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A Thanksgiving to Remember:
Lambda Alpha Beta - part 1.
Life After the Thanksgiving holiday.
• The weeks before Christmas.
The scent of Aunty Dee’s constant cooking – rich, warm, and comforting – was the smell of home. A concept Liam Moore, the 21-year-old SHU college freshman, had almost forgotten.
In the days after Thanksgiving, the Ryders’ house had become his temporary sanctuary. ‘The white boy’ existed here without judgment. To the younger neighborhood kids, he was simply the friend who played games and fixed things. The Ryders just cared for Liam’s happiness. Letting him help out around the house, while he bunked with their son, Blake. This genuine affection exposed the Moore-Johnson family’s ‘love’ for Liam as the polite farce it had always been.
Sometimes, lying awake in the dark, Liam’s gaze fell on his new jacket, the butch leather catching the faint street light. The anxiety tightened in his gut: Christmas at the Moores. He knew the black leather and a more confident posture would be instantly scrutinized by his family, confirming their worst suspicions. Though he planned to fight back, he acknowledged the truth had to come out eventually: he was turning gay.
Inevitably, Liam drifted off to sleep with a defiant grin. After all, Christmas was weeks away anyway. Still, the idea of resisting his family’s belittling efforts already felt good. His family lived miles away on the other side of Blackwood Valley. The Moore-Johnson family had no clue that he’d celebrated Thanksgiving with the Ryders. This defiant detail gave him a quiet satisfaction. For now, he was happy, lying here in Blake’s room. Safe in the knowledge that the old Liam Moore was never coming back.
• Bundling up.
The Ryders weren’t rich like Maurits M’Kumi, yet their house was the neighborhood’s living room. Aunty Dee’s door was always open. People flowed in and out constantly: neighborhood kids needing watching, parents seeking a listening ear, or just anyone wanting to be where the action was.
Liam, recognizing the toll all this community care took, quietly picked up the slack. He roped the exterior painter, Blake, into painting the upstairs landing and dedicated his own time to cleaning and reorganizing the garage. Taking care of the yard equipment and getting their small front yard ready for winter.
One morning, after Liam had done the dishes, Mama Dee called Lee to the living room. Her gaze was soft, maternal. She knew Liam had only ever experienced the mild winters in Blackwood Valley, NC, and that Sterling Harbor frosts would be brutally different. She asked the college boy if he even owned a warm, woolly winter sweater, noting his thin hoodies. She immediately offered to knit him one, asking what the SHU colors were.
Together, they decided on an intricate, Viking-inspired cable-knit sweater. The background in a muted, dark navy blue, with a raised cream-colored cable pattern on top. Adding a tiny hint of crimson red to complete the design. Liam immediately borrowed Blake’s beat-up Trek to get Aunty Dee the wool she needed.
During the bicycle ride into town, Liam couldn’t help but remember the last time he’d worn those colors. It was the torn remnants of his varsity shirt. Colton Ryder had ripped it off his torso on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. The challenging sex that followed had been fantastic – stuff only the dirtiest of wet dreams were made of.
Mama Dee, of course, had no idea this had happened. Still, the motherly care she took of Liam made him think she knew more than she let on. Yet, she insisted she just wanted to bundle him up. Explaining to Lee that winters in Sterling Harbor can be rough, with bitter winds blowing from the Atlantic. The college freshman did not know. This would be his first winter on campus there.
• White Noise.
Liam awoke early on December 5th. The usual morning light in Blake’s room was dimmed, replaced by a dense, muffled white glow. The windowsill was covered in a thick layer of snow. The sound that finally pulled him from the edge of sleep was a muffled crunch of a car struggling through the fresh snow outside. Winter had come early to Blackwood Valley this year. And a glance at his phone told Liam that old man winter was here to stay.
He quickly dressed in his new black leather Levi’s 501s, tucked tightly into his engineer boots. A warm gray hoodie and red scarf softened the stern look of his simple black leather biker jacket. He slipped downstairs, grabbed the wide aluminum shovel from the garage, and started clearing the front stoop. The air was frigid, but the work was satisfying.
Liam had barely cleared the first landing when he spotted the Garcia youth, Dave, peering excitedly out from the house next door. He had seen the Mexican family from time to time and hung around with Dave and his younger friends at Aunty Dee’s.
Soon, Dave and half the neighbor youngsters watched Moore setting a good example. All bundled up, they rushed out and started clearing the eight inches of snow from the driveways and sidewalks. Lee suggested to the group that they could sculpt a life-sized, three-dimensional cartoon Father Christmas from densely packed snow. Getting the sidewalks cleaned in the process. It took them the greater part of the morning, filled with laughter and competitive packing.
Mama Dee occasionally appeared with a tray of hot chocolate. Warming the frozen fingers. It became kind of an impromptu block party. Father supplies snow. Mothers red scarves and a hat for Father Christmas. And at the center of it all – although the introvert Liam did not like it much – stood the leather-clad figure everyone had come to love.
Liam took a final step back, admiring the cheerful Father Christmas snowman, one mitten on his jolly hip and the other leaning on the Holly Hill streetsign next to the Garcias’ driveway. It brightened up the street with some extra holiday cheer.
