The Jerk-Off
by Jack Lynch
Chapter 11
A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.
"Ugh!"
The alarm had just gone off. 5:30 a.m. Thayer's eyes opened slowly and then he felt it. Not again! He thought. Morning wood, in the worst way. Normally, that stiff numb feeling felt so good, especially when he wrapped his fingers around his joint. But, after yesterday, the very last thing he wanted to do was jerk-off.
He rolled out of bed, his erection tenting out his sleep shorts. When he got to the bathroom, his dick was so stiff, he wasn't even able to pee. It wasn't until he was mostly done brushing his teeth that it had softened up enough. He must have looked ridiculous, he thought, standing in front of the toilet, one hand on his dick, the other being used to brush his teeth.
Yesterday was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Almost like in that kid's book. Maybe worse and definitely not the same.
The first horror, of course, was getting caught with his pants down. Literally.
Thayer's head was tipped back, his eyes squeezed shut, as his orgasm was coming to an end, a vision of C.O. smiling at him as he held him in his arms. Then, the click of a smartphone's camera. He jerked his eyes open, no pun intended, as he stared aghast at Rome who was watching him, a kind of lazy smile on his face.
After giving him a little wave, Rome got up and ran away.
Thayer wasn't able to get a hold of Romey until the end of the day. It wasn't very busy but Mr. Elwinde somehow kept him running non-stop.
"What the hell did you think you were doing?" he growled through clenched teeth. Thayer had found Rome on the side of the boathouse and thrown him against the wall, his hand wrapped around his neck.
"Nothin,'" Rome managed to squeak out. Then he chuckled, "What were YOU doing?"
"Nothin,'" Thayer replied, after which he blurted out a giggle at his own response, unable to control himself. "Gimme your phone," he demanded.
Without waiting, he stuck his hand in Rome's pocket and fished the device out.
"Show me!"
Rome unlocked his phone and navigated to his photos.
There he was! In all of his stiff dick glory, his hips thrust forward, the phone capturing a glob of jizz dropping out of the end of it. He'd always thought of himself as very average but, damn! He looked pretty hot, especially from that angle!
He pressed "delete," after which he threw the phone on the ground and stalked away. Catching his breath, Rome picked up the phone and smirked. Of course, he'd squirreled a copy of that photo away into a secret folder shortly after taking it. He licked his lips, thinking about how he was going to use it later to relive the moment.
A freight train held him up on the way home. Thayer was forced to wait patiently at the crossing for a few minutes, watching the train begin to slow and finally come to a stop.
"Shit!" In frustration, Thayer leaned on the horn, as if that would make a difference. Much to his surprise, a moment later a cop was knocking on his car window.
"In a hurry, son?"
"Oh, sorry, officer." Thayer's face was immediately bright red, sweat running down his back.
He hadn't noticed that a Deerwood Police cruiser was right behind him.
"Let's have a little patience, okay?"
He sat there for another fifteen minutes before the train finally cleared the railroad crossing. In the meantime, Thayer watched the temperature gauge on his dashboard creep up, necessitating a stop at a nearby gas station to add coolant to the radiator.
When Thayer finally got home, his mother was making his favorite food for dinner…NOT!
"Oh, mom! Tofu and veggies again?" he whined.
"I thought you liked tofu," Thayer's mother replied, a quizzical look on her face.
"Uhhh," he groaned as he slouched down on the couch. After moping for a few minutes, he got up and grabbed a handful of carrot sticks. "I'm gonna take a shower."
"That's a good idea, honey. You smell pretty sweaty."
As he was getting undressed, Thayer realized that his clothes did smell bad, a combination of sweat and fish. His underwear was damp from sweat, the pungent aroma of balls and spunk drifting up to his nose. The shower refreshed and reenergized him, the end result being another massive hard-on.
As he thrust his hips forward, his fingers wrapped around the shaft, he relived the episode with Rome watching him. Looking down at his naked self, the water streaming down his stomach into his crotch and down his legs, he realized that he sort of liked the idea that someone had watched him, even if it was just Romey. With his hands cupped around his balls, he came to a crushing orgasm.
With a groan, Thayer remembered he was going to see C.O. later. There should be more gas in the tank, he told himself. And maybe , he thought…but couldn't quite finish the thought.
