The Consequences of Envy

 This set of stories is fiction; and all characters depicted are seventy years old or older; and any resemblance to places or anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.

This is copy righted material. Do not read if underage. No downloading is permitted.

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My mother took on a defensive air when I confronted her of Coach Conley’s involvement when school let out.

‘’The pictures came in this morning’s mail here at Pace in my in-box. After looking at one, it was just too much for me; knowing what that man had pictured doing to you.

It’s just I felt you need some male guidance after your ordeal.’’

She explained;

‘’Mr. Conley offered to help when we discussed your abduction last week — when I asked for some days off to negotiate with your abductor. I had to talk with someone Pat.’’

Mother went on;

’’Coach Conley said it was important with what happened to you, not to let what happened to get hidden, or sublimated; as, it’d cause you to have a neuroses; and, though the pictures are a horrible reminder of your ordeal, in a way, they are a way to heal too, he told me.’’

‘Or, remind me I’m still a faggot up for grabs,’ I thought.

She went on;

‘’I was shocked the abductor would still stay in touch after your escape. Did Mr. Conley show them all to you? I still haven’t told the FBI of them.’’ she said.

‘’ Don’t. Forget the FBI; just get them all back, from Coach ‘Freud’ Mom; today, now.’’ I demanded.

''Well they could be evidence, Pat. We could get in trouble for not telling  them.'' 

Mom philosophized;

‘’The man likely sent them to show that he thinks he is in control of you — not sure he knows the FBI is, and was, involved already, either; so, guess he wants us to think ya’ll are good together — or, that he’s not the monster I, or society, would think, since you appeared to be enjoying it, Pat. He’s going to be sorry though.’’ She reasoned; as the pictures, no doubt, further confirmed her opinion of me as 'that way'.

‘’He’s sending me a message, I think if anything, that says he could be way more a monster, and knows where to find me,’’ I said. ''or, let us know these could sell and be all over the place if you threaten him.''

‘One thing was certain; the FBI hadn’t arrested him yet.’ I thought.

I realized I had to get them from coach myself, somehow.

I walked to coach Conley’s office. I knew he would be on the football field to put the team through their exercises and scrimmages. I found his door to be unlocked and stepped in. My heart was pounding, but, I quickly I saw a small filing cabinet beside his desk, opened it, and selected the folder section for ‘K’.  I found the folder with my name, grabbed it, and exited his office.

I couldn’t believe it was that simple. On the drive home with mother, I opened the folder to make sure they were all there. The one of me sitting upon the table in the submissive pose, with a teasing smile, wasn’t among them.

He might as well have still had them all; as, my happy face and collared neck were clearly seen in that photo … which included my hard on, and a clear view of my ass hole as well.

‘Is coach a perv too?’ I wondered.’

’’You really do look to be having a good time. The FBI might have been able to get  finger print or some evidence.'' Mother observed, as I shuffled through them.

‘’I’ve already told the FBI that I had no sex with the man, Mom; if I had,  they’d think I was queer and put that upon my permanent record … and possibly arrest me for lying  to them. These photos would confirm that for them. I don’t want some record of me as, ‘a queer’ to be on file with them forever; nor, do I want there to be some big trial to convict this man for molesting me, because I’d  never get over that.’’ I almost yelled, then thinking of the photographs that agent had of me.

‘’ I did wonder if you had willingly gone with this man; and he did sound sincere, Pat.’’

‘’Had I not escaped, would you have seriously considered giving him guardianship?’’

‘’If you had told me, yourself, and joined in those later talks with him, ‘said that’s what you wanted, I may have. You are old enough, Pat.’’ She reasoned.

‘’If he hadn’t murdered Stu, I might have too.’’  I said.

‘’Murdered WHO? That boy you said you’d run away with?’’  Said mother, obviously shocked, swerving the car, and applying the brakes.

I realized that was a blunder. I'd wanted to hurt her back; but now realized she may just go to the FBI with that … and, give them the photos too.

‘’Murdered ‘the STEW’, Mom,’’ I corrected. ‘’ He was a horrible cook!’’ I said.

I went on;

''Yes, his dick was great, Mom; it was hot in my butt, and he shot huge loads into it, and I sucked it like a 'slurpy'. You can understand that I'll bet'' I admitted, and felt rather good about saying that.

''Eww. Well, I hope your brother isn't 'that way' too; as, I do want to see some grand kids someday.'' she said. 