The atmosphere shifted the moment his work was done. A few of the younger kids skedaddled. They had spotted a group of eight figures stomping up the street through the fresh snow. Their leader was unmistakable: Zane Tyrone, the beefy black quarterback from across the street. Liam pegged him as older than most of the group, around 18 or 20. He was clearly itching for a fight.
Zane stopped ten feet from the snowman, his cold sneer and tight-set eyes raking over the dispersing crowd. Liam, however, remained to guard his work. A few older youngsters took refuge near the Ryders’ garage, not wanting to miss the confrontation. The playful morning snapped shut.
“Well, well. Look at the white leather boy, guys!” Zane drawled, his voice loud and rough, cutting the snowy quiet. He spat a dark stream of chewing tobacco onto the white ground.
“Playing snow angels with the kindergarten crew, Moore? What’s the matter, too much of a faggot to hang with the big boys?” Tyrone said to the pleasure of his posse.
• The Comeback.
Liam didn’t flinch at Zane’s feeble insults. In fact, he didn’t even look at the bully at first. Blake and Colt had warned him about the mean pothead from across the street, so the threat felt hollow. Liam felt the armor quality of his new leather gear, made from the best cowhide money could buy. And his daring comeback was forged by the lessons in domination and submission he’d learned over Thanksgiving. This look had changed him: Moore was no longer the introverted boy who ran from a challenge.
Liam’s voice was calm, cutting like ice, and he made sure his first sentence carried clearly to Zane’s posse.
“No, ‘In-Zaney.’ But, if I were you, I would just make sure the snow didn’t crush your little wooden shed before it buries your stash. And shovel your daddy’s driveway while you’re at it.”
Liam paused, letting the implication that Zane was a chore-boy sink in with the gang.
Pointing to the group of youngsters cowering near the Ryders’ garage, Liam’s cold voice said, “And trying to sell pot to those kids? Not the smartest business plan either. At least I don’t have to hide my weed under Daddie’s garden tools.”
Liam held Zane’s disbelieving gaze and dropped his voice to an ice-cold whisper aimed at Zane Tyrone. He delivered the final, almost private barb: “Anyway, you do like looking at leather guys, don’t you? Who’s the faggot here, really? It takes one to know one!”
Moore instinctively knew the man wasn’t about to fight him. Zane’s face, already flushed from the cold, went a deeper, sickly gray. The confident sneer shattered, replaced by an expression of pure, panicked shock. ‘The white boy’ saw right through him. The mention of his hidden stash in his parents’ shed – a secret that, if revealed, would ruin his college scholarship chances and his position at home – was a deadly hit. The blow about Zane having feelings for men settled the argument for good. He didn’t even look at his posse. Tyrone just violently shoved one of the guys aside and bolted for his garden shed to remove his merchandise.
The sudden power shift broke the posse’s tension. Without their swaggering leader, Zane’s seven disciples looked confused, then deeply embarrassed. Murmuring awkward curses, they dispersed quickly, kicking snow over the freshly shoveled sidewalks. Zane’s trail of panicked footprints went across the street and straight down the snow-covered drive, toward a small wooden shed on the side of his house.
Liam watched the rest slump off, a small, grim smile touching his lips. He tossed the snow shovel to the side and followed Zane Tyrone across the street. Moore yanked the shed door open, not bothering to knock. He knew precisely what Zane’s conflict was. And his name wasn’t Liam Moore if he did not want to give the Beefy Bully some more guidance.
• Free advice.
The door scraped against the frozen ground, letting in a flash of bright morning light before Liam stepped inside, slamming the door shut behind him. The small space plunged into semi-darkness, smelling faintly of damp wood, motor oil, and weed.
Zane Tyrone stood hunched over a bin near a rusty wheelbarrow, frantically shoving the merchandise into a plastic bag. He looked up, his face a mess of panic and sweat despite the frigid air.
“Get the hell out! Now, Moore! I swear to God, I’ll smash your face in, leather faggot! You hear me? Get the hell out of my sight before I make you regret walking across that street!” Zane shrieked, scrambling to cover his stash, his hands shaking so badly he knocked over the wheelbarrow.
Liam didn’t raise his voice. He simply leaned against the door, the solid weight of his leather jacket making him seem monumental in the cramped space. Even though he was half a head shorter and certainly not as broad in the chest as the quarterback.
“I want you to stop acting like a terrified middle schooler, Tyrone. Sit the fuck down and listen. I am not here to jump your sorry ass. But I will if you don’t do as I say,” commanded Liam, scratching his dick in the process.
Zane hesitated, his chest heaving, but the commanding authority in Liam’s voice – a new sound – compelled him. He sank onto an old toolbox.
As Moore stepped closer, Zane’s eyes immediately fixed just below Liam’s waistbelt, the focal point where all the tension seemed to flow together. Spotting this, Liam deliberately widened his stance, propping one foot on the overturned wheelbarrow. Thus giving the quarterback an unobstructed view of the leather-clad package. Up close, the college freshman noticed Tyrone’s good looks, making his frozen nuts glow.
“Look, I don’t care about your weed, Tyrone. Not really,” Liam stated, watching the quarterback’s eyes dart over Moore’s imposing outfit. “But your dirty little secret is all over your face, and the wrong person will abuse that.” Liam took a step closer, reducing the space between them. “You didn’t care about the snowmen. You cared about my outfit. You cared about me. That’s your real problem, Tyrone. You lash out because you’re terrified of what you want.”
