A Dream Come True

Thank you all for everything you've said about my stories, I really appreciate it. Here's another one that I hope you all enjoy. It is a fictional story, as are all of my tales so; be sure to remember that anything CAN and usually DOES happen in a fictional tale. Oh, and don't forget to vote; and remember that, as always, I pray that you all find peace and God's blessings.

MoogPlayer

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Hi, my name is Michael Masterson and I'm fifty-one years old. My once dark brown, almost black hair has a touch of gray here and there, but I still have sky blue eyes, stand at a height of six feet, four inches tall; and because I work out twice a week, I still weigh a solid two hundred and forty pounds. However, I was eighteen, going on nineteen years old, and in my freshman year of college, when what you're about to read took place.

My father, Tom Masterson, was a Navy fighter pilot who flew the F-4 Phantom-B during the war in Vietnam; and was a major influence in my life as I grew up. He saw to it that I was put into a Karate dojo from the time I was six, remaining there until right after my eighteenth birthday, which, after studying the martial arts for twelve years, I was a second degree Black Belt.

My mother, Jenny, short for Jennifer, put me behind a piano when I was but a child, seven years old, where I studied music until I went to college. The reason she did that, as she later said; was to give me a sort of buffer from the karate; and because of the study habits my parents instilled in me when I was young, I ended up graduating a year early from high school.

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Chapter One

I was rather shy around girls, but around my male friends, I was well liked and got along with all of them. However, having only been out on three dates in high school, all of which ended with nothing more than a hug at each of the girls' front door at the end of the date, I went to college a virgin.

Still though, I secretly wished to have a girlfriend, someone I could not only be seen in public with, but also someone to care for me as much as I wanted to care for them. I guess it just wasn't meant to be at that time, and because of what you're about to read, it was a good thing, too.

~~~~~~

I was born and raised in Key West, Florida until I was ten years old, and then my father's fighter squadron was ordered back to Vietnam. From there we, Mom and I, moved to Texas to a small town that was located about sixty miles south of Houston. My maternal grandmother lived there and had a stock ranch that produced some of the finest live stock, beef, in southeast Texas.

However, the moment I arrived in Texas, I felt like I was living in a foreign country. The people in Texas were friendly, mind you, but when I began attending school there, I felt very odd and out of place. Because I had long hair, everyone laughed at me and called me names, and it was a blessing that my Sensei, or Karate instructor, had a brother that lived nearby who also owned his own dojo, because I honestly think I would've gone crazy my first year there, had I not had a place to continue my martial arts education.

~~~~~~

It was during the fall semester of my fifth grade year, and I had just reached the first level of my brown belt, when the proverbial shit hit the fan. In the school system where I lived in Texas, grades kindergarten through the fourth grade was called Elementary School. Then grades five and six were called Middle School, grades seven and eight were called Junior High School, and then grades nine through twelve were known as High School. However, it was in the fifth grade that I was acknowledged as someone who was not going to allow myself to be bullied, and that reputation followed me all the way through the end of high school, thank God.

Don't get me wrong, I wasn't a troublemaker by any means, but like I said earlier; I was in the fifth grade at the time; and it was during our recess period that I was approached by these three assholes who began to taunt me, calling me a sissy and told me that I looked like a girl just because I had long hair. There were no dress codes where I went to school, but because I was a loner and kept to myself, I was automatically targeted as a weakling. I assure you that that was most certainly not the case with me; and because I hate bullies, even to this day, I refused to let them push me around.

