Chapter 5)

Chris was never charged - in part because he wasn't a perpetrator, in part because he
cooperated in he prosecution of Petersen and his friend, in part because he had twice
tried to help Wade Hempel, and in part because Coach Kearns was involved.  Though it
never hurts to have influential friends, both Coach and Chris realized the truth of the old
saying that teenagers just have to learn some things on their own.  You just hope that
the results aren't fatal!

Life can be rocky, but it can also be so damned sweet.

(Continuing Our Story:  Getting Out of Dodge)

In early November, the College played its last football game of the season, for it had an
Open Date or Bye on the second Saturday.  It has been a disappointing season for
Coach Kearns.  In no way did he feel that the team record matched the material
available.  Over supper he commented to Chris that he had the strongest desire to "get
out of Dodge" for a few days.  "Aren't high school classes canceled next Thursday and
Friday for teachers' institute days?"  "Yeah," Chris replied.  "What did you have in mind,
Coach?"  "Well, Big Guy," his mentor mused, "I need to take a few days off.  It's been a
long season, and I'm really exhausted. Could I possibly convince you to accompany me
on a little four-day vacation?"  "Oh, gosh, sir," Chris snickered.  "I really have a lot to do,
there are a couple of books I want to read, and I'd really like to catch up on my sleep.
NOT!"  With a smirk, he asked, "Where are we going, boss?"

"Well," Kearns continued, "a friend up in Lawton who owns a factory has a nice little
plane.  He's been promising me its use for years.  The company has a pilot who's
available.  Although it's awfully late in the season, I thought we might fly up to the Maine
Woods." (Author's Note:  Coach Kearns is referring to a wilderness area in far
northeastern Maine made famous by the 19th century American writer, Henry David
Thoreau.  It encompasses Moosehead Lake, the Alagash Wilderness Waterway, the
noted white water of the West Branch of the Penobscot River, Mt. Baxter State Park,
and more.  In recent years, unfortunately, it has been scarred by excessive lumbering.)
"Awfully late in the season?" Chris asked.  "Well, Big Guy," Coach responded, "I've
seen it snow in Fort Kent on the Canadian border in October, and I've heard that it has
snowed before that!  Mind taking a chance on needing your long johns?"  "Not if you're
willing to buy me a pair!" Chris laughed.  "Oh, man!  This is so great!  I'm reasonably
caught up, I know Coach Davis would give me a couple of days off, the painting is
finished and Betty and Kathy are winding up their project, and I'm rarin' to go!"

Late on Thursday morning, after a flight of several hours from Lawton, the small plane
circled over the southern end of Moosehead Lake, the largest lake east of the
Mississippi.  It then set down on the tarmac of Greenville, Maine's small Municipal
Airport.  To everyone's apparent amazement, the day was sunny and in the mid 40s F.
(At night during the four days the boys were there, temperatures dipped down into the
very low 30s and high 20s F.)  Heavy clouds had socked the area in for over a week,
and the first heavy snow of the season had been expected any day.  Coach was
philosophical about Maine weather.  "The old timers say two things." he said.  "'If you
don't like it, wait ten minutes' and 'There are two seasons in Maine...Winter and the
Fourth of July!'"  Chris grinned, agreeing that as they came in on the plane he noticed
that the area was really beginning to look 'northern'...you know, a lot of bogs and
stunted trees.  With considerable enthusiasm, he added that you expect to see a team
of sled dogs any minute!  Coach laughed, commenting that Greenville was known as
the "Gateway to Maine's North Woods".  Actually, the plant and animal life - and, to
some extent, the topography - of this northernmost part of Maine is more like that of
Canada north of the St.  Lawrence River than the rest of the northern United States.

"What's on the agenda, Dad?" Chris asked.  "You mean 'after lunch', don't you, Big
Guy?" Coach replied with a snicker.  "Duh..." Chris snorted and let it go at that.  "Well,
around dusk," Kearns suggested, "we can go looking for a moose if, that is, we don't
see some before then.  In this area, there are supposed to be about three moose to
every person!"  "Yea!" the teenager cheered.  "This is my kind of country!"  "Mine, too,"
Coach agreed.  "I've loved it since I was a kid.  This afternoon, we might take our 4x4
and drive on a logging road open to the public over to Ripogenus dam that holds back
the waters of Lake Chesuncook.  You'd get to see a little bit of the famous 'West
Branch' of the Penobscot River.  I'd like to stop by a rough camp that's maintained by
some old friends of mine.  They said they would fit us in for one night and even teach
you how to paddle a canoe!"  "Wow, Dad," Chris enthused, "that is so cool!"