The truth was a heavy blow. Tyrone’s face twisted into a mask of pure, desperate rage. “Bullshit! I don’t want anything from you! You think I look at a pathetic leather queen and get hard? You’re disgusting, Moore! I’m not some goddamn fairy who likes tough leather guys! My only problem is you standing here telling lies!” he screamed, his voice vibrating the shed walls.
• Pointing out the obvious.
Moore looked down on the man and smiled. “What?” snarled Zane.
“Look, stop fondling my leathers. Either stroke my balls or get me hard, but don’t tell me you don’t want this. Look at what your hand is doing, Tyrone!”
Liam paused, letting the silence crush the man. The accusation hung heavy in the stale atmosphere as Tyrone finally refocused his gaze – and gasped. To his own shock and shame, his trembling hand was already resting on Moore’s inner thigh over the supple leather jeans, a subconscious desire made physically obvious.
“You need to figure out who you are, Tyrone. You need to explore this side of yourself and find a safe outlet for those feelings. Blake told me you use your dick like a weapon. That ain’t right! My ass isn’t your outlet, but I have a suggestion that helps us both.”
Tyrone’s face tilted like a puppy listening to its Master’s command. His eyes filled with shock and an unfamiliar realization. Liam had uncovered and broken something fundamental: a shame no social convention would allow a burly man like Zane Tyrone to possess. He was a quarterback, for goodness’ sake. People looked up to him.
Liam then brought up the real subject. “You know the little Garcia man, Dave, across from here? He needs affection and guidance. Mind you, he is too young for sex, yet. So get that out of your head right now! But he follows me around like a puppy seeking approval – a classic trait of someone needing a strong brotherly connection.”
Liam put a hand on Zane’s shoulder. Saying, “Dave is at that age where he could do with a mentor. Someone who can teach him about himself. You’re going to take Dave under your wing.”
It wasn’t a question; Moore was issuing a direct command, “... You’re not doing this for me, Tyrone. You’re doing this for Dave’s well-being and for your own peace of mind. He needs someone to look up to. And you need a distraction that isn’t a joint. If this leads to something more, then make it enjoyable for both of you.”
“This is your deal, Zane. Your payment for my silence. You mentor Dave. You help him discover himself, and in turn, you’ll discover more about your own needs.”
Zane could only stare, confusion battling fear.
Liam reached out, his black leather glove resting lightly behind Zane’s head. The other fist coiled back, aiming directly at Zane’s face. He had no plan to hit the man, but the threat was real enough for Tyrone.
“I want to see loyalty from Dave, and I want to see you acting like a responsible older brother. If I hear one more homophobic slur come out of your filthy mouth, or if Dave seems anything less than happy, I’ll know you failed, and your scholarship is the least of your worries. Understand?”
Zane managed a choked, “Ya... -yes.”
• A worshipping sniff.
Moore looked where Zane’s eyes were still focusing their intent. The silence of the shed stretched, heavy with need. Liam watched the quarterback’s gaze track the rise and fall of the package, taking in the texture of the cowhide.
“Wanna give it a sniff or a lick, Tyrone?” Liam asked, his voice low and utterly confident.
Zane barely nodded, his brown eyes wide and vacant, already lost to the command. His frantic hostility had completely bled away, replaced by a desperate, hungry focus. Liam didn’t have to force the issue. He simply stood motionless, letting the sheer presence of the leather and the straining manhood inside it do the work.
Slowly, carefully, Zane slid off the toolbox. He knelt before Liam, hands hovering for a moment. He lowered his head, pressing his nose first into the leather of Liam’s thigh, worshiping the rich, tanned hide. Tyrone’s breathing hitched. Liam moaned, a low, guttural sound of pleasure and power. He had broken a man.
Then, Zane moved his mouth, wetting a spot on the jeans, his tongue moving in a small, desperate circle right where the heat of Liam’s manhood was most apparent beneath the cowhide. This was leather worship in its purest form.
After a few minutes of this, Liam pulled the yearning quarterback off the woodshed floor. Giving the drooling, horny devil a good slobber and a freeing hug before stepping resolutely away.
“Good. Now get the pot locked away, and start shoveling the God damn driveway. Your time starts now.” Liam turned, yanked the door open, and stepped back out into the snow. It had taken less than 8 minutes to get his message across. His heavy engineer boots crunched on the snow as he headed back toward the warmth of the Ryder house, leaving Zane to ponder a potentially life-changing task.
• Maurits’ mistake.
Liam walked back across the street, the adrenaline from the shed encounter still humming under his skin. He picked up the abandoned snow shovel as he walked to the garage door, ready to retreat to the warmth and the satisfied quiet of his victory.
Maurits M’Kumi was standing just inside the garage, his arms crossed in a tight, disapproving manner. His face was livid, his dark eyes wide and dramatically troubled.
“You stop right there, Liam Moore.” Maurits’s voice was a tight, low wire of tension. “I saw the entirety of that angered exchange. The way that boy fled from you. The way you cornered him in that shed. It was calculated cruelty. That is not the purpose of the lessons we gave you.”
Liam stared, bewildered. “Cruelty, me? I saved him, Maurits. I gave him sound advice.”
“That wasn’t advice, Liam, that was brute coercion. What was the tactic? Did you intend to exploit him – to violate him sexually – just because he used a slur? It’s predatory exploitation!”
