Date: Fri, 9 Nov 2018 19:06:03 +0000
From: Douglas DD <thehakaanen@hotmail.com>
Subject: Aiden II Chapter 54

Welcome back. Peter Astor is desperate and decides to turn to the one adult
he trusts.

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Emails are always appreciated. thehakaanen@hotmail.com
Douglas

CHAPTER 54
DESPERATION AND GRATITUDE

SATURDAY, AUGUST 11

Aiden had unpacked and started tossing clothes into the dirty clothes
hamper as soon as he'd gotten home the day before. While some clothes
needed to be washed so he could pack them back into his suitcase, a lot of
the clothes he took to camp were things he wouldn't need on the upcoming
trip, so they would stay in the hamper.

Now he and his daddy were feeding the necessary clothes into the washing
machine. Aiden was becoming more and more independent. He did most of his
wash, but Larry was helping him this time, not only because speed was of
the essence, but also so he could throw in some lessons on organizational
skills. Once the washer was going Aiden and Larry climbed the stairs out of
the basement.

Phil was working a half-day. A bridge on County Road 17 had suffered some
damage when a truck with an oversize load had clipped a support on
Thursday. The truck was crossing the bridge illegally and the driver would
be fined accordingly, but that didn't stop the county road crew from having
to repair the damage. The bridge had to be closed until the support was
repaired. Since Phil would be leaving on vacation Monday, his number two
man, Lewis Carlson would be taking charge of the repair project. Lewis was
Marty's father and had been promoted to assistant superintendent at the end
of June.

"I'm heading to the store to pick up a few things we still need," Larry
told his son.

"I'm gonna start packing what I can," Aiden said.

"Remember the rules to follow when I'm gone."

"Daaaad." Aiden always drew out the a's and dropped the y when he wanted to
show his displeasure at what Larry said. He said the same exact thing in
the same way to Phil but didn't have to drop the y in his case. "I'm not a
little boy any more—I'm almost eleven."

"And it is my fatherly duty to remind you to follow the basics," Larry
reminded him.

"Whatever." Aiden turned and stomped up the stairs to his room. Larry
wondered if maybe his reminder was overkill, then decided that assuming
pubescent boys remembered to do the right things without reminding them
could be a dangerous assumption. As he saw Aiden's pert little ass jiggle
in his tight shorts, Larry also knew it was time to get rid of those
shorts. He hoped Aiden wouldn't pack them, but decided he'd rattled the
boy's cage enough for now.

Aiden took off his shorts and underpants and opened his suitcase. He
chattered to Horace as he started packing. "Now all I need to pack are some
things in the wash and my toothbrush and stuff. Oh, and you—but don't
worry, I have the perfect thing to carry you in. Watch, I'll show you."

Aiden picked up a tote bag that he'd placed next to his suitcase. Everybody
at camp had been given a tote bag during the closing ceremonies on
Saturday. It had a drawing of a baseball diamond with trees around it on
one side. On the other side was written "Silva Lake Baseball Camp."

Aiden had seen the tote bags that some of the returning campers brought
with them, including one that Nolan used to carry his glove and cleats. He
said it was easier to use around camp than his equipment bag. Coach
Pearson, who was the camp superintendent, had told the boys to bring the
bags if they returned next summer as they would come in very handy.

"What if we have two bags now?" a boy in the back of the room asked, which
brought a round of light boyish laughter.

"Then you have one for each hand," Coach Pearson replied, which brought a
round of much louder laughter.

Now that he had a tote bag of his own, Aiden was ready to put it to good
use. "I know that being carried in a bag isn't as cool as being carried in
my arm, but I think it will work best for both of us. Besides, I'm going to
carry my book in the bag, too, so you shouldn't get bored." Aiden giggled
and said, "A well-read donkey is very unique. Well, except for Donkey
Mike."

Aiden placed the stuffed donkey into the bag. He thought it was a perfect
fit. The bag covered all but Horace's head, making it look like he was
observing the world from his tote bag.

