Excerpt, Chapter One FRAT HOUSE JOURNALS by Glen Thompson
Chapter 1: THE VISITOR
Chris Rockne eased his shiny, new '69 Bentley convertible
off Cliff Road that descended
to a small bay on the Southern California coast and began the slow, curving
descent to the
tin-roofed adobe house partially hidden by a grove of tall pines. He'd ordered
his "toy"
during a trip to England, months earlier, and the car had just arrived. From
the boat dock,
Erik King, days past his twentieth birthday, caught a glint of the late afternoon
sun reflected
from the windshield of the dark blue car and watched as it turned into the
shade of an
immense magnolia tree. Out of the car, Rocky stretched and looked about,
then waved
to the dark-haired youth as he rose from the dock where he'd been working
on his tan.
Lean and athletic, the young man's smiling hazel eyes reflected the pleasure
he felt at the
arrival of the tall visitor.
Rocky's visits were like mini-holidays for long-time
friends Ron and Cindy King and their son,
Erik. A long weekend, two or three times a year, kept like new their friendships
that had begun
just after WWII while the three were in college in New Mexico. His parents'
visitors usually bored
Erik but this trip would be different; Erik couldn't get enough of being
at Rocky's side. They enjoyed
lots of activities, sometimes with Erik's folks, but more often just the
two of them. Erik eyed the
man's every move. He had recently come to understand the basis for the
long-standing friendship
between his dad and Rocky and saw the man in a totally different light. He
was now eager to
become one of the players.
Later, after a swim off the dock, Rocky and Erik headed
for a shower in the boathouse.
Pooped after having foolishly challenged a college swimming champ, Erik collapsed
on a
bench and watched the tall, muscular man strip, releasing his impressive
cock. Even though
he'd seen it all before, Erik had never, until recently, thought of him as
being more than a guy
with a great body and a cock to match. Now, watching the man move about,
he rested, elbows
on his knees, with his head down to conceal the fact that he was stealing
glances at the dick
passing back and forth at eye level, paying little attention to what Rocky
was saying.
Still dripping from the swim, Erik pulled a beach towel
across his legs to conceal his rising
excitement, battling the temptation to reach out and wrap his hand around
the wonder cock
passing within arms' reach. Instead, Erik sat watching but he did slip his
hand under the towel
to adjust his cock under pressure inside his bathing suit; it was hard and
uncomfortable from
being confined by the skimpy swimsuit. He remained an attentive audience,
watching the
bronzed body move about, until Rocky abruptly turned and walked into the
dressing room.
When Erik heard the shower running he pulled the brightly colored towel around
his waist and
hurried up the sloping lawn to the house and the privacy of his room hoping
his buddy, Darren,
who often visited, wouldn't be there.
That night Rocky walked across the hall to join Erik
in his bedroom. As Rocky came through
the door it was obvious he was free balling under a pair of flimsy running
shorts. Seeing Rocky's
cock brushing against the soft fabric meant an instant boner for Erik, and
he ducked into the
chair behind his desk, hoping to conceal his fast growing bulge. The Adonis
stood leaning
against the doorjamb checking on the schedule for the next day but Erik could
barely concentrate
on what the hunk was saying. He tried to keep his eyes off the flimsy shorts
and when his gaze
did linger longer than intended he was certain Rocky's prized package pulsed
in acknowledgement.
The young man's own rock-hard cock was leaking and the
drumbeat of his pulse thundering in his
ears made it difficult to maintain a conversation. Eric noticed that the
man shifted his weight, perhaps
purposely, to stretch the fabric tight across his crotch, making his amazing
cock even more obvious.
Helpless to pull them away, Erik's eyes remained focused on the fat prick
and he felt moisture
beginning to ooze from his own. When Rocky returned to his own room, Erik
reached under the
desk, slipped the leg of his boxers up to expose his raging cock and with
a couple of jerks relieved
the pressure onto himself, the chair, the carpet and underside of his desk.