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The next morning I put on the exercise uniform Coach Conley had given me. The shorts and tank top were the school color of red and white, with the small monogram of Pace Academy, and the gym shorts had a little inside pocket I could put cards or coins. They were tight, and I wondered if Coach Conley had intended that. 

‘What could be more perfect than to wear this to the park for a good run?’ I thought.

I jogged up to Peachtree Street and took the 23 Oglethorpe bus to 14th street and walked over to the park.

‘This is my very first venture to find sex with another guy,’ I thought; and, then I thought of Stu’s prediction.

‘Well, where are all the faggots?’

I walked to the ‘Witch's Cave’. 

It’s a Roman arch of rustic lime stone work, an alcove inset in a mound of a small hill with the approach as if a natural feature, amidst oak trees. It's not really a cave, perhaps ten feet deep, where a bench of granite rests, for those who stroll and want perhaps a minimal amount of privacy, where a kiss might be stolen, without onlookers aghast, or a spot where one might step out of an unexpected rain shower; but, hardly a lair for perverts; and the area is paved with huge flag stones that lead to a gravel trail, which in turn, ends at the huge pavilion and open air Greek style amphi-theater. This is where pink marble is liberally used, and fashioned in huge tear drop shapes as the marble flows to various end points, to adorn, as the finials of low granite knee walls.

I couldn’t imagine homosexuals could get away with their activities there, even at night, as light posts were everywhere. The area was empty of people as I wandered about, but I could see where, near by, cars could park.

I walked back to Peachtree street and considered going to the High Museum, since gays like art, I figured. It was free too; and I liked art.

As I stood and pondered my options, a platinum blond bearded man in his twenties, of about 6 feet, in an open black leather jacket, with a white t-shirt and blue jeans, wearing black work boots ran across the busy street to my corner at the bus stop.

‘’Hello boy,’’ the man said as he walked past me. I turned to look, and he said,  ‘’You are either out growing that athletic suit, or strutting your stuff.’’ He said with a broad smile.

I was embarrassed and looked away, toward downtown where a bus might come.

I shouldn’t have looked at him when he called me ‘boy,’ I thought; back in my ‘straight personal defense mode’ — that seemed now tied to geographic locations.

He walked back to where I stood. He leaned toward me and said; ‘’Wanna shoot some pool?‘’  He waved toward a pool room with a neon beer sign, and a wink of his eye.

I looked again at his face. He didn’t look to be what I’d always thought to be queer, and I classified his dress as that of a motorcycle guy, hood or bully, but not a greaser; though now he could very well exist among the group I sought.

I decided to converse with him as a possible sex partner, as I thought, ’neither had any of those who’d recently fucked me, looked queer either.’

I told him ‘’I don’t have enough money; plus, don’t think I’m old enough to go in,’’  looking at the neon Bud beer sign.

‘’It is fine. Games are only 15 cents there, and I’m good for a few; so, com’ on; I’ll even buy you a beer if you don’t have your ID card.’’ he said.

‘’My name is Jake. I’m a veteran, and was over in Viet Nam just six weeks ago. Trust me on this, you do not want to go there.’’ As if dumping a bucket of garbage to show it’s unbelievable contents he went on a while about his ordeal.

We shook hands and did some other small talk as we walked to the pool hall.

‘’I work over at the High museum installing shows — just a labor job, but great for me as an artist. We just put up this Pop art show that’ll amaze you. You’ve heard of Andy Warhol and Jasper Johns haven't you?’’

He clearly knew the people in the small pool hall too, as they exchanged words upon entry.

There were only four pool tables in front of a bar of about a dozen stools. They were separated by a juke box that sat against the wall, where upon the empty area we walked across, it could have been for dancing between them.

We chose a table, got pool sticks to shoot, and a dwarf fellow of about 4’6’’, who was called ‘HowDo’ by the others, racked the balls standing from a little stool he carried about. We played eight ball while HowDo chatted with us.

I’d played often before with my brother, and thought myself a good shot; but Jake was amazing, and after I’d missed, he quickly ran the table.

As almost an apology he explained;

‘’One thing I like about pool is, it isn’t as straight forward as most people think. There is a simplicity to it that’s elegant, as it is about physics; but, like chess, one has to think ahead to get shape, or good position, when playing a game — it is definitely more about what you know than how steady or precise a shot you are. You can even fuck with the other player’s concentration when they shoot.’’ He said, looking down at my crotch.