"And before you say something, I know something can't be very
unique. Mrs. Riley told us that something was unique or it wasn't unique
and it can't be very unique because unique means it's the only thing like
it. But, it's hard to remember that when you're talking." Aiden's soliloquy
was interrupted by the opening notes of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony. "I
wonder who that is."

Aiden took Horace out of the bag and placed him on the bed. "Unless it's
somebody on the good-guy list, I'm gonna tell him to get lost." The
good-guy list consisted of friends Aiden could let in the house if his dads
weren't home. It was a short list made up of Gordy, Miles, Mason, Trent,
Lenny, and Lance. While he could let them in, he still had to call one of
his dads to tell them that he had company.

After pulling on his shorts, Aiden went quickly down the stairs. On the way
down he thought about how he had to get rid of those shorts—they were
really squeezing his dick and balls, not to mention his butt.

Aiden stood on his toes and looked out of the peephole. All he could see
was the back of a head, which looked like it belonged to a teenage
boy. "Who is it?" he called out through the door.

"Peter," was the reply.

"Peter Astor?" Dumb question, Aiden thought. He was sure it wasn't Peter
the waiter, so Peter Astor was the only possible answer.

"Yeah. Is Coach Sanders home?"

"No."

"Then how about Coach Miller?"

While Aiden didn't want to admit to somebody who was an asswaffle that he
was home alone, he decided there wasn't much Peter Astor could do to him
without getting into extremely deep shit.

"He's not home either," Aiden admitted reluctantly.

"I need to talk to Coach Sanders, like, really bad."

"Sorry, I can't help you. I'll tell daddy you came to see him."

"Could you, like, maybe open the door so we can talk to each other?"

"No."

"Fuck," Peter muttered to himself. Aiden was acting just like the stuck-up,
know-it-all little dork that Peter knew he was. He almost said that when he
realized that to do so would put him on Coach Sanders' shit list without
question. "Can I come in to wait for him?"

"I can't let strangers into the house."

"Shit, Aiden, I'm not a stranger. You know who I am. I ain't gonna do
nothing to you."

"I got my rules I have to follow."

Peter was about to say fuck you and your rules, when a silver Honda pulled
into the driveway. Peter let out a sigh of relief when he saw Coach Sanders
climb out of the car. He started down the stairs from the stoop.

"Peter, what brings you here?" Larry asked.

Aiden opened the door to see what Peter's visit was about. "I need to talk
to you really bad."

Larry met him at the bottom of the stairs. "Come on into the house with
me."

"Aiden wouldn't let me in the house," Peter said, hoping he might get Aiden
into some hot water.

"Good," Larry replied. "It's how he's been instructed to act."

"Well, he could have called you or something," Peter whined, forgetting
that Larry had driven up less than a minute after he'd asked Aiden to let
him in. Coach Sanders is almost as big of an asshole as his son is, Peter
thought.

"Let's go into the back room and talk." Larry turned to Aiden and said,
"And you should probably go up to your room and take care of what you were
doing. I have a feeling this will be a private conversation."

Aiden nodded and headed for the stairs. He wasn't at all interested in what
Peter Astor had to say since in his mind Peter Astor was a Grade A
asswaffle. Peter couldn't help but look at Aiden's pert ass which barely
fit into his tight shorts. Despite the emotional and physical hurt in him,
Peter couldn't help but think that Aiden Miller had to have the finest
looking ass of anybody going into sixth grade.

Larry led Peter into the private conference room and pointed him to the
loveseat before sitting on the couch across from the teen. "So, what is it
you want to talk about?" Larry asked in a voice that contained a
combination of authority and concern.

"I don't know if I want to talk now," Peter grumbled.

"You had a reason for riding your bike all the way out here, so you might
as well get it off your chest."

"Is everything I say private?"

"It is unless I am required by law to report it. As a teacher I am required
to report anything having to do with physical or sexual abuse."

