Goin’ Down In Four Horse Crossing

© 2017


Jonathan Longhorn

Copyright © 2017 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.

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Chapter 3

Brandon let out a lengthy sigh. So deep. So guttural. So…. It was almost more of a growl than a sigh, really.

The eyes.

On him.

Eyes … everywhere.

Even here.

He had overheard the three teammates that had lingered in the showers—Nate, Bobby and Jake. After they had gone back to the locker area, the three had been discussing what to do next—a list of things came up—all kinda lame sounding but somehow, kinda fun at the same time. In an inane sort of way.

And then that magical word popped up.


Gosh. A movie. A real, honest to goodness, 2+ hours in a dark room surrounded by dozens and dozens of people who were focused on the screen, and—‘not’ on him.

The old Stagecoach Megaplex had all the first runs, but also specialized in independents, low-budgets, experimentals … the freaks of filmdom…. In all likelihood, it had a lot to do with the two new guys in town that had picked up the theater complex at a fire sale price. They had sunk a ton of money into a complete reno, back to the glory days, but also added state of the art features like digital projection, spectacular sound systems in the larger venues and included a greatly enhanced and enlarged snack bar that featured some of the best tasting theater popcorn for miles around. Word was they personally visited vendors around the country to find the best quality popcorn and the best popcorn machine.

They also didn’t shy away from eclectic, indies, brow raisers or the rule breakers. Apparently the care and personal touch they put into everything they did was working like a charm; theater seats were full nearly every night and they even had parking for 18-wheelers for those long haul truckers that needed a rest from the road. Security inside and out—parking lot, fuel depot, bunk house, showers…. Security—24/7.

The more he thought about that overheard conversation, the more he thought about the movie idea. And, the more he thought about it the more he liked it.

A movie.

By himself.

Just him, and—the characters. The storyline. The action. The delicious hot buttered popcorn. The Junior Mints. A 64-ounce … no … 80-ounce Dr. Pepper. No. Big Red. No. The Stagecoach Megaplex’s signature fresh squeezed lemonade. Yeah! The lemonade.


He was a free man for the weekend. No parents. No nagging sister. The rug rats were with the parents. He had avoided the girlfriend all day. Although the idea had been his and only his, he was a little perturbed that she didn’t even seem to notice his absence. He had ditched his friends. Circumnavigated the perpetual onslaught of jersey huggers and wannabe friends….

He was surprised that he had honed in on the locker room trio’s conversation so fully. So attentively. So…. So—he wasn’t sure ‘what’. But he had. Even the fact that they were hitting the late, late showings.



Here he was.

The Stagecoach Megaplex.

If one stopped to think about it, it was a very strange anomaly. Four Horse Crossing, Texas, Population 971. The theater complex had 18 indoor screens and 5 outdoor drive-in screens circling a central island—like a wagon wheel. If every seat in the house—all 18 indoor theaters and if every parking space in those 5 drive-ins was filled all at once? The town’s population would skyrocket nearly 15 times that ‘population’ declaration on the city limit signs.

Nearly every night of the week the theater complex was far more inhabited than the town. Townsfolk, neighboring townspeople, truckers, vacationers, weary travelers looking for a few hours away from the steering wheel…. Railroad workers; 4 ribbons of shimmering steel ran alongside those intersecting Interstates. Cafés and a few fast food giants dotted the roadside leading up to that intersection, there were 5 motels—with swimming pools, color TV, and free Wi-Fi … 2 of them had kitchenettes.

Friday night in Four Horse Crossing, Texas.

Friday night at the Stagecoach Megaplex.

He was a little surprised at the number of people here this late. And, yet—not all that surprised. What else was there to do? Sit at one of those diners or fast food places and count how many 18-wheelers went through the intersection in a 1-hour period? Watch and wait anxiously for a freight train to come lumbering down one of those pair of shimmering ribbons—whistle wailing in the dark of night? Go over to the park that was bisected by the river? Even if it was closed at midnight every night by the local constabulary to keep things from happening that shouldn’t happen in their territory. Funny how easy it was to climb over the gate….

Yeah. Here he was. Freshly showered—again. His favorite powder gray, snug fitting cords. Too snug, according to his mother. A crisp white body-hugging t-shirt under an unbuttoned and untucked denim shirt—sleeves rolled twice up his forearms. Crisp white athletic socks and a pair of gray high top Pumas.


Alone—with those eyes.

Eyes everywhere that he went.

Even here at 1:15 A.M., outside a mega movie complex surrounded by hundreds, and yet—it seemed like everyone was watching ‘him’ as he stood at the lines’ end for tickets…. Er, ticket. Okay—he hadn’t actually ‘got’ in line … yet.

