Chapter 10

I didn't stop running until I made it to the sanctity of Rick and Ron's bedroom. From their phone, I called home and left a message with Sharon, and made my excuses. The two brothers locked their door, pushed me down on the lower bunk bed, and gently pulled off my clothing. After a quick examination, they told me I didn't seem to have broken anything -- except maybe my ass. I hurt all over. I was pretty well covered with scratches and purple bruises all over my back, chest, and stomach, even a little on my neck. Luckily, my face still looked fine, so chances were good that my mom and dad would never be able to see any damage, if I was lucky.

Ronnie took a good look at my backside and shook his head. "You're definitely still bleedin' a little back there," he said, wincing.

I felt a lot better after a long hot bath. An hour later, we checked again and the bleeding had definitely stopped. I felt exhausted, but it was good to be back with my friends -- even if they were The Geek Brothers.

Ronnie brought in a tray of soup and burgers from the kitchen, and we ate dinner while lying on the floor and watching The Wild Wild West on TV. Jesus, I thought. The star of the show sure had tight pants. I felt a little twinge and adjusted my crotch. Rick looked down and laughed. I looked down and saw my stiffening organ clearly outlined through my underwear.

"You're one hor-hor-horny guy," he said, laughing and pointing. "I guess you like Agent West as much as we do."

I grinned and nodded. Even after all I've been through, I still hadn't gotten any satisfaction myself, tonight. The two brothers turned and sat in front of me and smiled.

"You wanna... you know," said Ronnie, shyly.

I grinned, but shook my head weakly. "Maybe later, Ron," I said.

"There's no rush," he said, smiling. "I can wait."

I nodded. Jesus, maybe the little dork really did love me, I thought. "Let me sleep, Ronnie," I said, as I wearily got into the lower bunk bed. "I really feel like crap."

He nodded, and both brothers turned off the light and left the room. The fresh, cool sheets felt good on my bruised back. In minutes, I was fast asleep. A few hours later, I was awakened when somebody (or somebodies) climbed up the ladder into the top bunk. Soon afterward, the bed frame began gently shaking back and forth, and two voices moaned little squeaks of pleasure.

I rolled my eyes. "Can you guys, ah, hold it down a little?" I whispered loudly.

Ronnie's bright red face appeared to my right, upside-down, looking down from the top bunk. "Shit! I'm sorry, Wil," he whispered.

"Sorry, Wil!" whispered Rick, out of sight.

I closed my eyes and drifted back to sleep, as the bed quietly rocked back and forth.

"It's true," he said, climbing down the little ladder and sitting beside the two of us on the lower bunk. "Sc-Sc-Scott told me. I did it with him all last sum-sum-summer. He always wanted to... you know... d-do it that way. He said he didn't mind his Dad doin' it to him. He called it c-c-c-cornholin'."

I nodded. 'Cornholing' was an old Southern tradition I had heard about before, but never actually seen or experienced. Well, until a few hours ago, anyway.

"But you wouldn't let him do it to you," I said.

He shook his head. Ron blurted out, "I think Scott wanted Rickie to corn-hole him."

"Shut up, Ronnie!" hissed Rick. "T-tell us everything that happened, Wil," he said, looking at me intently.

Reluctantly, I gave them the whole story, as best I could. Ronnie nodded when I got to the part about Scott comparing our equipment.

"I told you Wil's was bigger," he said to Rick, who punched him in the arm and told him to shut up.

"So how-how-how did you get away from him, Wil?" Rick asked.

"Chuck saved me," I replied.

"You mean Chuckles, the pervert?" squealed Ronnie. "The fat kid in the locker room who stares at everybody when they're taking a shower?" He fell back on the bed with laughter. "He's gross!"

"Hey," I said with a sigh. "I owe him a favor. He clobbered the shit out of Scott. I never would've gotten away if it wasn't for Chuck."

"Why did Scott do this to you?" Rick asked quietly.

Shit. Now it was my turn to apologize. "Guys," I said, looking at both brothers as sincerely as I could, "I'm really sorry. I... I accidentally told him that I knew about..."

Their eyes widened.

"You didn't!" whispered Ronnie.

I nodded. "I told him I knew what he'd been doing with you two."

Rick's face went white. "You m-m-mean with me," he said, angrily.