Peter mulled that over for a few seconds, deciding that what he wanted to
say had nothing to do with either one. He still said nothing, sitting on
the loveseat wondering if it was a mistake to have ridden out to Coach
Sanders' house. It had all seemed so clear that morning when he woke up in
a wet bed with a throbbing hangover.

It was the third night in a row he'd gone to bed drunk and woken up with a
hangover. The night before Roger Clauson had wet the bed, but this time
Peter had slept alone so he couldn't blame anybody else.

What he did know right then was that he didn't want to do this again. He
didn't want to wake up with a hangover in a pissed in bed with a naked and
still drunk twelve-year-old boy next to him. What he wanted was to feel the
way he'd felt when he went through almost the entire baseball season the
year before without drinking booze. The person who helped him feel that way
was the person sitting on the couch in front of him—Coach Sanders.

"I'm, like, desperate," Peter voiced quietly. "I don't want to do this
anymore."

"Do what?" Larry asked.

"Get drunk all the time. I want friends like Todd Morris and instead I got
friends like Zane Davidson and middle school kids like Roger Clauson and I
hate myself and my dad won't make me stop because he says drinking makes me
a man and I get sick sometimes and I even wet my bed and...oh...shit, I
don't believe I said all that. I am a loser and I don't like me, I hate me,
and I..." Peter couldn't go on any further and broke out in long, wailing
sobs that were so loud that Aiden could hear them up in his bedroom.

That was when Phil came home from his half-day at work, feeling good about
leaving the Highway Department in Lewis Carlson's capable hands. He heard
the wailing as he walked up the stairs from the garage. At first he thought
it was Aiden wailing, but he saw Aiden coming down the stairs as he entered
the foyer.

"What's going on?" Phil asked.

"I dunno. Peter Astor is in there with daddy and he's all upset about
something."

"You stay here," Phil told Aiden, not that he needed to say anything, Aiden
had no desire to go into the wailing room. Phil knew that Peter Astor could
be bad news and he quickly entered the room.

"What's going on?" Phil asked as calmly as he could.

"Peter has brought a problem to discuss," Larry informed him.

The two coaches proceeded to talk to the troubled teen, although they did
more listening than talking once Peter regained control of himself. "I
don't know what to do," Peter told them. "Coach Sanders made me want to do
good and then I fucked up and now I can't unfuck things. I don't know what
to do," he repeated. He thought about admitting how sometimes he wished he
was dead but was afraid that if he said anything they'd get him locked up
in a loony ward or something.

"Does your father know how you feel?" Larry asked.

"He says it's better than me being a wuss like during baseball season when
you guys made me quit drinking and shit...er...I mean stuff. Oh, shit, I'm
all confused."

"Maybe we should talk with your father about this."

"Nooooooo, don't, you promised. He hates you guys because, well, I guess
because you're gay and he says you don't want him to make me a real man."

Larry and Phil both thought that in many ways Peter's dilemma was like
Marty's. In Marty's case, he found a mentor in George Bednarzyk to help him
into recovery. In Peter's case, he had dropped the entire problem into
their laps.

"How about we do this. We call a friend of ours who has helped kids with
this problem before." He was referring to George Bednarzyk.

"But, I wanted you to help me," Peter said to Coach Sanders. "You made me
want to stop before and even my dad finally said he liked what I was
doing."

"Peter, Coach Miller and I are leaving on a trip on Monday. We will be away
for a week."

Peter's tears start to well up again. "But, I need you. I need you bad. I
am sick and really desperate."

"Peter, if you are that desperate, then you really should talk to Mr. B. If
you are that desperate then you need to be willing to go to any length to
get better."

"But..."

"No buts, Peter. You either want to go to any length to get better or you
don't. There is nothing in between."

Larry was dealing the kind of tough love Peter needed at that moment. Phil
and Larry knew that if Peter was ready, he would listen, and if he wasn't
ready he'd be drunk again in a matter of days if not hours. Either way, his
decision was out of their control.

"So what are you going to do, tell him to call me?"