"You look nice," his mother said.
It was just the two of them for dinner. Thayer's dad was umping a Brainerd Bees baseball game.
He had chosen his favorite button up shirt to wear, a loose fitting pebble cloth, white with tiny navy blue dots. A pair of black biker shorts. Thayer solemnly checked out his butt after he put them on. I gotta admit it, he thought, that looks pretty good. I hope C.O. feels the same way.
Thayer had just gathered up his keys, ready to meet up with C.O.
Hey . A text message.
Wuzz up?
C.O. responded with an angry emoticon.
Thayer returned a question mark.
Can't meet up.
Y not?
M&D got me at the laundromat. We havta wash all of our clothes after the fire.
Oh no! Followed by three "oh no" emoticons.
Check ya 2morrow.
Later maybe?
Nah .
Thayer shook his head and groaned.
Later, he punched his pillow three times, hard, before tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep.
Using a rag, The Ghost wiped the dew off of the Adirondack chair and sat down with a cup of coffee, to watch the rising sun cast a golden light on the opposite shoreline. The water shimmered in the foreground.
In spite of his best efforts to remain sober, he had consumed way more alcohol than he ever had, at least in recent memory. Inside the ramshackle cabin, Louie Lee snored loudly, passed out on the couch.
Today was moving day. At least, for Louie Lee. Around 2 a.m., a small boat silently slid in to Louie Lee's dock. A guy handed The Ghost a thin leather briefcase containing a purchase agreement, closing documents, and wire transfer instructions.
By this time, Louie Lee was barely coherent, having consumed more beer and liquor than almost anyone could imagine. Bleary eyed, he sat at the kitchen table, trying to make sense of the contract. After a shrug of his shoulders, he signed off on the sale of his share of Ledecker Island to Dinwiddie Partners. He stared at the wire transfer authorization for $300,000 for the longest time, trying to comprehend what this amount of money meant.
Sitting next to him at The Bar earlier, well, actually, yesterday, The Ghost slowly wormed his way into Louie Lee's confidence. Beer after beer, they covered every local and world subject, politics, religion, and, of course, family. Naturally, they agreed on everything or, rather, Louie Lee spewed out his opinions and The Ghost roundly concurred, whether he actually did or not.
"That arrogant asshole, my brotherly brother, can just blow it outta his ass," Louie Lee spewed forth over steaks and cocktails later in the evening. They sat across from each other in a booth at Grizzly's in Baxter. He was talking about Deck, of course. That was after he'd spent most of the dinner deriding his other brother Lee the Dick ("A fuckin' fag") and his sister Linnie Lee ("Constantly hammered." This being said as he drained another beer while chasing it down with the remainder of a high ball). According to Louie Lee, Deck was making a bald faced attempt to arm wrestle him out of his spot on the north shore of Ledecker Island.
"I don't give a rip how much he offers, I ain't sellin,'" Louie Lee snarled. "Don't matter how much he's willing to part with."
"Oh yeah, but I'd bet you'd sell out to somebody for the right price," The Ghost responded, looking at Louie Lee with discerning eye.
Louie Lee just looked back at him, belched, and swirled a French fry in some ketchup, before tossing it into his mouth. He chewed for a moment as he pondered his response.
"Maybe. For a million, just maybe."
Somehow they made it back to Bay Lake after dinner. They were so drunk, The Ghost wasn't sure how they did it and he was the one driving. He kept his eye on the ball enough so that by midnight he had finessed Louie Lee down to three hundred cash. Pretending to take a whiz in Louie Lee's trailer sized bathroom, he texted a team of lawyers and a title agent in Minneapolis. They were standing by and within an hour they had compiled all of the necessary documents and gotten them on their private jet, landing at Brainerd International Airport. A black Lincoln Aviator was waiting.
One of their people rousted Ten Ethyl out of bed. He was totally pissed off, less so after they waved five $100 bills in front of him. A boat was quickly secured. The Ghost used the flashing light setting on his phone to guide them into dock where they quickly handed off the documents and sped away.
Just before he nodded off, or passed out, rather, The Ghost introduced the idea of a change in scenery.
"How do you feel about Australia," he asked?