The accusation hit Liam like a physical blow, stripping away the satisfaction of his win. “He’s of age, Maurits! Nothing happened...”
Maurits didn’t wait for the rest of the defense. He pulled out his phone, his eyes flashing with conviction. “I can’t be here right now. I need distance from this kind of toxic power game.”
M’Kumi left Moore standing in the freezing garage. Unable to believe what the Professor mistook him for. He would never use a minor. And big man Zane Tyrone was anything but.
• Getting the chill out of the air.
When Liam walked inside, Colton immediately asked if he had seen Maurits. “Who?” Liam scoffed, his anger simmering. “Oh, the guy who just accused me of being predatory? I only talked with Zane. Nothing sexual happened between us. NOTHING!” Liam stomped angrily upstairs to take a hot shower and think, his lost appetite forcing him to skip lunch.
Looking out of Blake’s window later, he saw Zane shoveling their drive, helped by Dave Garcia. They were merrily chatting – a noticeable shift, as Dave usually steered clear of the neighborhood bully. If it weren’t for their blatant differences, one might mistake them for brothers.
It took Colton a few days to figure out the whole story. Once he talked to the pothead Tyrone, things returned to normal. Maurits came back, apologized to the family for his sudden departure, and even managed to begrudgingly admit his mistake to Liam.
Moore, seizing the opportunity, put the power bottom in his place. Ordering the English Lit professor from Sterling Harbor Uni to drop to his fucking knees and service him. The power bottom had not seen this coming. Lee took his satisfying win hard, fast, and extremely nasty – in a way he had wished he had dealt with Zane Tyrone. Stuffing his jizz deep into Maurit’s throat. However, Moore was still a beginning dom, and the straight-acting black quarterback was nowhere near ready to get skull-fucked like the power bottom M’Kumi.
• The week before Christmas.
Zane and Dave seemed to hit it off really well. Dave was so excited when he told Liam that he had invited Zane to his upcoming birthday party. Apparently, Moore was quite the matchmaker. Dave privately confided that he was looking forward to making out with Zane. Explaining that the ebony stud was less than two years older than him.
Liam’s mouth fell open. He knew Garcia was the oldest in his neighborhood age group. Yet, Dave had invited several older friends from school, not wanting another kids’ party. Still, it appeared the 5-foot-4 Mexican already had plans far beyond the average guy his age. A few persistent questions led Liam to conclude that all of this came from Garcia himself; neither Zane nor he had influenced the youth in the slightest.
Dave then shifted the conversation, asking Liam for a private talk about being gay. He willingly confessed that he had been having those kinds of feelings since he was very young, but had never had them explained to him by someone who understood. In his youthful innocence, Dave assumed Liam was gay too and wanted to talk to him about it.
Fresh off the drama with Maurits, Liam was quick to deflect these questions from the budding youth. He told him they could have that conversation after his upcoming birthday. Though disappointed, Dave seemed to understand Liam’s hesitation, not wanting to see Moore get into more trouble.
To cheer him up, Liam suggested a trip to the Mainstreet Plaza for a haircut. Dave hesitated. “Isn’t that near the northern station? That’s the bad end of town.”
Liam brushed his fear off. “Bullshit,” Liam countered, “... We need to look our best for your birthday if you want to impress ‘In-Zaney.’ And besides, I’ll be coming with you, buddy. Time to start acting your age. You are old enough to stand your ground, Garcia. You only have to ask your mom for permission and a few dollars.” The promise made Dave grin with pride.
• The student became the teacher.
It was the day of the barber appointment. Dave had been hanging around with Aunty Dee all morning. Making snide remarks and chatting up a storm. The boy asked if he could use the bathroom before he left with Liam to bicycle into town. A few moments later, Liam followed the dude to get his boots and a shopping bag. He wanted to buy a few things to carry all his new clothes back to the Sterling Harbor Uni campus. All the extra leather clothes would never fit in his roller case and duffel bag.
Liam found Dave transfixed. Watching the little man from the door into the hallway with quiet satisfaction. Dave was staring at the clothes rack on the other end of the hall. The whirlwind Garcia dude was one of the boldest young men around. But he was completely paralyzed, staring his eyes out. His entire focus was on Liam’s new denim-and-leather trucker jacket hanging on the hall rack. The yearning in the man’s eyes was utterly evident: he apparently craved a tough, classic coat just like the one Liam owned.
Though Dave saw Colton Ryder wear plenty of buff leather outfits, those were much too butch for his 5-foot-4 frame. Liam’s smaller size would almost fit the growing youth. And that had him transfixed with sudden longing. The sight of Garcia staring at the coat rack, fighting his own shyness, made Liam suppress a chuckle. He understood that specific, desperate desire completely. Liam had felt the same way over a week ago.
But as soon as Dave noticed Liam watching him, he made a childish run for it. The young man was out of the Ryders’ front door in a flash. Not even bothering to step into his shoes. Moore had a hard time catching up with Garcia, but when he did, he grabbed the short stud in a bear hug and swept him off the freezing sidewalk.
“Calm the fuck down, Dave. You’re not in trouble just for looking. Wanna try it on for real, though?” Liam whispered softly to the boy hanging in his arms.
“Can... Can I... But... But...” whimpered Garcia.
