This is the beginning of a saga. You might notice that the sex is slow in happening but as the saying goes, all journeys start with a single step. Sorry to disappoint any of you that might have wanted something quick and brutal. It kind of reflects some of the happenings in my life but there are certainly some liberties taken. I promise that if you'll stick around a bit, you see a little of everything here. Enjoy the read, vote often, and watch for the next segment coming soon.
Where to begin. Isn't that always the hard part? I could start at the beginning but there is too much boring stuff to sort through and I would loose everyone quickly. But then again if I don't, no one would ever understand. Maybe a quick summary would be okay.
I was born Michael James Jones in a small hick town to very backwoods parents. We weren't white trash or anything like that, it's just that both of them worked at a small plastic plant and attended church every Wednesday and Sunday. That was all they ever did. Sex was never discussed in any fashion.
School was typical. We attended all the grades in the same building and there were maybe two hundred students total at any given time. The staff attended the same church my parents did, as that was the only one in town. Most of their husbands and wives worked at the same plastic plant as my parents did too. The only sex education came in the form of health class, locker room mythology and Miss Simmons.
Miss Simmons was the only single teacher and also the only outsider to our little town. She was hired in as a teacher when the previous English teacher died of old age. Miss Simmons was the epitome of a high school student's wet dream. We would all brag about what we would do to her if we ever had the chance. Yeah, I played along because that's what was expected but deep down inside I hated it. See I was in love with Miss Simmons. I know, I know, everyone has a crush on a teacher at one time or another, but this was different. I loved her because there was something so different about her and she represented everything that I hated about Hicksville. There were so many nights that I would lay in bed dreaming of Miss Simmons. So many nights that my body would ache for her and I would secretly slide my hands into my jockeys and try to relieve all that teenage frustration. Then thoughts of church would slip in somehow and I would roll over and try to clean my mind of all the pictures it had of Miss Simmons.
See, in my little Hicksville town of hell, masturbation was sinful and required repentance at the first thought of touching myself. My cock would swell with passion and my mind would fill with anguished thought of Purgatory. Not so much the simple life after all huh?
It was the final two weeks of football season and our school was in the playoffs again. It wasn't that we were actually a great team; it was that we were one of the only small schools in our division. Sure, there were the college scouts and occasionally one of the jocks would receive a scholarship to some far off university. Thing is that we would never hear from the athlete again. There would be the occasional headline in the 10 page newspaper about some game across the country and how Tim Smith "Local Hero" would be on the starting lineup, but none of the guys would ever come back. Wait, I'm getting off track here. Back to the winning season.
I was playing defensive tackle and wasn't half bad. I wouldn't be one of the ones that anyone would come to scout out, but my six foot, 195 pound body was more than effective and I liked to play. I liked to play a lot.
We had suited up for Tuesday practice when tragedy struck. I was sprinting through the locker room to get out on the field when a door came out of nowhere and knocked me on my ass. I guess that the coach was coming out of his office to see what the commotion was and just as I was running past, he opened his door. I was padded up and the actual impact was hardly anything to talk about. But there was also a bench next to his door and when I went down, I twisted sideways and landed on the bench.
Some of the guys swore they heard a crack, but it was more like an explosion in my back from all the fireworks going off in my head. I saw a white flash that matched the unbelievable pain and that was that. Everything was lights out.
When I came too, half the team was leaning over the entire coaching staff. The coaches were trying to keep them all back and in the distance I could hear the sirens. Shit! This must be bad if they called the ambulance. The head coach, Mr. Johnson, had his face all screwed up funny and was telling me to take it easy. I tried to set up and nothing was happening. There were a lot of rather large needles that raced up and down my legs and back. They turned into knives real quick. Before I could settle back down, there was another bright flash and then nothing.
One smell that you might never forget is the sterile scent of a hospital room as you swim your way back to consciousness. It's the first thing that you become aware of and it takes days to wash itself from your mouth. The next thing that I was able to grasp was that my mother, father and the coach were there with me. They were whispering and you know that's got to be bad. I asked them what was wrong and Coach was the first one to walk over to the bed. He told me that the doctors said it was a severely pinched nerve and that things would be alright soon enough. He kinda let it hang there in the air for a moment and I knew that the season was over for me. We have a very grounded sense of reality in Hicksville. "There's no reason that the air needs to be polluted with the smell of human bullshit." My grandfather used to say. Still holds true. Especially in Hicksville.
Now I know that I promised not to drag this on and there hasn't been a single sex scene, but stick with me for a moment longer. If you didn't know all this then you wouldn't understand the directions thing went after I left the hospital. There's only a few more boring tales and then I promise it will get better.
Remember what I said about the human bullshit stinking up the air? Well the doctors released me from the hospital Friday morning and I wasn't even allowed to attend the next to last regular season game. If we won this game and the next, we could be looking at three additional weeks to play. Coach had one rule that he pounded into us year after year; miss one regular season game and you don't play in the playoff games. I didn't think that this would really apply to me, I was injured and all. When I asked him if I was going to be allowed to play, he simply stated that my injury didn't happen on the field. Talk about the air starting to stink. When I asked him about not getting to go to the game that night, he simply told me that it was doctors orders that I not get bounced around or it might aggravate the nerve. The way that he was ProNouciating the words, the nerve in my back wasn't the only one in danger of agitation. In short, I was off the team and merely a mortal again.
Yeah, the team one and there was lots of celebrating, of which I was not invited to. Monday came and instead of my sacks being touted around the school halls, it was some other jerk that was the hero of the day. I spent all day slinking from class to class wallowing in waves of self-pity. Until Miss Simpson's class.
Try as I might, I could not stop my outright love of this woman from squashing the hate and anger that had been threatening to burst all day. There was simply something about the way that she moved, the way that she smelled. Hell even the plain sweater and long skirt was enough to pull me out of the quagmire for a while. But only for a while. Ted Stout took care of that. He was the instant hero that I mentioned before. He made some wise-assed remark about gimpy-backed wannabes and there was no way to miss the fact that he was talking about me. I spent the last of the class hidden under my ball-cap and didn't utter another sound. All I could think of was getting my back in shape and then tackling Stout's ass too soon.
The bell went off with it's usual clang and not too soon. I was more than ready to limp all the way home without the luxury of the bus ride just to get away from all the assholes.
"Mr. Jones?" Miss Simpson was calling me. "I'd like to talk to you for a moment or two if you don't mind."
I sighed that defeated breath of sudden gloom, trying to figure out what I'd done now. Slumping back into my chair as slow as I could to prevent the inevitable pain, I could hear the snickers of the before mentioned assholes. The class emptied and I waited. Miss Simpson was busy clearing her desk.