He was casually sauntering from poster to poster checking out the offerings. The Stagecoach was really independent in their choices, he thought as he slowly moved from one glowing movie poster to the next. Posters for 3 war movies. The latest superhero foray. A lesbian love story that spans 60 years. The coming of age movie where the 16-year-old boy is suddenly thrust into the patriarchal place at the dining table, and—everywhere else in the house and the family—when the father is eaten by a bear. The new teen heartthrob flick with the ‘throb’ of the moment shirtless in 99% of the film—strangely, the setting is a private, all boys school where all of the instructors wear robes tied with ropes. The new spy flick. The new space adventure. Alien invaders on the prowl for victims to abduct and return to their home planet—slaves, workers, guinea pigs. He shook his head; go figure on that one.

Then there was the teen slasher flick in its 32nd version where the victims run toward the slasher instead of away from him/her/it. Another head shake as he looked from this poster to the previous. Huh. Go figure. The frat brother flick at the beach with 297 ways to say ‘Dude.’ The sorority girls plotting against the new arrival because of her instant popularity with the BMOC….

And then, there was Target Nemesis: The Tentacle Lord’s Revenge.

He kept coming back to ‘this’ one. The one he was in front of now. The flick that he ‘really’ wanted to see.

A flaming red, multi-tentacled creature from outer space was holding Earth’s only hope of salvation up for everyone to see. Naked. Most of his butt and butt crack discretely—conveniently?—covered by several of the creature’s massive tentacles. At his mercy. About to do who knew what to the helplessly flailing earthling warrior.

He had read the online reviews. The yay’s and the nay’s. The comments from the parental groups, the religious groups, the political blowhards, uptight in their own skin, with their heads glued to the inside lips of their buttholes…. Figures, they’d sit through the whole movie from opening credits to final scroll and then, mostly for their own publicity, get in front of cameras and microphones to vehemently protest the movie and to warn innocents and children away. Which would probably backfire and make it the #1 movie in the nation by the end of the weekend.

He chuckled softly as he recalled one televised attack on a theater that dared to show the movie in a deeply Republican state. The ‘esteemed’ congressman, looking all indignant and self-righteous, stood in front of the theater complex spouting and spewing and tossing threats like grenades and then stopped mid-sentence (shout?) when the doors opened and a group of teenagers exited after the just-finished showing of the movie. And, there, in the middle of the group that was laughing and horsing around, joking and hooting—the congressman’s 3 teenage sons.

He exploded.

They stood their ground.

He threatened and screamed louder.

They laughed harder, with a gulp here and there.

A reporter turned his back on the blowhard… uh, congressman, quickly shoved a microphone in the eldest teen son’s face and asked him how he felt about his father’s crusade against this movie and those like it. The son took on a very ‘congressional’ expression and tugged at the ‘not there’ lapels of his tee and in a deeper than usual voice, said, First of all, Mr. Sheerin—there are ‘no’ other movies like this. It’s a one of a kind masterpiece. Cheers. Hoots. Hollers. Back slaps. High fives. And he continued, Secondly, Sir—my father is an idiot. Rather than worrying about a movie, he should be back in D.C. tending to legitimate problems facing the population of this fine state and our great country. Thank you for asking, Mr. Sheerin and have a great weekend.

God—but didn’t that take balls? He had to admire that. He had to respect that. He wished he had those balls. But his balls were good. He liked his balls. They always hung out with him. Everywhere he went, they were right there, dangling along for the ride. And sometimes—most times?—turning a horrifying shade of blue thanks to the girlfriend.

So many people were saying the movie was ‘gay’ and that it was seriously perverted. That it had to be written, produced, directed, acted by degenerates of the highest, or—was that the lowest—caliber. Some, even commented about how ‘sick’ it was.

Funny how 90% of the online’s were of a positive vein, even with all of that negative hate mongering bullshit.

God—he wished he had the balls to go in.

To see it.

To judge for himself.

But with ‘his’ parents? Yeah, right! Somehow they would find out about it; hell—they’d know he was there before he bought snacks and found a seat in a dark corner 5 rows from any other human in the place. Hopefully humans, because he was unsure if there would be any tentacle creatures, zombies, or cyborgs in attendance cheering on their own kind. They were crafty critters. Who knew? It sure sounded like the kind of flick they wouldn’t want to miss.

Somehow … someone would see him here and report back to the ‘rents during one of those secret association meetings for parents of teenage boys with raging hormones that everyone knows exists but can never locate the meeting site so they can burn it down before the parents get there, and….

Screw that. Someone would text them right then and there. They’d come charging into the crowd and lasso him, hogtie him, and drag him home for the thrashing of his life. Wait. Oh, yeah. They were 1000 miles away with the rugrats. Whew. The meat would still be on his bones. For now.