The little 4x4 had them in Greenville in nothing flat, and they stopped at a diner that
Coach knew.  "Hi, Mary!" he called to an older waitress.  "Has the summer population of
this metropolis dropped to its winter level of around 1800 yet?"  "Not yet, John," she
laughed, "but we're working on it.  Hi, handsome," she said eyeing Chris with a
humorous grin.  "Watch this guy; he's dangerous."  "Oh, I already know that," Chris
deadpanned.  "How about a lobster roll and a cup of tea, Mary?" Coach asked.  "Make
that two lobster rolls, but I'll have a Pepsi," Chris said.  After finishing one of the great
delicacies of New England cuisine (to which they added some true coffee ice cream),
the boys wandered around the rugged little town.

Come next morning, they headed into wilder country.  Coach mentioned that when he
was younger, the logging company road, cutting across the wilderness, was gravel.
Unfortunately, from his standpoint, the worst grades had been eliminated and the road
had been paved with asphalt.  Such is progress...  On his last trip across the unpaved
version, he noticed, as he forced his old car up the steepest grade, that a station wagon
was parked in the middle of the road at the very summit.  He soon saw what the
problem was:  A young father, mother, and their three-year-old had climbed out of their
vehicle to observe a moose family that was grazing at the side of the road.  As they
snapped pictures with abandon, their toddler headed for the moose calf.  Coach,
whispering as loudly as he could, warned the child's mother of the danger.  The moose,
the largest member of the deer family in the world, could attack at any moment.
Fortunately, the animals had better sense than the humans and headed off.  "Idiots,"
Chris mumbled.  "Yep," Coach answered, "I'd rather fight big SUVs on I-95 than deal
with greenhorn tourists!"

By early afternoon, they reached the rough camp of Coach's friends on a smaller lake
on the other side of Chesuncook.  Although they were almost closed up for the season,
Peggy, the proprietress, had kept a small cabin open for John and his new son about a
mile or so down the lake on a private cove.  Further, as she and the Coach sat on the
dock talking, she took a good hour out of a hectic schedule to school Chris in the
intricacies of paddling a canoe without finding himself underwater and inside the
overturned canoe!  Natural athlete that he was, he was soon paddling around as if he
were ready for the Olympics!  Little did Coach know that in the morning, he would
awaken without the warming presence of his love.  Struggling down to the dock, he saw
his charge well out in the lake, paddling away merrily.  There was still fog on the far side
of the small lake, although one could see Mt. Kineo's 700-foot cliffs towering over
Moosehead in the distance.  As he returned to the cold dock and his arms, Coach
found the lad's cargo pants and t-shirt lying in the bottom of the canoe.  Fortunately,
there was still time  to "warm up" in bed before returning to the main camp.  Later, the
youngster laughed merrily and said that their "protein shakes" had only increased his
appetite for a good Maine breakfast!  On their return, they stopped for a few minutes at
the dam.  Storms up country had caused a rapid rise in the level of the lake and water
was being released into the channel of the West Branch.  Chris wondered what it would
be like to canoe down that stretch of furiously churning white water or even take a raft
ride down one of the wilder streams this side of the Colorado.

Some miles closer to Greenville, Chris let out a wild shout, asking Coach to stop.  There
in a bog not far from the side of the road stood an enormous animal, dipping his head
into the water and dredging for succulent water plants.  He HAD to be six-feet at the
shoulders and had broad, flat antlers that were a good five-feet across.  Coach said that
the big fellow probably weighed close to1500 lbs.  "The rut is pretty well over," Kearns
commented, "but we'd better be a little extra careful on the rest of the drive back.  It's
going to be getting along towards dusk, a time of day when these big boys are active.
Bull moose have been known to charge cars during mating season - and we might meet
one who thinks it's still early fall!  Since they can run as fast as 35 mph, it's a good idea
to stay well out of their way!"  Dinner that night was at the respected Greenville Inn
where Coach introduced his charge to several regional specialities.  (Personally, he
stuck to the Yankee Pot Roast that he said was one of his childhood favorites.)

On Saturday, they went hiking across the open summit of Little Kineo Mountain.
Although it was a pretty easy hike, the views on every side - Moosehead Lake, Mount
Kineo, Mount Katahdin (pronounced Kuh-TAH-din) to the southeast (the northern
terminus of the Appalachian Trail), and far more - were spectacular.  Back in town,
Coach wanted to talk with a few old friends, and Chris wandered back into town where
he met several year-round early-twenty residents.  Evidently, he got a good earful of
what life is like for these guys in a more isolated part of a state whose per capita
income is only one step higher than Mississippi's.  Unfortunately, by mid-afternoon, the
first snow flakes of a major storm were already falling, signaling the end of this part of
their short vacation.  Nevertheless, they still felt refreshed as they returned home late
on Saturday rather than Sunday.