"I dunno. 'Guess it's ok."
"Ya know. There's a little piece of heaven in Western Australia, in the Outback. A nice town called Fitzroy Crossing. You'd like it."
"Would I?"
"Oh yeah! I can probably get ya fixed up with a house. Furnished."
"They got any fishing there?"
That one caught The Ghost off guard. "Ah, they got a river so, yeah, I guess they must got fishing, too."
His eyes slowly closing, Louie Lee looked out the window.
"Yeah. Change in scenery would be all right."
He looked down at the final document, his eyes trying to focus on it.
"Right here, big boy," The Ghost said, grabbing Louie Lee's wrist and guiding his hand toward the signature line.
Then he was out.
"C'mon sleepy head. Let's go," The Ghost purred, as he pulled Louie Lee up into a sitting position. It was just four hours later.
Louie Lee responded with a cough, that effort alone causing a large bell to go off in his head, a hangover headache coming on strong.
"You've got a big day ahead, bud," The Ghost said. "Ever been on a private jet?"
"A what?"
Somehow, The Ghost got him dressed, halfway coherent, and forced three Extra Strength Tylenol down his throat. Some clothes and shoes were stuffed into a bag. Rousting around while Louie Lee was sleeping, The Ghost found his passport. Miracle of miracles, it was actually current.
"How do I get over there, you know, to what crossing was that?" Louie Lee asked on the way from Ledecker Island to The Bar and Gas.
"All set, Louie Lee," The Ghost yelled over the sound of the outboard. "We're gonna fly you over to Chicago. There's a Quantas flight tonight, non-stop to Sydney. And, it's Fitzroy Crossing."
When they pulled into dock, that same kid grabbed the tow rope and expertly tied the boat up.
"Need some help?" Thayer asked, looking down at the suitcase.
"Sure, son!" The Ghost responded.
Louie Lee reached his hand up to Thayer who took it and boosted him up onto the deck. It was at that moment, Louie Lee had his first and only regret. Fuck! That kid is cute , he said to himself. His evil mind went to work except that his brain so fuzzy he was unable to even put the next thought together.
As he was walking up the dock, he turned to The Ghost. "I can't remember your name. Did I get your name?"
The Ghost chuckled as he grabbed Louie Lee's arm, directing him into the back seat of the Lincoln Aviator. "No. I never did tell you my name."
Later that day. A soft rap at the door.
When the man held the screen door open for him, Ozzie looked, not at his face, but at his bulging stomach, a generously large beer belly. Without a word, Ozzie stepped into the house.
It smelled like…well, like old people.
The whole idea that he had to come around to the back door was some kind of a joke. Don't want the neighbors to know , he'd said. Ozzie chuckled at that. A blatant show-off, he parked his dad's cherry red BMW Z4 right in front of the house, hopping out without bothering to open the door. The neighbors would know, all right.
Ozzie was calling bingo a few days ago at the Crosslake Community Center, volunteering again at his mother's behest. On that day, Edgar Michalek was sitting in the front row with his wife. Ozzie didn't notice him staring until they were partway through a round of black out bingo. He knew that stare. Chuckling, he swept his hair around, looking cute, smiling furtively at the old man with twinkly eyes.
Mavis glanced at her husband. She knew that stare, too. She had suspected Edgar was some kind of fruitcake for years, finally discovering him in the shed behind their house. When she found him, he was on his knees, giving some kid a blow job. With a yelp, the boy ran out the door, struggling to pull his pants up as he went.
After the crying and remorse had gone on long enough, Mavis sighed deeply.
"Okay, Edgar. This is how it's gonna go. From now on, I'll go along up with your little activities. Two conditions, though. One, I'm gonna be there to observe. Second, no touching. You can watch all you want but you put your hands or your mouth around some little faggot's penis and that's gonna be it."
Edgar wailed even louder. In relief? Or, in remorse that the "no touch" restriction was a fate worse than death?
After bingo that day, Ozzie made the old fart squirm for a bit, pretending he didn't understand what Edgar was asking. In the end, he giggled and nodded his head. The guy was wheezing so hard after he agreed to visit for a glass of iced tea, Ozzie thought he was going to keel right over.