"Yeah," I said. "I was scared! I just... I dunno, I blurted out the first thing I could think of to make him stop. Jesus, I'm really sorry, Rick," I said, embarrassedly.

"We're dead now, for sure," Ronnie whispered. Rick nodded and glared at me.

"I'm not so sure," I said. "Chuck was in the locker room with Scott for a long time, after he bashed his head in," I mused.

"You think he... did stuff with him?" asked Ronnie, bewildered.

I grinned. "Let's just say that I think Scott is now in a lot worse shape than I am," I said.

"Holy shit," said both brothers. They turned and looked at each other, and the three of us burst out laughing.

As our laughter subsided, I yawned. I glanced at the illuminated clock by their bed: it was nearly 4:30AM.

"Guys, I'm still tired, and I hurt like shit. Can we just sleep and have breakfast in the morning," I yawned.

Ronnie grinned at me and ran his hand across my stomach. "I know somethin' that'll make you sleep better," he said.

I rolled my eyes. "Do you guys ever stop thinking about sex?" I whined.

"Nope," said Rick, who turned and helped Ronnie gently pull down my underwear.

I mumbled some weak protests, and then lay back on the bed and felt something warm, wet, and wonderful nuzzle my belly and then work its way downwards.

These two were absolutely insatiable, I thought, as I laid my arms over my head, closed my eyes, and felt my groin throb with pleasure.

I awoke at 7:30 to find the room flooded with sunlight. Ronnie was still in bed with me, his hand under the covers cradling my groin, which was still a little sore from the fight I'd had the night before with Scott. Rick was on the floor beside us, covered with a sheet, and snoring softly.

Well, at least he doesn't stutter in his sleep, I thought. I gingerly slid past Ron and stepped over his older brother, then padded across the room on the plush white carpet and entered their bathroom. My mouth fell open. Their bathroom was even bigger than my parents', I thought. Fancy sink and toilet fixtures, too. This stuff really looked cool -- and expensive.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror by the shower, and winced at the reflection. My limp member hung down half a foot in front of me, like it always did, but I could see my right testicle was definitely a little swollen and bruised.

"I guess this what you call 'blue balls for real,'" I whispered to myself.

My chest and stomach were bruised as well, but not as badly as I feared. My upper chest was still a little red and sore from where the barbell hit me. I poked around gingerly and winced as I encountered a few tender spots, but I was certain nothing was broken.

"Shit, Wil!"

I jumped to find Ronnie standing behind me, still naked. "Your back's got a shit-load of cuts and bruises on it, man."

I nodded. "Yeah. That was a parting gift from Scott last night."

He walked up beside me, then put his hand on my back, then reached down lower. I flinched, but he rubbed me cautiously and tenderly.

"I meant what I said, Wil," he whispered. "I'll kill him for what he did to you."

"Forget it, Ron," I replied, shaking my head. "Chuck really gave it to him last night. I'm sure Scott won't sit down for a week."

Ronnie shivered at the thought of Chuck and Scott, together in the weight room. He looked up at me with tears in his eyes. "Then I hope Chuck makes Scott wish he was dead," he said, coldly. Sometimes, Ron really scared the hell out of me, and this was definitely one of those times.

"Hey, g-g-guys!"

We both gave a start as his brother Rick stuck his head through the bathroom door.

"Willie Mae's got breakfast all ready," he said. "Get dressed and come d-d-down to the dining room, okay?"

"Who's Willie Mae?" I quipped.

"She's our maid," replied Ronnie. "She cooks and cleans the house and takes care of us when Mom's not here."

Jesus, I thought. This must be like living in a hotel! Rick and Ron left me in the bathroom to take care of business. It hurt a little, but not nearly as badly as I feared. After I finished, I decided to take another shower. I dried myself thoroughly, then checked my still-sore ass in the mirror, just to check its progress. At least it looked normal from the outside, I thought. I walked back into the brothers' bedroom, and Ron tossed me a large T-shirt.

"It's one of Rick's," he said. "You can wear his stuff for now. You two are about the same size."

I nodded. "What about my clothes?" I said, holding up my jeans, which I could now see were stained with a small blotch of dried blood in the back.

"I'll throw all your stuff in the washing machine right now," he said. "I'll tell Mom you slipped and got dirt on 'em, and we'll just clean 'em up. Nobody'll ever know."