“I insist, and if you have a few savings, we can get you a cheap Chinese knockoff faux leather jacket, too. We may as well go shopping once we are in town. You have to ask your mom and dad, though!”
Dave looked up at the man holding him off the floor and puckered his lips in thanks.
“Keep it in your pants, boy. Or ‘In-Zaney’ will bash my head in,” joked Liam softly.
Placing the dude in front of the mirror, Liam slid his arms into his plain black leather biker jacket and handed the denim-and-leather coat to Dave. The short, black-haired Mexican stood in the same spot where Liam and Colton had shared their hug the day before Thanksgiving. Liam settled the butch leather-sleeved trucker coat onto Dave’s shoulders. Realizing he was teaching a younger version of himself the exact lesson in bravery and confidence he had learned from Master Colt.
However, Liam decided against deflowering the young man right then and there – as Master Colt had done to him. Feeling that primal honor should go to someone else. Besides, Garcia did not seem the type to be dominated. So he simply asked Garcia for his phone. Taking a few seductive pictures of the birthday man in the cool summer jacket. The mesmerizing glint in Dave’s eyes was unmistakable, though the eager bump in his pants told the whole story.
“Okay,” grunted Liam in pleasure, “... Haircut and some shopping. Go show your dad what you want for your birthday. But, hurry up, we have to get there in time.”
• The warning.
Colton had witnessed the whole affecting scene. And he wasn’t at all pleased with what he saw.
As Dave Garcia raced out the door, Colt called Liam to his room.
“What the HELL do you think you’re doing, Moore? First, the pothead from across the street. Now the minor from next door? What. The. Hell, man?”
Liam, wide-eyed and stunned at the unfounded accusation, squinted his eyes. Always a good sign you were in trouble.
“First of all, Mr. Ryder, NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS. I bet you’ve done plenty of things the cops...– Anyway.”
“Secondly... BUDDY... Nothing has happened between Zane and me yet. I thought we all agreed on that?”
“And Thirdly... BUSTER... Jealous much? Now, if you don’t mind, I have to take a friend for a sexy birthday haircut.”
As Liam stomped back upstairs, Colton called after him, “Terror! You’d best keep this above board!”
• A cut above the rest.
Moore raced Garcia to FadePro, a barbershop for young men wanting that little extra. Dave’s wild, unruly black locks were given a nice fade with a diamond cut-out on one side. The fringe was kept a little longer, but more tamed than before, with a side parting. In the back, Liam suggested a small, tight tail braid. It contrasted butchly with the fade. The new look instantly aged the young man a few years.
What really made the man grow was his first shopping spree. Lee noticed a Nemo’s just out of sight on a side street. There was one in Sterling Harbor, too. Although this one was much smaller. This closeout store sold anything and everything, including the cheap Chinese knockoffs the guys were looking for.
Dave could not believe his eyes. And the prices were equally fantastic. Liam pulled 3 jackets off the racks. Telling Dave, “Take your time, Garcia. Try them all on for looks and size. Make sure it’s comfortable around the arms and shoulders. Throw a few punches and do a few stretches. While you’re at it, I’ll ask about those large shopping bags I need; I’ve got plenty of new stuff to haul back to college after Christmas.”
As Liam walked deeper into the store, he bumped into Maurits M’Kumi. The man emerged from the backroom office. Liam’s mouth fell open. Now he knew why Colton called the man Nemo. This was his chain of stores. The place where Maurits was unable to sell the shifty merchandise they had talked about. Needing the thug Colton to help get rid of it at a profit. Liam felt so utterly stupid that he hadn’t realized this almost obvious connection before.
Simultaneously, they asked, “What are you doing here?” They laughed.
“You first, buddy,” said the professor politely.
“Getting Dave Garcia a new jacket for his birthday. He saw some of mine and was, let’s say, impressed. This all yours?... Umm... Nemo?”
“Yup. What are you looking for, Lee?” Maurits asked, thumping Liam on the shoulder.
“Bags or suitcases to carry my gear back to SHU after Christmas. It’s nice you two got me all that stuff, but I don’t know how I will get it back to the concrete jungle on campus by train.”
“Good point, forgot about that. Two things, budd. I made contact with λ α β. They have room in their fraternity. Colt’s old frat – Vance House, Lambda Alpha Beta, on the rougher edge of town. You would have to go through the whole initiation thing. But you’ll find they are right op your alley. Leather master and subs, and queer as fuck. And... Umm... I can give you a ride home after Christmas. But you’ll need a few large bags anyway, I guess,” smirked Maurits. “And again, sorry about the earlier misunderstanding. Colt put me right.”
“That’s Master Colt, Bitch. Don’t forget, or I’ll tell on you,” laughed Liam with a dirty grin.
Dave came looking for Liam, clearly nervous under the sales assistant’s annoyed gaze. Liam gestured for the youth to turn slowly. Garcia hadn’t opted for the expected look; he’d gone for a fourth option: a butchly distressed vintage bomber featuring trucker-style chest pockets. The jacket was rendered all in black suede, offset by shiny leather sleeves and collar. The jacket didn’t just suit the young man; it swallowed the uncertainty he walked in with, making him look assertive and grown for his age.
Shopping done and plans set in motion, the men arrived back on Holly Hill in half the time it took them to cycle into town. The jacket – half off – quickly became Dave’s pride and joy. Even his father approved of the new, tougher look. Thanking Liam after the shopping spree.