I didn't start the fight, but I damned sure finished it, leaving all three of these dick heads on the ground with fat lips, bleeding noses, and each one of them holding their balls. I was very thankful that a teacher had witnessed the whole affair, and therefore I was not suspended, unlike the shit heads that picked on me to begin with. After that day no one ever picked on me again and I was left alone. But, being left alone meant that I didn't have any friends until I got to high school, where everything began to change after that.

~~~~~~

My history teacher, his name was Joe Hazelwood, took an immediate liking to me. And I found out he had served two tours in Vietnam, which, because of my father also being a Vietnam Veteran, we had a common ground that our friendship was based on.

Joe encouraged me in everything I did, challenging me mentally by reminding me that I was only as good as my grades when the time came for me to go to college. And when he found out that my father had put me under martial arts instruction when I was very young, he was very pleased, knowing that I possessed the skills to rise to any challenge set before me.

I was an only child, because my mother had endometriosis after I was born, and had to have a hysterectomy. Therefore, I had no siblings to talk to, and nobody to seek advice from, except my parents. They were both very loving and attentive towards me, but they didn't really understand me sometimes so; Joe Hazelwood more or less became a mentor to me, always ready to answer any question I might have. He never once made fun of me, nor did he make me feel stupid by asking him some of the things I did. What he did do was become a very good friend to me, one whom I still respect today, even though he's in his late seventies now.

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I also discovered through my love of music that I could play and sing very well, and not only did my band director, Mr. David Shepard, want me in the school band, but he put me in what he called, "The Jazz Ensemble" which was reserved for only his finest students.

My choir teacher, Mr. Harold Rankin, also put me in "Concert Choir" which was reserved for only his finest students as well. So, I had three teachers who recognized the good in me, which made my time in high school a little more bearable. Don't get me wrong, I got along with my other teachers well enough, but it was those three guys whose teachings helped through the emotional and hormonal hell known as high school.

~~~~~~

My grandmother, God rest her beautiful soul, believed in my musical abilities; and because I was her only grandchild that truly loved her because of her; unlike my greedy, asshole cousins, my mother's sister's children, who only cared about her because of her money, she bought me my first set of electronic keyboards when I turned fourteen.

I'm talking about a Rhodes, 88 Key, Electric Piano, a Moog 55 Modular Synthesizer, a MiniMoog Synthesizer, a Mellotron, and an ARP 2600 Synthesizer. Man, I was in hog-heaven, as it only took me about three months before I had more or less mastered every one of them.

~~~~~~

The only thing that I disliked about my grandmother's life was the fact that she died in her sleep two years later, when I was sixteen; leaving an empty place in my heart. And it thoroughly pissed off my Aunt and my cousins when she left everything she owned to me. So, out of respect for her, I kept her house just as she left it, choosing that house as the place where I would eventually settle down and raise my own family when the time came.

My greedy Aunt, who had always been a slut, and her demon seed offspring, three different children form three different fathers, none of which were married to my Aunt, all tried to contest the will, but Granny was a lot smarter than that, hence the reason that that the estate remained in probate until I turned eighteen.

You should've seen the way my Aunt and cousins tried to suck up to me, kissing my ass at every given opportunity. I simply told them all to fuck off, and when my cousin, who was older than me by eight years, tried to threaten me with beating my ass, I made sure that my parents heard him do it, which gave my father reason enough to not only personally kick the shit out of him (to the point that he spent five days in the hospital recovering from that ass kicking), but also get a permanent restraining order against all of them.

That way, if my fucked up Aunt, and/or any of her bastard children ever so much as set foot on the property, they would be arrested. They never bothered us again after that, and even though they are my relatives, I won't hesitate to have any of them arrested, those fucking parasitic assholes. Now, back to the story...

~~~~~~

Because of the fact that Mr. Shepard let me play my keyboards with "The Jazz Ensemble", Mr. Rankin also very nicely asked if I would also play my keyboards when I sang with "The Concert Choir" as well.

By the time I was at the end of my junior year in high school, both "The Jazz Ensemble" and "The Concert Choir" had won more than several awards throughout the state competitions that we'd entered, making not only both of my music teachers, but my fellow musicians and vocalists proud of me, as well as proud to be friends with me.

~~~~~~

My senior year was the year that I'd had the three dates which I'd mentioned earlier, and like I also said earlier, each one of them ended with a hug and a "thank you" at each of the girls' front door when the date ended. Granted, I most certainly didn't expect any of them to "put out" on the first date, but it would've been very nice to have at least gotten a second, or maybe even a third date, hell, maybe even a goodnight kiss.

However, the moment word got out at school that these three girls had gone out with me; they each one acted like they didn't know me after that, which kind of hurt my feelings. I mean, I wasn't ugly by any means, but I guess it was because, once again, I had long hair and didn't necessarily fit into their trite little molds of what they expected a guy to look like. It was also the time that I decided that the girls I attended high school with were not only selfish, but they were also very shallow minded, almost every last one of them.