"Actually, no we're not," Larry replied. "What I am going to do is call
Mr. B and tell him to expect a call from you."

"But, I don't even know him. You're supposed to help me, so why can't you
just tell him to call me? And what if he doesn't want to help me? He
probably won't even like me."

"First of all, I can guarantee you that he will want to help you. Secondly,
he once helped a boy who was so drunk that first time they met that the boy
puked all over his shoes in the town park."

"For real?" Peter shook his head. "No, you gotta be lying."

"I don't lie about serious stuff like this, Peter. The ball is in your
court."

"What if he wants to talk to my dad?"

"Then he's going to talk to your dad. Your dad will lose one of his
arguments against Mr. B right away. Mr. B is married and has two
kids. Nothing gay about him."

"Do I know his kids?"

"It's a small town so I'd say the answer is, yes." Larry was reasonably
certain that if Peter called George, he'd find out real fast that he was
Sammy and Jeffrey Bednarzyk's father.

"Look, Peter, I'll be there for you after I get back. But you need to talk
to somebody now, and we both may need to talk to your dad." Larry and Phil
were surprised that Peter didn't react to his comment about Mr. B talking
to his dad the first time. It didn't get past Peter the second time.

"No, not my dad."

"It's up to you. Are you willing to go to any length to be the person you
know you can be? The person you discovered last spring who started to
blossom into a real star on and off the field?"

"I want that."

"Then you're going to have to swallow your ego and prove it."

That ended the conversation, at least for that day. Larry called George
Bednarzyk while Peter was still sitting in the room and told him to expect
a call from Peter Astor soon, as if the call was a done deal.

"I'm not calling him," Peter said stubbornly as he stood up.

"That's your call so to speak," Larry said.

"You're not mad at me because I don't want to call?"

"What's to be mad about? If you don't call, it just means you don't want
what you said you wanted very badly."

Peter looked at Phil. "What about you? You hardly said nothing."

"I let Coach Sanders do the talking this time. It's better to listen to one
of us than to sort through two of us. For the record, I agree with
everything Coach said to you."

"Feel free to contact me after I get home no matter what you decide to do,"
Larry said as Peter stomped down the stairs.

"Whatever," Peter grumped. He jammed on his helmet because he didn't want
to get stopped by some tight-ass policeman and rode across the road to the
bike and hiking trail.

"That is one troubled kid," Phil noted as he closed the door.

"Too bad. He has so much to offer and he knows it too. He knows how good
things felt last spring. But he doesn't know how to handle the compulsion
to drink."

"Marty would be good for him. Those two have a lot in common."

"And Marty will be in Mayfield for a month or so in September after his
minor league season ends. We may have to chat with him."

But, as Aiden was learning upstairs in his bedroom, Marty wasn't going to
be in Mayfield for as long as he thought. He was having an unplanned chat
online with his idol. Marty had logged in to send Aiden an email, but noted
that he was online, so he sent his protégé an IM. They both opened
Skype on their computers and started a conversation.

After exchanging greetings and talking some about Aiden's experience at
baseball camp, Aiden told Marty about Peter Astor's surprise visit.

"Was he being an asshole?" Marty asked.

"No, but I still don't like him. I've seen him be really nice a couple of
times, but he's usually an asswaffle."

"Close enough to being an asshole for government work."

"What does that mean?"

"I'll tell you someday when you're old and cynical."

"When are you coming home?"

"A couple of days after Labor Day unless we make the playoffs."

"I know you guys are only two games out for a playoff spot and that you
have 20 home runs and 51 RBI and you're batting .317 and you have a .917
OPS and that doesn't count what you did with the Nuts."

"I take it you have it all on your spreadsheet."

"Yep. I did all of the formulas once daddy showed me how. Will I be able to
sleep with you when you come?"

"Yes, you can spend a night at my house."

"I meant in your bed."

"I knew what you meant. I don't know yet. But I can tell you I won't be in
Mayfield for long in September."

"Why not?"