What he did not know was that Lee had popped into a local adult store for some ‘essentials’ for the growing young man. Dave was delighted with the training equipment. Sharing a sneaky selfie with a small brown dildo in his hairy butt and a chest full of spilled milk. Despite his short stature, the Mexican youth’s dark dick was a rather impressive tool already.
• A jolly birthday.
A few days before Christmas, on the 18th, the focus was on the Garcia residence. The house was packed with friends, including Blake, Zane, and Liam.
Zane had quietly asked Dave to take him to his room, away from prying eyes and the other guests. Not entirely trusting Zane’s intentions, Moore followed at a distance. Listening to the gift exchange from the landing. Tyrone had somehow procured a 2nd-hand tactical switchblade, tied in a bow and string, for his new buddy’s protection. Dave did not mind where Zane had taken it from. It was precisely the butch gift he had been hoping for.
Liam waited a moment, then decisively followed the guys inside. Pushing Dave’s bedroom door quietly closed behind him.
Tyrone’s dirty grin could not have been wider as Liam walked in. Zane was obviously pleased that Garcia wasn’t shy about showing his affection, yet getting caught with his dick out seemed a subtle worry.
Moore did not mind in the slightest, though. Dave was finally old enough to start experimenting. He was immediately struck by the sight of Zane’s manhood. The sheer length was impressive. While Tyrone wasn’t half as girthy as Colton Ryder, the black eleven inches made an undeniable impact on Liam. Oh, and the blade was a nice thought, too. Liam understood why Zane did not want to hand over either gift in public.
Moore found the young Garcia man sitting on his knees. Holding the joggers down and gleefully slurping on the chocolate-covered Churro between the quarterback’s spread legs. Dave looked unapologetically over his shoulder and smacked the baseball bat against his cheek. Liam ruffled his hair and kissed Zane, wishing both a happy birthday. Calmly giving Tyrone the warning, “Play nice now. But hurry back down as soon as you’re done.”
• A not-so-fun Christmas at home.
The dreaded Christmas holiday had arrived. Liam Moore, dressed in his leather jeans, pointy ankle boots, and the thick woolly Viking cable sweater. The bold texture was enough to distract from the leather pants. Moore boarded the train to Blackwood Valley west. A short train ride home. He knew his mother’s side – the rest of the hated Johnson family relatives – would be there, too. He only packed one change of clothes and his shaving kit. Leaving the rest at the Ryders for the ride back to Sterling Harbor on the 27th.
If his old room was in use, he would do an about-face and leave right away. Liam’s train arrived in the early afternoon on the 24th. As predicted, the platform was empty; no one had bothered to pick him up, despite having texted his arrival time well in advance. Fortunately, an old friend spotted him and offered Moore a ride home.
The family had already started their annual pre-Christmas party. The house looked marvelous. Every ornament polished, each light carefully placed. Only, a place setting at the table for Liam was missing.
All Lee got was, “Oh, we thought you weren’t coming, you skipped Thanksgiving on us, too.”
Liam walked into the kitchen, and he grabbed a spare plate and some utensils. Forcing an extra chair at the head of the table, next to his least favorite Uncle, Frank Johnson, and his cousin Carol.
“What ARE you wearing?” sneered Carol, her eyes raking over Liam’s new leather jeans and ankle boots with undisguised vulgar distaste.
“Clothes,... just like you, Carol. You look pretty cheap in that faux leather skirt and those fishnet stockings, though. What is the going rate this time of year? Have you managed to catch a sailor at the docks yet?” Liam scoffed.
The table went extremely quiet. Carol’s face turned a deeper red than the cheap sour wine the family was drinking. They had never heard Liam talk back to any of them like that. Or seen him dress like this, for that matter. For once, Uncle Hank was dumbfounded and could not come up with a retort. Finally, Liam had outdone himself. No one dared to question Liam after that. The tables were turned.
To say the atmosphere improved much after Christmas Mass that night was easily answered. But since Carol left in a rush, Liam had his old room to himself. He texted Maurits to see if he could pick him up the next day, regardless. Moore would rather eat Christmas dinner with Aunty Dee, Blake, Maurits, and Colton than spend one more miserable day here. He had outgrown the Moore-Johnson clan.
Colton rang the Moores’ doorbell at two the next day. Liam, who knew their arrival was imminent, rushed to the door and let them in. Dressed in a Muir cap and full-leather masters outfit, Colton sported a pride flag button on the lapel of his buff biker jacket. Large, Satanic-looking upside-down cross pendants dangled from his ears, catching the light and instantly escalating the family’s shock to utter horror.
Colton stopped dramatically on the foyer’s threshold, directly framed between the double sliding doors leading into the Moores’ crowded living room. Maurits M’Kumi followed, standing rigidly behind him with a chrome-plated and padlocked chain secured around his neck.
“Here we are Fag. On ya knees, bitch. Get that fat Yule Log piping hot. Show me some holiday cheer,” said Master Colton. He ordered Maurits to kneel submissively at his side.
Liam was the only one not shocked by the arrival of these satanic black leather men. He launched himself forward, diving to his knees in the open space of the doorway. He bent over, kissed the Master’s pointy boots, and groaned in pleasure.