~~~~~~

My S.A.T. scores were extremely high, and not only was I ranked third in my graduating class, but along with that ranking came four academic scholarship offers. One was from the University of Texas in Austin, the state capitol; the second was from the University of Houston, the third one was from Southern Methodist University in Dallas, and the last one from Texas A&M University in College Station. Needless to say, because Houston was closest to my hometown, I chose the scholarship that the University of Houston had offered me.

~~~~~~

When I first arrived on campus that year, which was in the fall of 1977, I immediately felt right at home, mainly because I wasn't the only person there that had long hair. And as I look back now, I realized how petty and stupid that the people from my hometown acted simply because I had long hair. Jeez, what a bunch of shallow minded, redneck idiots.

I had to spend the first semester of my freshman year in the dorms, and once I met my room mate, a guy named Rick Sparks, and discovered that he, too, had long hair, I knew that everything was going to be perfectly alright. My major that first semester was undeclared, but I knew that I wanted to do something that pertained to music, hence the reason that I made sure that I had more than one music class in my schedule.

~~~~~~

As a graduation gift, my parents bought me a brand new Chevrolet, Silverado pick up truck, which, not only was it fully loaded, but it came in very handy when the time came to move my personal belongings, clothing, and musical gear, to college with me. My room mate, Rick, just so happened to be a guitar player, and when he saw me moving my keyboards into the dorm room; he was ecstatic, telling me, "This is so cool, man. Now I've got someone I can jam with."

"I'm glad that you're happy about it," I grinned, "But don't you think it's going to get a little bit crowded in here, especially when we want to study?"

"Hell no, Mike," he laughed, "This dorm building has three study halls so; I don't really see a problem with that, do you? Besides, this is Bates Hall, and not only is it one of the best coed dorms in the Quadrangle, but the female to male ratio in this building alone is five to one. And let me tell you now, the women here are very hot, and they absolutely love musicians, bro."

"Is that right?" I knowingly grinned, "Well then, if that's the case, I can live with it if you can."

"That's the spirit, Mike," he laughed, giving me a high five, "We're gonna rock our asses off, man."

~~~~~~

Classes didn't start for another five days, which gave me and Rick plenty of time to find our way around campus, as well as be able to identify the buildings that our classes were going to be held in. Rick was majoring in music, leaning toward performance and theory; and the more he and I talked about it, the more I thought about following the same direction as he did. Still though, I needed to make it through my first semester before I declared a major. And while I knew that my classes weren't going to be easy by any means, I still felt very confident that I would do well, regardless.

~~~~~~

The next afternoon I was in the gym working out in the weight room, when these three jock assholes, seniors, came into the room and began to run everyone out. I paid them no attention, continuing my work out until the biggest of them approached me and said, "You need to get your little ass outta here, freshman."

"There's plenty of room in here for everyone," I told him, "I'm not in your way."

I had just placed the hand weights I was using back onto the weight rack, when this jerk put his finger in my face and menacingly growled, "You can either leave on your own accord, or you can be carried out of here, freshman. The choice is yours."

I just looked at him, and then politely said, "I'm asking you as nicely as I know how, to please leave me alone, alright?"

He began to laugh and said, "I'm not asking you, I'm telling you, get the fuck outta here, now."

"You guys don't own this gym," I said, "Like I just said, there's enough room in here for everyone."

However, when he went to grab me by the arm, I simply side stepped him and said, "Look, man, I don't want any trouble."

"It's too late for that, dickhead," he growled, and then tried to rush me. However, once again I quickly hopped out of his way, making him not only miss me, but run head first into the wall, as his friends laughed at him

"Leave me alone," I firmly warned him, "Or I'm not going to be nice about it the next time."

"Fuck you, asshole," he growled, "You're dead meat, you little motherfucker," and then he took a swing at me.