"I got picked to play in the Arizona Fall League."

"That's supposed to be super awesome right?"

"I don't know about super awesome, but it is pretty awesome."

"When do you have to be there?"

"October eighth, so I'll only be in Mayfield for a month or so."

"Does playing in that league mean you'll be playing for the Mariners next
year?"

Marty laughed and said, "I think the Mariner depth chart still has Jorge
Rodriguez listed ahead of me."

"But he's hurt," Aiden pointed out.

"Which is the only reason I'm playing for the Travelers instead of the
Nuts."

"I know you're better than him. I looked him up and you hit more home runs
than him and hit for a better average than him and that makes you
better. You should go tell those Mariners they need to change that chart."

"Aiden, I love the support you're giving me, but I'll take things a day at
a time and we'll see what happens. Whatever happens, I am deeply grateful
to be where I am today and to have you in my life."

"I love you, Marty. Hmmm maybe I should tell the Mariners that you're my
big bro and belong on the Mariners."

That brought another round of laughter from Marty. "Bro, I can't even begin
to tell you how much I love you."

"Is Jorge going to play in the Fall League?"

"Nope. He won't be ready to play until spring training."

"See, now's your chance."

"That I can't argue with. I plan on doing my best and hoping it's good
enough to catch the attention of the powers in the front office."

"I know your best is going to be good enough, so there."

"I gotta go bro. I want to get some work in before batting practice. I'll
be seeing you in less than a month."

"Bye, Marty. I love you," Aiden said sincerely.

"I love you, too little bro. You be good and have a great trip with your
dads."

Aiden shut down his computer and went downstairs to see his dads. He found
Phil in the kitchen working on dinner. "I'm all packed except a couple of
things I need tomorrow. You know, like my toothbrush and stuff."

"Good for you, that puts you ahead of your daddy and me." Phil grinned when
he saw that Aiden was still dressed in shorts and t-shirt. "Good heavens,
you're still dressed."



 "That's because I was chatting with Marty and I didn't have time to take
my clothes off."

"That boy holds a lot of power over you."

"Whatever. Where is daddy?" he asked.

"Out on the dock messing with the boat."

"Since I have clothes on," Aiden said in deliberate fashion, "I'm gonna go
out to see him. But first, what's for dinner?"

"Halibut, mashed potatoes, and broccoli."

"Yuck to the broccoli." While Aiden griped about eating his veggies, he
always managed to finish his portion, causing his dads to believe his
griping was because he felt it was his duty as a pubescent boy to gripe
about vegetables before eating them.

That night, Aiden slept with his dads for the first time in a while. Horace
was seated on the foot of the bed. As he lay between the two men in his
life, Aiden wondered what the visit from Peter Astor was about, but he knew
his dads wouldn't tell him because it wasn't any of his business.

While Aiden was falling asleep, Peter Astor was in his own bedroom. He
could hear his dad and Traci having sex in the living room. He had seen
Traci naked before he went up to his room, but his dad was in boxers. He
saw a big bulge in the boxers and wondered, not for the first time, what
his father's hard cock looked like.

"You guys have fun," Peter told them.

"You fuck me if you want," Traci grinned. Peter could tell she was drunk.

"I don't want. I want to get drunker than you." He went to the kitchen and
grabbed a six-pack out of the refrigerator. No way I'm fucking my dad's
girlfriend, no matter how hot she is, he thought. And no way I'm calling
that Mr. B dude. Fuck them all. The best thing I can do is get wasted. He
went into his room, stripped naked, and started chugging his beers as the
sound of sex came from downstairs.

Peter was desperate for company. He wanted somebody, anybody, with him,
even stupid Eddie. Instead, he was alone. He hated himself for being a
loser. He was going to drink until he passed out.

Outside of town, Aiden cuddled up to Phil, feeling his dad's warmth and
love. He thought about how he was grateful for his dads, grateful for
Marty, and grateful that Nolan had texted him twice that night. He fell
asleep full of love and gratitude.

Next: On Track