During recent visits Rocky had invited Erik to join him
camping. Roughing it was not Erik's favorite
thing to do; swatting bugs, eating cold food, and sleeping on the ground
sounded like more pain than
fun. What Erik didn't know was that Rocky's idea of camping was gracious
living in a cabin up the
coast owned by his dad, Rocky, and their long-time friend, Brad, the architect
who had designed
and built the remote getaway. Each time he had been invited Erik had managed
an out: an important
ball game or a heavy date. This time Erik made certain there would be no
interference if the chance
came again to head to the hills with the man whom he now saw in a totally
different light.
At breakfast the last day of his visit, Rocky tipped
his chair onto its back legs and, with his long
reach, lifted the coffee pot off the counter, offering refills all round.
When he got to Erik he asked,
almost as an aside, "When are we going to make that camping trip?"
At first Erik wasn't sure Rocky was talking to him so
he looked across at his father who didn't react;
as usual Ron was not paying attention. The family had long since come to
grips with Ron's
"absences." They knew that when he shut down he was mentally at work composing
or fine-tuning
a story so they let him be and, suddenly he'd come back and pick up a
conversation that had left
him far behind. It was Cindy who spoke up: "Honey, why don't you go? January's
just around the
corner so you have to start getting yourself ready. Being a college freshman
takes a lot of up front
work and I don't plan to do it all."
The young jock rose from his chair and with surprising
enthusiasm said: "Great! I'll be ready in
an hour."
"Whoa." Rocky raised his big hand and said, "Not so fast.
I have to go down to San Diego. I'm
not sure when I'll get everything squared away, but when I do I'll swing
by and we'll set sail." A
big grin crossed his face and Erik began to tingle, nervously checking to
see that his bathrobe
was closed. Rocky nodded to him but looked across the table at his friend
Ron, who said nothing.
That left Erik standing, waiting, sweating bullets.
"What do ya think, Ron?"
The creative juices staunched, the writer looked up,
"Huh? Oh sure." With a sly grin he wagged
his fork at his son and said. "We can't seem to run herd on you round here.
Maybe Rock can."
Thrilled by his dad's okay, Erik sat again and for the
next hour listened to the three long-time
friends tease and laugh together. Cindy got the brunt of it. The two men
gave her a good ribbing
about her new hair-do. She'd come home the day before with what Ron derisively
tagged a
"Boy's Bob."
Cindy took their flack with good humor but said, "Get
used to it. I'm tired of having hair hanging
down to my ass or piled on my head like a bird's nest." She ran her fingers
through her now short
hair and grinned, "This is 1969 and this girl's going to do her own thing."
Her husband frowned a
bit but Rocky and Erik gave her a round of applause. Case closed.
Cindy, elbows on the antique mesquite table top, held
a coffee mug to her lips and looked over
the rim at the three handsome men so important to her: her husband on the
left, Rocky on her right
and Ron's look-alike son opposite.
Ron and Cindy had met while both juniors in college and
Ron's pal Rocky had graduated from
the university the previous spring. The two guys shared an apartment and
they met Cindy at a
Greek Week bash with their fraternity and her sorority. Before long they
were like the Three
Musketeers, and the month of their own graduations, Ron and Cindy married.
With the help of a little money from her family, they
moved to Southern California where they
both taught school. Ron spent evenings writing; then, after the sale of several
stories, Ron left
his teaching job to become a stay-at-home dad, writing and caring for their
newborn.
Rocky kept his oar in. After a year of commuting between
New Mexico and California, he pulled
up stakes and moved to the coast in order to, as he put it, "Keep them in
his orbit."
Now, sitting with her three guys, Cindy mentally skipped
from one to another of the adventures
they had shared by twos, threes or all four—five when Erik's pal Darren
was on hand. When Ron
wasn't away on business, he was sure to organize an outing to sail, ski,
golf, play tennis or troupe
up to L.A. for a concert—rock or classical.