I blocked his punch, while at the same time, grabbing his wrist, placing him into an arm lock, and then flipped him over my shoulder, making him crash into the wall...again.

When he got up I could tell that he was mad, and in doing so, I knew that I was going to have to use brutal force to keep him off of me. So, when he tried to rush me again, I gave him a hard spinning wheel kick to the left side of his face, which this time, knocked him out cold.

Then I looked at his two cohorts and determinedly asked, "Do you two want to try anything?"

"No, man," they both said, backing away from me, "We don't want any trouble."

"That's fine," I replied, trying to remain calm, "But when your friend here wakes up, you need to tell him that if he wants to do this again, he's going to end up getting hurt a whole lot worse, are we clear?"

"Very clear," replied one of them, "I'm sorry he messed with you."

"You have nothing to be sorry about," I replied smiling, "But you should tell your buddy what I said, okay?"

"No problem, man," the other laughed, "Damn, dude, that was cool."

"No it wasn't," I quickly told them, "There's nothing cool about hurting someone," and then I turned and quietly walked away.

~~~~~~

On my way back to my dorm room I knew that the guy whose ass I just kicked was probably going to come looking for me, which meant that I was going to have to grow eyes in the back of my head. I silently cursed myself for having done what I just did, but I was left with no choice. Furthermore, I was definitely going to have to warn Rick about this clown, so that he wouldn't get hurt when the guy came looking for me, and this guy would, too, these types of idiots almost always did.

~~~~~~

"You did what?" Rick asked, astounded at what I told him.

"You heard me," I replied, "This asshole didn't leave me any choice."

"What did he look like?" Rick asked, and when I described the guy to him, he laughed and said, "From the description you just gave me, it sounds like you had a run-in with Terry Watkins."

"And," I said non-plussed, "Who is Terry Watkins?"

"I'll tell you who he is," Rick began, "Not only is he the captain of the football team, but he's a two-time All American who will probably get picked in the first round of the NFL draft when he graduates this year."

"Big deal," I replied, "He's just another bully as far as I'm concerned, and he'd damn well better leave me alone."

"Holy shit," Rick warned, "You'd better pray to God that he doesn't find you; or you'll end up getting crushed like a beer can. This guy is a fucking monster when he gets pissed off."

"Horse shit," I said, "He doesn't scare me one bit."

"Okay, buddy," Rick told me, "But don't say that I didn't warn you."

~~~~~~

Later that evening, Rick and I had been sitting in our dorm room for about half an hour playing music together when I heard a knock on our door. I opened it to find the head football coach, Coach David Larson, standing there with his arms crossed, and an angry look on his face.

"Which one of you, drummed my quarterback this afternoon," he asked me, "Was it you?"

"I didn't "drum him" like you said," I replied, "But I did defend myself, because he attacked me first."

"If that's the case, which I'm sure it is; then I'm here to thank you for knocking some sense into his hard head," he replied, his angry glare suddenly melting into a warm smile, "What's your name, son?"

"Mike," I replied, "Mike Masterson, sir."

"I have a proposition for you, Mike," he grinned, "Do you mind if I come in so we can talk about it?"

"Not at all," I smiled, ushering him into our dorm room while wondering where this was going, "Come in, sir."

"My name is David Larson," he replied, extending his hand, "And I'm the head coach of..."

"I know who you are, Coach," I politely interrupted him, "What can I do for you?"

"It's like this, Mike," Coach Larson began, "The other two guys who were with him and had witnessed what happened in the gym between you and Terry Watkins, told me that you moved faster than anything they've ever seen before; and I guess I was wondering if there was any way I could get you to teach my players how to do the same thing. You see, this year's team has the potential to be the best football team that's ever come out of this university, and I'm looking for all the help we can get."

"I know that there's a martial arts instructor right here on campus, Coach," I explained, "Why don't you ask him?"

"I think that my players would feel more comfortable with a fellow student as opposed to another member of the faculty," Coach Larson explained, then laughed, "Besides, I already asked his arrogant ass a couple of years ago and he turned me down. He said that football players lack both the knowledge and/or the skill needed to facilitate the use of martial arts training."