I assured him he could, of course, but he wouldn’t add anything else. That was also the first night he stayed over in my trailer–he fell asleep on my couch, and I got him settled with a blanket, and just let him doze. I didn’t do anything of course, but…ok, I did jack off, watching him, but I felt kind of weird doing it. Not…because I was jacking off to a good friend, or not just that. It was because…looking at him there, he seemed so…small, somehow, even though he took up the entire fucking couch. Maybe I’d just always thought of him as that little kid, even though he was quickly manning up in ways I’d never thought he would. Still, he seemed small, like I needed to protect him, and the thought of being there for him, it was…turning me on, somehow.
I don’t know, why am I trying to explain this? I don’t know how to explain any of it, but that, if there was a beginning, was the beginning for me, of all of this.
He was incredibly embarrassed when he awoke the next morning, and he left right away–I thought he’d come back that night, but he didn’t. In fact, I didn’t see him again for a couple of weeks, until he called me from the county jail. It was still early on a Sunday morning. I’d had a fuckbuddy over the night before, but honestly…since that night with Brock, I wasn’t really interested in other guys. I kept telling myself that it was stupid–I knew he was straight, and he definitely wasn’t interested in me, right? Still, once he was back at school, I was sure I’d be able to put my ridiculous pining for him behind me, and we could both get on with our lives. The phone rang in my trailer–the landline, which really only rings when bill collectors call, but I was on time with everything. Usually I…just let it ring, but I picked it up that morning anyway–and accepted the collect call. The fact that it was someone in prison didn’t surprise me–I’d bailed out buddies more than a few times, and had been bailed out by them in turn. What did surprise me was the voice on the other end of the line–it was Brock.
“Hey…uh, Hunter?”
“Brock? What the…what happened? Did you get arrested?”
“I…I got in a mess man, please, I need some help. I can’t…call my parents. But it’s bad man, I really fucked up. I’m so…so fucking sorry, I’m such a fucking idiot! I don’t know what to do, I can’t fucking think…”
He started sobbing then, and I consoled him a bit, and told him I’d be over as soon as I could. The fuckbuddy was still there, so I kicked him out, which pissed him off a bit, got dressed, and headed for the county jail by city hall. There’s a reason I’m used to getting calls when friends of mine end up in the clink, and that’s because my uncle is the sheriff. I don’t have a ton of pull with him, but it at least helps me smooth things over a bit, when I’m at least on first name basis with all the deputies.
I pulled up and headed in, chatting for a hot second with Marcy at the desk about how her new relationship is going, and then ask about Brock. Her face…went a bit hard, and her face only does that when something serious happened.
“What happened last night, anyway? Brock didn’t tell me anything over the phone.”
“Hunter, you…should go talk to your uncle about that, I think.”
Uncle Jeff was in his office, flipping through some paperwork when I got there, and when I told him why, he got a bit flustered, and told me what had allegedly happened. Brock had become a bit of a staple at a local biker bar named “Hobos” outside of town, over the last couple of weeks. I knew the place pretty well, because it was known as the closest thing to a gay bar we had around here, but I never went because the place was pretty fucking depressing. Still, it could get a bit rowdy, especially when a biker gang rolled up, and that’s what had happened last night. Brock had tried to get into a biker’s pants–a straight biker’s pants, and when the guy had tried to get Brock off him, the idiot had kept at it. To hear my uncle tell it, he’d flown into a bit of a rage by the time his deputies had gotten there and gotten him calmed down and in a squad car. Property damage, assault, drunk and disorderly–these were not good things. Still, my uncle knew Brock, and he was mostly just bewildered.
“I thought that kid was gonna go places–what the fuck is he doing back here, causing scenes like this?”
I agreed with him, and asked if I could talk to him. Jeff said I could, so we went over to the jail next door, and there Brock was, alone in a cell, and he looked…even bigger than when I’d seen him last. It was hard to believe, but I’d always been taller than Brock–when he stood up now, though, I found my neck craning back a bit, because suddenly he had an inch or two on me.
“You…you came. I was worried…you wouldn’t come.”
“Sure I came. Unc, could I have a few minutes alone with him?”
My uncle shrugged, but backed off down the hall.
“Brock, what the fuck happened last night.”
“I…I can’t really remember. I got really drunk, and he didn’t want to fuck me, and I got really angry, so…”
“Wait, what?”
“Hunter, you…have to help me. It’s getting worse. I…gotta find someone, and I…I’m sorry, I didn’t want to do this to you, I’m a fucking burden, but I’m so fucking scared, and my dad…”
Bracken's Corner 