Liam groveled up the leather pipes of the chaps Master Colt was wearing. Worshipping the man as if his last meal was being served. He kissed Colton’s swelling bump and looked expectantly up. Ryder smiled and put his gloved fingers around Liam’s throat, pulling him upright. Planting a sloppy wet kiss on his college friend.
He twirled Moore around and let the boy do the talking.
“Ha, well, I guess you all know where this is going. I finally found my new religion. These are Mr. M. M’Kumi and my friend Mr. C. Ryder. They taught me who I truly am and gave me the confidence, love, and understanding you all tried to take away from me. I think this is goodbye. I wish you well, but I won’t stand in the way of your peace. You only respect those who follow your views. I don’t think you ever respected mine, so I see no reason to return the favor.
I am gay. Always have been. Let’s not keep in contact.
Merry Christmas!”
• On the road to bigger and better things.
It took Liam a few days to recover from Christmas at the Ryders, not only because of Aunty Dee’s extravagant dinner, but also because the farewell party down in the basement was a stocking filler and a half. Colton’s less savory alumni friends had popped over to enjoy Liam’s company. They gave him a fiery taste of the hazing initiation he should expect at λ α β. Talking the freshman’s ear off about the nasty things they did at university. The college freshman got a raving review, complete with photos and porn videos they made of the session to boot. They sent it to the frat brotherhood as a preview of the Alpha man who was about to rule the roost.
On the 27th, Mama Dee and the neighbors thanked Maurits and Liam for their visit, wishing Moore a speedy return for summer or next holiday season. Liam gave Blake an extra-tight hug before settling next to Professor Mister M’Kumi – as we now need to call him – for the long ride home away from home, to Sterling Harbor University. As Liam thought about it, he realised he did not have a home anymore. Sure, the Ryders would welcome him back with open arms. Liam felt he needed to work on a plan B if things did not work out with the fraternity.
The professor dropped Moore off at the concrete student highrises, helping carry the bags laden with leather gear up to his apartment. It felt good to be back on campus. Liam had missed the coffee shop the most. The Quad-presso & Community Commons was the hub of campus life, and Moore worked there as sous-chef. In the elevator, Liam noticed the distinct wedding ring on Maurits’s finger – not seen since last semester. Catching Moore’s gaze, the professor winked, tapped his nose, and slid his private number to his favorite student.
Moore said goodbye to the black power bottom outside the main entrance of the apartment tower, feeling relieved and a little sad that Thanksgiving was over. Wondering if he could ever unsee the academic man wearing leather. He had learned so much from Maurits.
“Thanks for the help, professor,” said Liam quietly, “... Give my greetings to Mrs M’Cummi.” Lee knew Maurits wasn’t married. He was living with his younger sister to keep up the masquerade.
• The unknown housing director.
Meanwhile, a burly, mean-featured brute, whom Liam guessed was in his late twenties, approached Moore with a deliberate stride, kicking aside a mountain bike as he came over. He greeted Professor Maurits like a kindred spirit as the academic drove off. His 20-hole lace-up boots stomped on the cold concrete with ominous, measured pressure.
Judging by the purple laces, the subtle leather choker, and the black handkerchief around his right wrist, this guy was actively signaling a serious appetite for kink. His dark denim bleachers were tight and straining, and his navy-blue leather-look jacket matched his mean attitude and the school colors. But this was not a student; this was a staff member.
The old Liam Moore would have already dropped his gaze, muttered an apology, and swiftly navigated away from the frighteningly imposing stranger. But the lessons of the last month, the feel of the leather armor, and the success of the Zane-confrontation kept him rooted. Yet Liam now wished he had worn his leather jeans rather than the gray thermal joggers. He stood his ground, meeting the man’s challenge with a hard stare.
The imposing figure paused, and a flash of satisfaction – almost a grin – crossed his face before he consciously lost every trace of malice, replacing it with a controlled, intense focus. Not that Moore noticed that at first. He was locked on the guy’s hand, stroking his dick with intent to distract.
“You must be Moore. Show me your current digs. I want to get to know you. The board has heard great things about you.” To Liam, these words sounded like a command, not a request. This guy wasn’t someone you wanted to bump into in a dark alley, either; he was the apex predator who demanded a heavy toll.
The brute didn’t even bother to introduce himself, yet he felt oddly familiar to Liam. He projected the same dominant alpha assertiveness that Colton had displayed around Thanksgiving, an unwavering aura of possessive entitlement. His mean set gaze, buzz cut hair, and rough stubble beard, and the aggressive stance made the nearly thirty-year-old a definite force to be reckoned with. He was the type of guy who uses whatever hole was available, with consent or without. “He would not give a flying fuck,” thought Liam. And somehow, that attracted him to the skinhead.
Liam said nothing; he turned on the heel of his pointy ankle boot and walked resolutely into the elevator lobby. He looked over his shoulder to see if the brute was following him. As the metal doors opened, Moore stepped in and punched the 11th-floor button. The scary dude walked to the back of the car, observing Liam. The man unnerved Moore.
• Breaking the ice.
Somewhere around the 2nd or 3rd floor, the elevator car shuddered to an abrupt stop mid-floor. Before Liam could react, he was pushed against the elevator wall and kissed. The man took what did not belong to him. He grabbed Liam’s jaw and slammed his mouth down in a demanding, forceful kiss. It was a physical claim, pure and simple, made without a single word of introduction.