He set up some pool balls left over from my failure, and arranged them saying how strategy would determine how to play certain shots.

‘’I also think it’s a great metaphor for a lot things in life too. Take spin for example?’’ He shot, caused the ball’s spin to do improbable gyrations to the eight ball, and talked about the news of Viet Nam, and showing how his set up could benefit different sides of an argument.

I asked to have a cigarette from How Do when he lit up.

‘’ Sure, if you sing the scale as Julie Andrews did in 'Sound of Music' — and hit every note.’’ He challenged.

I began singing, thinking it an amusing request . I wondered at How Do seeing that movie, though, I'd enjoyed it; yet, when I reached the high note my voice broke. I must have also looked shocked as they both laughed. I tried again a few times and failed with a honking crude sound — where I thought then of the red head braying in Pinocchio — rather than accept that puberty was catching up.

‘’I’ll give you one for that attempt alone.’’ Laughed How Do.     

Jake asked what I was doing at the park, and I told them I was there to work out and do my running.

''And, there you stand puffing a cigarette.'' He said.

 I was also checking out the ‘witch’s cave’ I’d heard about, I explained. Without going into detail of its reputation as a gay meeting spot. I described the general configuration of the place, along a strolling path, and told them I admired the pink marble. I knew it was the queer factor he would know about, and if queer, I assumed he’d play his hand.

The dwarf, called How-Do, asked if I saw any witches.

''You a witch, boy?'' He persisted.

I said, ‘’witches are women. Do I look like a girl?,’’  and, I began to utter an insult, 'You don’t look like Wilt Chamberlain,' but thought better of it.

He then walked to my face, flipped the pool que stick between my thighs; then, boldly, with broad grin, jutted chin, and his cigarette pointed up from pursed lips; effectively showing me I’d given him this right to invade my personal space, said; ‘‘fly this, BITCH!’’

Jake, picked up on the dwarf's aggression, and grasped the other end of the pool stick; and they both lifted, such that the pole wedged between my ass crack — and, they laughed at my off balance predicament. I grasped the pole trying to balance, confused of the abrupt change in activity.

I laughed with some hesitation, saying ‘’fellas what are ya doing?‘’  knowing I’d invited it.

It was obvious their interest was sexual — as mine was too; yet, I wasn’t sure I was ready to green light their aggressive sexual interest. I was surprised it’d been so easily ignited; that, I’d laid the ground work for it with a mere comment. But, it was too late to halt it now I figured.

The short, short snug gym pants Conley had given me, that I wore, pushed up by these unabashedly fiendish visaged men, got me aroused too. They slid the varnished stick back and forth, with unvarnished devilish grins along my fleshy crotch. A look I'd seen earlier somewhere.

My dick and balls were squeezed; and finally popped out of the tight crotch fit of the gym shorts, and shown as if little shiny, inflated, toy balloons against the red cotton fabric strangling them.

Another guy at the bar also came around front, seeing the play his friends had started. He went to the front door and locked it; scrolled down the blind and joined us; unbuckling his belt.

'Had this same scenario been played out before; often?' I wondered.  I was off balance on tip toes, or off the ground entirely, as they rocked the pool stick, up and down, between my thighs.

‘’You can balance well, you witchy bitchy boy; so, you probably could fly a broom. But the ‘Witch's Cave’ is for queers. We love queers; and it looks like we’ve found one; huh, Jake?’’ said HowDo.

They noted my genitals; now fully hard, and HowDo moved in. Without lowering his stick, he rubbed his stubby fingered hand upon my dick. He rested the pool stick on his shoulder as Jake still lifted the other end; so, as to keep me off balance. Short as HowDo was, he maneuvered under the stick such as I felt his scratchy chin and cheeks, and then, wet tongue; lapping at my balls.

Jake grasped me from behind, under my arm pits, just at that lechery and pulled me away. He sat me upon the pool table.  HowDo took my white tennis shoes and socks off, Jake grasped my gym short’s and pulled them off in one easy motion — though I did help by, lifting my ass, straightening my legs, and pointed toes for him; and the bar man then lifted my tank top off, as I raised my arms to assist him. I gave him a closer look to see a similar evil grin the others sported.

To my mind this was wonderful. Naked and vulnerable to total strangers upon a pool table who wanted sex with me; my hard dick dripping with HowDo's spit.