When Erik graduated from high school, he had considered
an offer of a baseball scholarship
in the Midwest, but Ron couldn't seem to let go so Cindy suggested her son
take a break, stay
a home for a semester and choose his university based on a future career
rather than an athletic
scholarship.
Cindy wondered about Darren. Years earlier, when Cindy
picked Erik up after his first day of
sixth grade, she found him waiting at the curb in front of the school with
his arm draped over the
shoulder of a cute kid with a head of unruly blond thatch.
"Hi, Mom," Erik pulled open the car door. "This is my
best bud, Darren."
The strange little blond boy grinned but his large blue
eyes gave a hint of caution.
"D's coming home with us."
The boys had met that morning during recess and cemented
a friendship that had held fast for a
decade—they had both turned twenty mid-summer. As it turned out Darren
was a latch key kid
who lived not far down the road from the Kings, and was expected to walk
to school and home
every day, rain or shine. Cindy had been miffed at the apparent neglect of
the boy, but she
discovered, when she sought out the boy's mother, that both were struggling
to do the best
they could. Dora was a single mother whose husband had simply walked away
leaving her to
support a son she loved dearly.
It wasn't long until the sleepovers began and, with Cindy
feeding Darren, looking after his
clothes and monitoring his homework, he became a second son for Ron and Cindy.
The boy's
mother was grateful, though somewhat jealous, of Darren's affection for the
newly-found family
and offered to pay some of the expense the Kings had assumed in caring for
him. Cindy had
refused: on one count because Dora needed every dollar she made as waitress
in a local diner
and because, secretly, it gave her a sense of priority in the life of the
youngster she had come to
love as her own. When Ron and Cindy decided to add on to their house, they
built two new
bedroom suites, one for Rocky and the other that Ron suggested be large enough
for Erik and
his "best bud."
Waving the coffee pot across the table Rocky offered
Cindy a refill. As it turned out, she had sat
holding a full mug of coffee that was stone cold.
Mid-morning, Erik was working in the boathouse when Rocky
came in to stash something in the
storeroom. That done, the two walked to the end of the dock and sat, legs
dangling over the edge,
looking out over the bay and the sliver of the Pacific beyond the headlands.
They fell into a familiar
banter, ribbing each other about who'd "whupped" who in their one-on-ones
of basketball, at tennis
or even who was the best sailor. Erik, looking for the advantage, insisted
that Rock was too old to
be competitive, then broke out laughing because he knew he'd never sell that
story. Two years older
than Erik's dad, Ron, the handsome man was in amazing physical shape. Taller
than both Erik and
Ron, he stood six-four, broad shouldered, muscled, blond and bronzed. Erik's
mother regularly gave
the handsome man grief about being single, and his stock response was that
no sane woman would
put up with him.
Sitting there on the dock, Rocky did most of the talking,
enjoying recollections of his long-time
friendship with Ron and of their early ambitions. Ron King had always wanted
to write and Rocky
wanted to make money. Both had achieved their goals. The two sat feeling
the sun glide toward noon,
comfortable on the warm deck, their shoulders occasionally touching. When
their sun tinged shoulders
did come together Erik was thrilled by the dynamic energy of the man's body,
and his pleasure was
heightened when Rocky put his arm round his shoulder and pulled him close
in a manly hug.
With that, Rock got up and was gone. Erik remained on
the dock thinking about the past few days
and daring to speculate about the camping trip, then rose and walked into
the cool of the boathouse.
For the past few months each time he'd entered the small wood building he'd
been awash with sexually
charged images that virtually oozed from the rough-hewn boards lining the
walls and heavy planks of the
water-stained floor. Standing in the middle of the space, he thought of his
girlfriend, Jill, their first fuck,
the three-ways with Jill and his bud Darren, and most of all the startling
secrets he'd recently uncovered.
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