(The Unveiling)

Chris and the Coach hadn't been back from Maine two days when the Coach asked his
charge to stop by his office after supper.  Wondering what all the formality was about,
Chris wandered in, finding his mentor sitting in front of a blazing fire and in an obviously
thoughtful mood.  "Ah, Chris, thanks.  If you're going to have any free time during the
evening, I know you have to get to your work right after supper, but something has
come up."  "Sir?" Chris inquired.  "I've had two important conversations today, son - one
with Jacob Hutchins, the art teacher at your school, and one with Priscilla Washington,
Betty's mother...the artist you've told me about.  I realize you haven't met her; she has
been quite ill for over a year.  Both of them have seen the painting that Betty and Kathy
completed, Mr. Hutchins because it was turned in to him before the teacher institute
days and Ms. Washington because you gave Betty permission to speak with her about
her work as needed.  May we talk for a few minutes in complete confidence?"  "Sure,
Dad," Chris responded immediately.  "You don't have to ask...ever."  "Thanks, son, I
realize that, but sometimes it's best to be explicit.

"In any case, Mr.  Hutchins is absolutely overjoyed with the painting.  Betty and Kathy
are going to receive this term's art prize.  Moreover, he feels that Betty, as the artist,
has tremendous promise and should be encouraged to continue her art.  Ms.
Washington also feels that her daughter has promise and is as proud of her as she
could possibly be.  That, however, is not quite what I wanted to speak with you about.

"You told me in September that the students and the faculty member who found out
that you were posing for the girls in the nude thought you were doing a good and," the
Coach added, smiling, "a rather...courageous thing.  Now we have Mr. Hutchins who
feels that you deserve special credit for your contribution to his program and to the
artist's future.  In brief, he would like to hold an open house for the school community
where the art projects would be exhibited and where appropriate honors would be paid,
Betty, Kathy, and you.  What do you think?"

"Ye gods, Dad!  I don't know..." Chris sputtered.  "Betty did all the work while I lounged
around on fat pillows and got treated like a king by both of the girls.  Besides, they have
already offered to help me in various ways, and I may take them up on it before we're
all through."  "Whoa, tiger, I can understand your modesty and I'm glad the young
ladies have already learned that one does not take and take without giving," Coach
responded quickly.  To be honest, I think I can also understand some possible
embarrassment on your part.  I haven't seen the painting because Betty hasn't asked
your permission, but I suspect...well, I suspect.  We're not really talking about your
body, though.  We're talking about Mr.  Hutchins' ability to say thanks in a professionally
appropriate way.  We're talking about his ability to reward the participants publicly, and
about his ability to show the entire school what can be done with effort and good will on
everyone's part.  Frankly, I suspect that the chance you would be embarrassed are
minimal.  In fact, some real good could come from it in terms of your standing among
your teachers and fellow students.  I completely respect the fact, however, that the
decision is yours and yours alone.  Also, I have been assured that Mr. Hutchins will say
nothing to Betty nor take any further action without your approval.  Fair enough?"  "Fair
enough, Dad.  I'll think about it seriously," Chris responded.

At breakfast the next morning, Chris told Coach that he had decided to go along with
the open house idea.  "Seems strange, though," he mumbled as he swallowed a
mouthful of cereal, "for a guy in high school to have his teachers, parents, and
classmates - male and female - see him stark naked."  (Privately, the idea just about
made him late for school, for there was no way he could avoid splashing a mammoth
load against the side wall of the shower!)  "I think you're doing the right thing, Big Guy,"
Coach responded, "but it's all yours now. I've done my part by putting the situation in
front of you.  I suggest you speak with Mr. Hutchins later today."  "Yep," Chris
murmured, his face beginning to get a little pink.

That night, Chris reported that he had had a most cordial conversation with Mr.
Hutchins who essentially reacted exactly the way Coach had suggested he would.  After
asking him to refrain from saying anything further to anyone, other than Coach Kearns,
the art teacher told Chris he would be hearing from him if the idea were cleared by the
administration.  About a week and a half later, he received an invitation to the Art
Department Open House scheduled on Friday night after a late afternoon football game
that would conclude the team's regular season.  A student dance would follow the art
event.  That week's school paper included a quarter page invitation to students.  He
learned that evening that invitations had been mailed to all parents, school officials, and
other locals who couldn't be ignored.