"Thanks, Ronnie," I said.

He looked up at me and flashed me a huge smile. "It's part of ze secret meession," he quipped, in a perfect German accent. "Ve must get rid of all ze evidenze, and make zure ze guilty parties are caught oont killt."

I grinned and shook my head. "You know you're totally nuts, right?" I said.

Ron just laughed and ran out of the room, taking my dirty clothes with him.

When I entered the Lannigan's palatial dining room, I couldn't believe the spread laid out on the table before us. Every variety of breakfast meat was there -- bacon, ham, link sausage and patties -- along with hash browns, a serving tray of scrambled eggs, a huge stack of pancakes, and a neat row of glass pitchers with freshly-squeezed orange juice, grapefruit juice, milk, and ice water. Rick was already digging into the pancakes, and Ron pulled a chair out for me next to him and started scooping out a big helping of scrambled eggs for himself.

"Lots of protein in these, Wil," he said, piling them on the plate. "You muscle-bound jocks need this stuff, right?"

I grinned, grabbed my fork and took a bite. "Aren't you gonna have any?" I asked, my mouth half-full. Man, this stuff tasted good.

"Oh," he said, laughing and patting his stomach, "I already had my share of protein last night."

Both brothers practically fell out of their chairs laughing. I rolled my eyes and laughed along with them, then playfully socked Ronnie in the shoulder.

"Boys," called their mother, who walked into the dining room. "Oh, hello, William! I'm so glad you could spend the night with the boys."

"Hi, Mrs. Lannigan," I said, in between mouthfuls. "Thanks for letting me sleep over. This food is fantastic!" I said, taking a bite of pancakes.

She smiled. "That's our Willie Mae! Isn't she wonderful? Anyway, boys, I've got to meet your Uncle Bob at the airport. I'll be back later this afternoon. Willie Mae will stay and make you lunch. Don't drive her crazy, will you?" she said, grabbing her purse.

"Yes, mom," chorused the two brothers, as she left the room.

"By the way," she called from the hallway. "Did you hear what happened at your school last night?"

I almost dropped my fork on my plate. Rick and Ron looked up from their meals, and their faces paled.

"N-n-n-n-n..." stammered Rick.

"NO, Mom, we didn't!" finished Ronnie.

Rick kicked him under the table.

"A boy was hurt and had to be taken to the hospital," she called, walking back into the dining room. "Here it is, on the front page of the metro section of today's paper."

She laid the Saturday morning edition of the Tampa Tribune on the table. In the lower right corner was a blurry picture of Scott Michaels in his football jersey. A small headline read, "Local Athlete Injured in Freak Accident."

I blanched and started to reach for the paper, but Ronnie snatched it out of my hand.

"A near-tragedy was narrowly averted last night," he read aloud, "after a Tampa Central High School football quarterback was injured in the school gymnasium and had to be rushed to the emergency room on Friday night at 7:30PM."

7:30, I gasped! Jesus! I left just before 6. That meant that Chuck and Scott were in the weight room for more than...

"'The student, Scott Henry Michaels,'" continued Ron as he read the news item, "'was the second Tampa Central quarterback to be sidelined this season. Team quarterback Robert Carlson, a junior, had previously broken his leg in a motorcycle accident last month. Michaels, age 15, was rescued after he was reportedly crushed by a barbell in the school gymnasium. Dr. Simon McAdams, a physician at St. Joseph's Hospital, says that Michaels could have bled to death had he not been found in time. Assistant school gym manager, Charles Blossom, is being hailed as a hero after rescuing him.'"

I burst out laughing. "Some hero!" I said.

"Keep reading, R-R-Ronnie," muttered Rick, shooting me a glance.

"'Michaels suffered a mild concussion and a badly broken arm, which reportedly occurred during unauthorized use of school exercise equipment. Tampa Central High Dean of Boys Steven P. Lucas refused to provide any specific details regarding the accident, pending an investigation. Lucas did indicate that the student was expected to be released sometime Sunday morning, and that his injuries weren't life-threatening but would prevent him from returning to the team for the rest of the season.'"

The three of us crowded around the paper. I stared at the photo of Michaels. He looked almost handsome, smiling at the camera. That wasn't the smile I saw last night, I thought, shivering at the memory.