Okay, whose imagination was running amok, now?


He spun around on his heel so fast, he nearly knocked the movie poster window into the next county.

“Oh. Hey, man. How’sup?”

“Nada. Me and the guys,” Bobby Jenkins shot a thumb over shoulder pointing to the two friends standing in line. “Just came out for the late, late show. You?”

Brandon shrugged and ran his fingers through his hair. Suddenly nervous. Probably because someone had caught him gazing at the poster for a movie where an alien warlord ravages a helpless earth superhero. Using his dozens of tentacles and converting him into a mindless, soulless, hungry and obedient sex slave. Yeah, that might be why he was nervous.

“I, um….” Fuck it. Just be honest. They’re teammates. Just guys. Guys just like him. “I didn’t have anything going on so I thought I’d catch a flick.”

“Cool, cool,” Bobby said with a nod of understanding. He focused on the poster behind Brandon and grinned mischievously. “Looks like a wild movie, huh?”


Busted looking at ‘this’ poster of all the movie posters lined up along the walk in front of the theater complex. He ‘could’ have been looking at any of the others. But, no—he had to be standing here gawking at ‘this’ poster.

Brandon blushed faintly. Friggin’ great! He just got caught looking at ‘this’ poster by Bobby—one of the 3 guys from back in the locker room that he had overheard talking about coming to the Megaplex.

Thankfully the movie theater complex outdoor lights made everyone look like a thousand shades of bleached flour. He innocently looked back over his shoulder to study the poster for a moment; he forced a laugh and tried to act as nonchalant as he could—the old, ‘oh yeah I haven’t seen this one yet,’ routine.

“Sheah. Looks like it’s a wild and crazy one….”

Bobby noticed the knee that was swaying forward and back more rapidly than if it was just a ‘casual’ thing. The repeated fingers through the hair. The blush of pink in an otherwise outdoor lighting debacle that made everyone look like enriched flour mannequins.



He wants to go in but he’s worried someone will see him. Say something to his ‘crowd’ or worse—‘satellite’ his parents wherever they are and report him. Yeah, well—fuck that. We’ll stand by him to the death.

“We’re um, gonna take it in. See what all the hullabaloo is all about.” Pause. Shift from foot to foot. Glance over shoulder. Return to Brandon’s gaze. “Wanna go in with?”

Brandon’s head tilted.

Go in?

With them?

What, like, see the movie with?


Bobby nodded as he studied his teammate.

“Yeah, man.” God he looked good tonight. Brandon ‘always’ looked good no matter what he was wearing, or—not wearing—but right now? Here, in the middle of the night? He was perfectly stuffing those tight, light gray cords and that body hugging tee. Soft gray cords that showed a perfect outline down his right leg of…. Sigh. “I mean, unless you’re waiting for someone?”

Yeah, right. Standing out here at 1:30 A.M. in front of a movie theater by myself. Yeah, I’m waiting for…. Huh. Wait. I’m not waiting for anyone.

Go figure that one.

“Nah.” Brandon paused and glanced around the area; was he really here alone? Was he really a free man? Tonight, anyway? The weekend? Could it be … real? “No, man. I’m actually … alone,” he said with what he was sure was a tone filled with more confusion than confidence. “I’m flying solo, tonight.”

Bobby glanced over his shoulder. Jake Weatherford and Nate Hawthorne were about 10 people from the window now. They looked back in his direction and he flashed 4 fingers. They nodded and thumbed up. Message received, Bobby turned back to Brandon.

“So, join us? I promise we don’t talk incessantly about everything under the sun that isn’t related to the movie.” He winked and drew a chuckle. “We all left our grapevines at home, so there will be no, like, omg … gossip.” Another chuckle. God—he was beautiful when he let the guard down and laughed. If they could get him to giggle and flash those adorable dimples of his, they’d probably rape him. Well, he guessed they better leave that for the tentacled alien Lord Q’a, Supreme Ruler of the Universe. Wow—there was a hotter than fuck thought if ever there was one. Lord Q’a raping Brandon Gilchriest…. “We eat like pigs but we don’t smack or burp or worse—fart. Well, okay—not usually; not without any kind of warning anyway.”

Brandon laughed and rolled his eyes. God—why hadn’t they hooked up for more than classmate and teammate stuff before this? There was definitely something to be said for stepping out of your own ‘circle’, now and then, to see and experience other forms of life that existed out there. These guys seemed pretty cool and he’d never realized that before. And, they were about as ‘out of his usual circle’ as anyone could be. Still, they were good guys.

“You guys would want me?”