The other hand disappeared around back, straight into the winter joggers and underneath the elastic band of his jockstrap, cupping a feel of Moore’s frozen twinky buttocks.
However, this didn’t feel like an assault. Not really. It was more of a welcome-home hug. A need that had to be fulfilled, or a bout of lust that couldn’t wait one more second.
Recovering from the initial shock, Liam huskily muttered between kisses, “If you want to warm me up that badly, then drop to your knees and swallow my icicle. Do it NOW, Queen!”
Moore had turned the tables; he was calling the shots. And this guy just had to adapt on the fly. The gnarly guy looked just as puzzled as Liam did. What was going on? Who was this guy? But he followed the college freshman to his apartment on the 11th floor, anyway.
On Liam’s floor, several people stared dumbfounded at them. They had never seen Liam dress in his cool new leather biker jacket, with its black button snaps and black zippers. Nor did they know who the adult was who was eagerly following Moore. Liam had an entire apartment to himself. It had a fantastic view over the campus area and the deep-sea harbor beyond.
As soon as the door fell into the lock, Liam bellowed, “Name, Rank, and phone number! Who the fucking hell are you and what do you want with me?”
Struggling with Moore’s barked command, the guy was on Liam like a fly on a pile of shit. He couldn’t believe Moore didn’t know what was going on, or that he would want a word with Liam before he moved to Vance House.
Moore deflected the hand that made yet another grab for Liam’s throat.
“Why the hell are you fighting me?” asked the buster aggressively. “You know Colton, right? The board took your sorry ass for a test drive after Christmas. They approved your holes as the next λ α β Frat President. Surely they must have told you, Moore?”
Grant paused, confusion melting into a sudden, unsettling suspicion. He stared at Liam, studying the expensive, brand-new leather biker jacket and the confident, groomed posture.
“No more games, Moore,...” Grant snarled, his eyes narrowing to slits, “... If you know Master Colt, then you know you’re the next President. What is your game?”
• Warming up to the idea.
The quarter dropped, slowly at first. But Liam finally began to understand. He repeated the question from before, but in a nicer, less frightful tone, “... Umm... Who... Who are you? I thought you were here to rape me or something.”
“Hell no, brother... I thought the board told you. Come here and give us a hug. Sorry, I scared you. I just came home from an afternoon cruising at the docks. You college kids all want the same thing: a nasty, scary dick to fuck the chill out of the air,” the man laughed, “... I am Grant ‘Hammer’ Kaiser. I am the Housing Director for the Vance Foundation. And as for sucking your icicle? Well, how about this?”
Grant spread his legs on the edge of Liam’s bed. Unzipping the black bleachers from the back. Exposing the glazed rosebutt. The icing clearly had not melted from the previous fuckers that skated down the trimmed garden path to the back door. Kaiser had been hammered. And by the glistening PA protruding from the cockhead, the ‘Hammer’ had seen some action, too.
Moore smiled at the winking hole and hooked the thermo joggers under his balls. He took a resolute step forward and slammed inside. No lube, No prep, No remorse.
“Holy hell, Liam. Careful, man!” screamed Grant Kaiser.
“Shut the fuck up, whore. Take it like the bottom you clearly are! Shit, that is a wet mess in there. How many sailors did you serve today? Nice and warm, though. I could spend a penny in there. Fuck I like this housing hole. Do you let all the Brothers fuck you like this?” Liam asked. Slamming his dick down hard and fast. Hooking a few fingers under the kinky choker and pulling back hard.
Grant turned purple and began to gurgle. The breathplay pulled all the stops for both men. Liam’s bed and Grant’s asshole got soaked. The sex was short-lived but extreme.
Moore yanked his hard dick out and watched his babies flee the heat. Making a mess on the floor as well. He crawled on the bed in front of Director Grant and pulled his lips over the throbbing tool waiting to be cleaned.
The rowdy sex did not end there, though. Kaiser jumped on Moore’s chest and teased the Prince Albert over Liam’s lips. Once the boy gave in and opened his pursed mouth, the entire pierced cockhead wreaked havoc with the college frat’s teeth. Clanking and moaning, ridiculously harsh insults, the cock shot a last stream of juice into Liam’s mouth.
It took both men a few moments to come down off the adrenaline rush. Breathing hard, Grant fell into Liam’s arms. Huffing and puffing his thanks to the newbie.
“I can see why the board picked you as Fraternity President, Moore. Fuck you are a tough act to follow.” Grant pulled back slightly, his grin predatory but sincere. “So, you’re the President, and I’m the Housing Director. We both know that’s not how things work. There can only be one captain on this sinking ship. Which one of us is really in charge here, Moore?”
Liam grinned back, wiping his mouth. “Well, you’re in charge of the building. I’ll come and take a look later. Do you have somewhere to be, or can you warm my ass tonight? I’ll have to think about this. Normally, the brotherhood gets to pick the President, don’t they? I was actually looking forward to a hazing introduction. I guess we need to come up with something else. Bypass Pledge and go straight to the President. Ha...”
Without undressing, the men fell asleep arm in arm on the single bed.
• Continued in part 5 •
Thank you for reading this story.
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And if your hands are not too dirty from all the spilled cum! 😋
© StrykerJ - Christmas 2025