"Richard, you knew this Scott Michaels, didn't you?" called his mother as she walked towards the front door.

"N-n-n-not all that well, M-m-mom!" he answered, nervously. He and Ronnie glanced at each other.

She stopped and thought for a moment. "Didn't he used to come by occasionally last year?" she asked, as she opened the front door.

Rick nodded, then turned back to me, his eyes flashing with anger.

"Oh, well," she said. "At least he'll be alright. Now, you boys be good, and don't make a mess in the house! Merry Christmas, Wil!"

She left and closed the door.

"Shit, a broken arm!" I said, quietly.

Ron giggled. "They mean a broken ASS!"

I winced. Mine was still a little sore.

"Shut up, Ronnie," snapped his older brother. "Well, I guess you t-t-told us the truth," he said, staring at me, then the paper.

I rolled my eyes. "Whad'ya think, Rick?" I cried. "I beat myself up and then ripped the shit out of my own butthole?"

"I'm s-s-s-orry, Wil," he said, looking down at his plate.

Ron put his hand on my shoulder. "I told him you were tellin' the truth," he said, in a quiet voice. "I think he still likes Scott."

"Shut UP, Ronnie!" snarled Rick, as he stormed out of the room.

Ronnie and I finished our breakfast in silence. I even had a second helping. Ron giggled when I let out a loud fart as we left the table.

"Please pass on my compliments to the cook for today's cuisine," I said, as Ronnie dissolved into laughter.

By mid-afternoon, my jeans were clean enough that I could wear them again. There was no tell-tale signs of bloodstains anymore. My underwear were a lost cause, however, so we opted to just throw them away. Right before 4PM, Mrs. Lannigan dropped me off at my place, and Ron ran up to the door with me.

"Can you come back again tonight, Wil?" he asked, plaintively.

I shook my head. "I want to take it easy for a few days, Ronnie. I still hurt like hell, and I've also got some Christmas shopping to do."

He nodded and walked back to the car and got in. "Call me tomorrow, willya Wil?" he yelled out the window, as they backed out of the driveway.

"I will, Ronnie!" I yelled back, and walked into our living room. I took a good look around. Jesus, why have I never noticed how this place is a dump, I thought. It looked like shit compared to the Lannigan's house, I mused, as I tore up the stairs, two steps at a time.

"Wil!" called my mother from the kitchen. "Sky called this morning. He asked me to tell you that one of the boys from school got hurt last night."

I winced. "I know all about it, Mom!" I yelled down the hallway.

She walked out in the living room and looked up at me suspiciously. "How do you already know?" she asked.

"I read it in the paper this morning," I replied casually. "Can I use the phone in your bedroom up here?"

"Alright," she said. "You know, I'm just going to have to ask your father to get another upstairs phone. You and your sister use the family phone far too much."

My face brightened. "Hey! Could we get our own line?"

She laughed. "Let me talk it over with Santa later on."

"Thanks Mom!" I yelled, running down the hall.

I shut their bedroom door, grabbed the phone by their bed, and quickly dialed Sky's number. He answered, but I cut him off before he could blurt out the news about Scott.

"I was there, Sky," I said, and told him the details of what happened, omitting what I suspected Chuck did afterward, and about Scott's extra-curricular activities.

"Holy shit," he murmured. "I knew Scott had some problem with you, but I didn't understand why," he said.

"Yeah, some macho athlete he turned out to be," I said, grimly.

Sky was silent. "Jesus, Wil. I'm really sorry that happened. Does it still hurt?"

I laughed, then winced as I felt one of the bruises on my chest. "Only when I laugh," I said. "Or sit down. Or do anything."

"Fuck. I guess this means you'll wanna skip the dance on Tuesday," he said, a tone of disappointment creeping into his voice.

I mulled it over. I wasn't feeling all that bad, I thought. In three days I should feel OK. And I'd hate to piss-off Cynthia even before she really got to know me.

"No," I said, surprising myself. "I'll go."

"That's great!" he said, sounding relieved. "We'll pick you up at 7, sharp."

"I'll be ready," I replied. I hung up the receiver. "Shit, I'll be glad if I survive the night," I said out loud, to nobody in particular.

I grinned back at him and nodded.
 
     
 

© 2001, John Francis