Dressed simply but attractively in slacks, shirt, and sweater, Chris was somewhat
unnerved as he returned to the school around 7:30 p.m.  Admittedly, he was tired, for
he had scored twice in routing their traditional rival.  He was also on high, for he had
made an outstanding contribution to the team's completing an undefeated season and
placing the maroon and white in the State Championship Tourney.  Not surprisingly, he
found Betty and Kathy nearly beside themselves for Mr. Hutchins had announced that
he was combining the art term awards with the open house.  In addition to about a
dozen attractive projects displayed around the walls of the large room, four projects
were covered.  By eight o'clock, the room was rapidly filling with students, parents, and
teachers, many of whom had celebrated by having dinner downtown after the game.
There were also  a good many students who simply dropped in before the dance, for
some wild rumors were finally beginning to get around.

At 8:15 p.m., Mr.  Hutchins took the podium, commenting briefly on the traditional art
project requirement and taking note of the truly attractive work - paintings, sculpture,
pottery, and the like already displayed.  He then turned to the four covered projects,
each of which stood on its own platform.  These, he said, had all received top grades,
as well as other honors.  In turn, he uncovered the first three projects, introduced the
artists, and brought them forward to received the plaudits of the large crowd.  Out of the
corner of his eye, Chris saw that Betty and Kathy were hugging as several close friends
congratulated them.  Hutchins asked the crowd to attend carefully to the final project,
for in his view it was the finest piece of work that he had seen in his 22 years at the
school.  Additionally, he had heard that afternoon that it had received the County's
prestigious Elizabeth Spencer Art Prize and that their local college had awarded an art
scholarship to the primary artist, Ms. Betty Washington.  He didn't doubt that additional
awards would follow.  As buzzing spread throughout the room, he paused and then
mentioned that he also wished to honor one other student who had contributed to the
project.  When no one else was willing to come forward, this student - an honors
student and an outstanding athlete - had agreed to spend hours helping his friends and
supporting advanced school programs.  He felt that the entire school community owed
him respect and thanks.  After calling Betty, Kathy, and Chris to the podium, he ordered
that the large painting be uncovered.

Utter silence and a few gasps greeted the unveiling, followed immediately by a roar of
applause and cheers.  There was little question that the painting was a splendid piece
of art that conveyed a sense of power completely unexpected given the experience of
the artist.  (It was also hotter than all hell!)  Mr.  Hutchins was barely able to announce
that the school had provided simple refreshments in the next room and that this
concluded the open house before Betty, Kathy, and Chris were mobbed.

An hour later, Coach, Chris, and Seth Callum sat before a warm fire in the Coach's
home office, each with a celebratory snifter in his hand.  "Were you surprised that
everyone was so positive, Chris?" Coach asked.  "Yeah, kinda," the youngster
admitted, "but it sure felt good."  "What hit each of you the hardest?" Coach continued.
"Well," Chris, said, "the number of parents and teachers who complimented me just
blew me away!  It was great!"  Seth chimed in immediately:  "Two things:  First, I've
never seen so many openly envious guys...and most of the girls were panting.  You've
got serious troubles, buddy!  Secondly, I know the perfect place for that painting to be
exhibited.  "Where's that, Seth?" Coach asked.  Turning to Chris, his black-haired
buddy drawled in his best John Wayne imitation, "Well, hoss, it should be sent back by
time machine to about 1872 to hang over the main bar of the biggest gay saloon in
Dodge City!"  Seth and Coach promptly broke up, nearly rolling on the floor with
laughter.  Chris looked at the two of them suspiciously for a moment or two, snorted,
and then joined in the hilarity.

(An Unwelcome Reminder)

Three nights later, Chris was lounging on a comfortable chair, watching a wild action
movie with the Coach.  Abruptly, he bent down to pick up a few popcorn kernels that
hadn't made their way into his gaping maw.  Suddenly, a rife shot shattered the evening
calm.  A bullet cracked the living room window, ploughing into the back of the chair
where Chris' head had just been resting seconds before.  Tires squealing, a truck sped
off.

The police were at the house within three to four minutes, but no one had seen
anything and there were no reports of patrol cars stopping a speeding truck in the
vicinity.

No one knew better than Coach the depth of the emotional hole his son had struggled
to escape.  Thus, when Chris got into bed, atypically lying on his side away from him,
Coach put a big hand on his prominent lats and gently turned him into his arms.  His
seventeen-year-old's face was wet with tears that he didn't want his father to see, but
he sobbed with relief as the man he had chosen as his father simply held him in his
arms, kissing him and whispering words of love and support into his ear.

Nevertheless, the youth was awake for hours, wondering if it were possibly starting
again.


(To Be Continued)