Today, Ozzie's wardrobe choice was a scoop neck white t-shirt, skin tight, his choker with the blocks turned to spell out the word "tricky," a pleated cheerleader skirt, so short it was more than halfway up his smooth pale thighs, Bobby socks, and little white canvas runners. He had thought about going commando. Wouldn't that curl the hairs in that old guy's nose? The idea of his swollen cock nudging the hem of his skirt was almost too good of an idea. In the end, Ozzie's wardrobe choice included a pair of bright pink bikini panties.
After he was brought into the living room and asked to stand in front of the TV set, Edgar plopped down into an old overstuffed chair. Ozzie was about to ask about the iced tea when, much to his surprise, his wife entered the room. She dragged a chair from the dining room along with her, taking a seat, crossing her legs at the ankles, and folding her hands into her lap.
"This is my wife Mavis," Edgar said after he cleared his throat.
"Nice to meet you," Ozzie replied in a light airy voice, a soft smile on his lips.
Mavis just nodded.
"So, why don't you tell us a little about yourself, starting with your name?"
Ozzie looked at them for a moment, thinking. He put all of his weight on his right hip, his right hand resting on it. He turned his head to the left, causing the long hair on the right side to fall into his eye, showing his feminine side. He raised his left arm and lazily twirled his wrist.
"My name is Charlotte," he said in a mild southern accent. "I have a twin brother, Charles," Ozzie said, turning his head to the right, in the process, exposing the short side of his fringe.
Edgar guffawed at that one. Even Mavis, try as she might, grinned and shook her head.
"In Nawlins, where I'm from, I mean where we're from, it's awful hot and humid this time of year." Thickening his faux southern accent, "year" came out more like "Yee-ahh."
Ozzie tugged at the neckline of his top, pulling it out as if to let some cool air in. He pulled the t-shirt out of the waistband of the skirt, turning a bit to the other side, the girl side, and pulling it up a bit to expose some skin. He tipped the side of his head, running his hand across his neck as if he was wiping sweat away. Then he used the same hand to fluff his hair again, letting his mouth drop open in a sensuous way.
When the t-shirt finally came off, Ozzie held it over his head, aware that his naked pits and his tiny pale nipples must have been quite the sight. That was confirmed when he looked at Edgar. His eyes were glazing over as he licked his lips.
"But," he said waving his hips and turning so his back side, or butt, rather, was facing Edgar and Mavis, "We try as much as we can to cool off before things get even hotter." Pronounced, "hot-tah." With that, Ozzie slowly raised the back of the skirt until his pink panties shown and the skirt was hiked all the way to his waist, fluffing it as if he was making some cool air.
A few minutes later, the clothes strewn around him, Ozzie was completely naked, save for the Bobby socks and shoes.
"Would you mind?" Edgar wheezed, pointing at the shoes. They were distracting and a bit off-putting. For him, naked was meant to be naked.
Ozzie grunted once, quickly pulling shoes and socks off. Laying on his back, supported by his elbows, legs spread wide. In a small gesture of modesty, a very very small gesture, he held his hand over his butthole. With his other hand, he slowly jerked on his engorged cock.
"How do you like us," Ozzie asked? "I mean, Charles," referring to his cock, "and Charlotte?" With that he stuck his index finger into his ass, all the way up to the third knuckle, groaning in the process. He thrust it in and out a couple of times before using his abdominal muscles to hoist himself up so he was now sitting up on his knees.
He pulled steadily on his cock, now just a hair pinker than his pale skin. Staring rather lazily at the two olds, Ozzie wondered what he could do next to tantalize them. With a slight frown, examining or, more accurately, admiring his throbbing shaft and the thick head, he spit on it. That thing looked amazingly tasty. For a moment, he thought about showing Edgar and Mavis how he was able to give himself a blow job.
Ozzie let his hair fall into his face before shaking it out of his eyes and staring blankly at first Edgar, then Mavis. He wanted to make sure they were looking. They were.
Edgar, eyes bulging, gripped the arms of the chair as tightly as he could.
Sensing he was about to jump the boy, Mavis turned to him, wagging a finger.
"Edgar, Edgar!" She said sternly.
Just at that moment, the first shot of jizz hit her squarely on the side of the nose, the second one landing in her lap.
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