Bobby took a firm stance and punched Brandon in the shoulder. Damn, the stud muffin was like velvet-skinned granite. Wait! Holy fuck! He just punched Brandon Gilchriest, their star pitcher and quarterback! Panic rushed in and he stepped back hoping a fist wasn’t sailing toward his face.

Okay, speak, Bobby. Speak before he punches you out.

“Dude, you’re Brandon Gilchriest. You’re the crowned prince of the school, man. ‘Everyone’ wants you.”

Brandon’s eyes rolled.

Don’t remind me.

Sadly, that seemed to be the case most of the time. People wanted ‘him’ or they wanted something ‘from’ him. There were a few that just wanted him for … him and not the jersey he wore. The rug rats. His best friend, Sutton. A very few others.

“Are you sure? I mean, should you go check with Jake and Nate first? I don’t want to intrude.”

Bobby cocked his head and looked their handsome star teammate up and down several times. WTF? Brandon Gilchriest … nervous … uncomfortable? How weird was that?

“Oh—we want you, dude,” Bobby said confidently; his eyes sparkled and shimmered in perfect complement to the toothy grin he shot back at their teammate. “Seriously, man—we even talked about inviting you back in the locker room but you took off before we decided to go for it.”



They didn’t want anything?

They just wanted him for a movie companion.

Just, him?


That didn’t seem to happen very often. Ever?


Just … wow.

“Um, yeah. I mean if you’re sure?” Nodded response. “Um, yeah, let me get in line.”

“No need, Brandon,” Nate said as he and Jake approached. He fanned 4 tickets. “Gotcha covered, bro.”

Brandon reached for his wallet and a hand grabbed his wrist. He looked up into Bobby’s sparkling blue eyes. A beautiful blue, like the ocean under a clear sky. And, just like the ocean, easy to get lost in.

“You’re money’s no good here, Brandon,” Bobby said with a grin and a twinkle. “Like Nate said, we’ve gotchu covered.”

No one ever paid for him. He always had to cover everything for his girlfriend. His friends. Their girlfriend’s. Well, that wasn’t fair. Sutton paid his own way and his girlfriend’s. And, to be 100% fair, Sutton paid for Brandon as often as Brandon paid for Sutton. Sutton even treated the rug rats sometimes. God—they worshipped Sutton….

“Uh, um….” Brandon stepped toward the door that Nate was holding open for them to enter. “Thanks, guys.”

“No worries, big guy,” Jake chimed over his shoulder. “You can treat us at the Snack & Slurp inside.”

“Um, sure, I ca….”

“Don’t bite on that one, Brandon!” Nate grabbed his shirt and pulled him close. Nostrils flared from both ends of the grab. Brandon’s eyes focused on Nate’s full lips. Nate hoped no one noticed—especially Brandon—as he quietly sucked in a total lung full of Brandon scents. Held them in there as long as he could. Savored it. He realized he had a fist full of Brandon’s shirt and that fist was resting in the deep cleft between those perfectly carved pecs. He savored ‘that’ too, along with the heat radiating off Brandon, for a few seconds, under the cover of teasing him about the snack bar.

“With the 3 of us? That’ll cost you $100 easy, bro.” He grinned broadly and winked. Slowly releasing the folds of white cotton and then smoothing the fist-imprint in Brandon’s tee, slowly, to soak up a few more moments of Brandon’s warmth. Man but that physical contact felt good for some reason, even through the soft thin layer of his tee. “We’re good guys but, well—we leave the pigs behind and take up with the hogmiesters.”

Brandon laughed deeply at that one.

“Ah man,” Jake whined back. “Now you’ve spoiled the new guy surprise.”

Brandon head-tilted and he opened his mouth to ask.

“Don’t ask,” Bobby advised as he clapped Brandon on the shoulder and walked side-by-side with him through the open door.

Brandon’s head swam slightly from trying to keep up with this repartee. He was used to horsing and joking but these were new horses and new jokes. This might take a while, but it felt—nice.

Deep breath.


No parents.

No rug rats.

No girlfriend.

No ‘usual’ friends. He dared not say ‘normal’ under the current circumstances.

A smile creased his lips. Faint. But there.

Tonight might be good okay fine after all.

Author’s Note: Please send your comments, thoughts, and ideas to Jonathan Longhorn using jonathan_longhorn at yahoo dot com. Please start the “Subject” line with the name of the story so I don’t toss your email as spam.

Thank you to those of you who have taken the time out of your day to write me about my stories. The thoughts, comments, and feedback are VERY much appreciated.

My other stories on Nifty can be found using the Nifty Prolific Authors page: http://www.nifty.org/nifty/authors.html#jonathanlonghorn