Calluses Pt. 08: Hard

The road stretched on behind me, lost in the snowstorm...but I knew it was out there. A wailing beast, gargantuan and hungry, gnashing its way through the winter winds as its red-blue eyes flashed in the white, searching...

A curt, heavy knock pulled me out of the dream, the same dream I'd been having for months. I opened my eyes to sunlit walls, cream and yellow, faint stains at right angles where my old posters had once been hanging. The familiar tug of panic fluttered deep inside...but I remembered where I was now, because there was only one person who ever knocked on my door like that.

"Michael...?" my mother called through the wood. "It's ten in the morning. You need to get up."

"Got it," I replied, blinking myself awake. I was in my old bed, in my parents' house, hundreds of miles north of campus. The walls and my desk and everything else had long since been stripped bare...but I knew the musty old smell of the carpet, the way the sunlight crept across the faded navy blankets like rivers of liquid gold.

The doorknob jiggled slightly. "Oh, Michael. Open up please."

I sat up and reached across the nightstand, unlocked the door. The blankets slid off me, but there was nothing to hide. I slept in t-shirts and pajama bottoms and socks these days, boots waiting on the floor, a metal baseball bat propped against the wall next to my head.

The door cracked open, and she leaned into the room. Her black hair had much more gray in it these days, but her eyes were just as sharp and cold as they ever were. She was studying me, calculating, but her voice was warm enough. "Just wanted to talk to you face-to-face, before you left again. It's been a busy week, hasn't it?"

I settled back into the pillows and pulled the blanket up to my chest, feeling old for some reason. "No worries, mom. Everybody's got a lot on their plate. I needed the rest, anyway."

"I'm sure you did." If she'd blinked yet, I hadn't seen it. "Anyway, I just wanted to let you know I'm going up to the church to help them set up for the potluck tonight. I really wish you'd make an appearance, at least. A lot of the ladies have been asking about you..."

If I hadn't been groggy from sleep, I might have rolled my eyes. "Nah - I really need to get on the road if I'm gonna make it up there by nightfall. Thanks, though. I'll have more time at Thanksgiving, okay?"

She nodded. "That's fine, sweetie." If she was disappointed, it didn't show. Nothing ever showed with her, at least not when she was talking to me. "Well...there's bacon in the microwave, and plenty of eggs in the fridge, so help yourself. Call me when you get there - or just text me at least, so I know you made it. Alright?"

"Alright, mom."

She nodded again, and started to close the door...then paused, pretending she'd just remembered something important. "Oh, and your father wants to see you before you leave. He's up at the school, doing what he does. Maybe just drop by and talk to him on your way out; he feels bad about not seeing much of you this week. Deal?"

"Deal," I replied, and flashed a beaming grin. It made her smile, made her believe everything was fine, because she wanted to believe it. "Tell everyone at church I said hello."

"Bye, sweetie." She shut the door softly. "And get out of bed!" she chided from the hallway. Her feet made careful, measured thumps down the creaky stairs, out the door, gone. She spent most of her free time helping the people at the church set up for potlucks, or weddings, or Sunday school. It had been that way for years, ever since it became apparent I had no interest in attending any longer. To her credit, she had never forced me to go...but no one would ever accuse us of being close. At least she was gone now, and the house was silent...

I shook my head, bit my cheek. I was already sinking back down into the bottomless haze that routinely trapped me in my own bed. If I didn't get up now, I'd sleep well into the afternoon...so I pretended my body was a machine, my brain the pilot's cabin. I forced my limbs to drag my body to its feet, where I did a set of jumping jacks, then push ups, then sit ups...jumping jacks, push ups, sit ups, again and again...until I was sweaty and awake, burning and alive, whether I wanted to be or not.

I was still panting when I cracked the blinds and peered out the window into the front yard. Same as I did every day, every night. My mother's car was indeed gone, and my old sedan was still parked on the street...but most importantly, there was no sign of an idling police cruiser anywhere. I hadn't actually seen him once since the night at the dorm, when I'd finally threatened him the way I'd needed to threaten him - hadn't even gotten a text - but I wasn't stupid enough to let my guard down. He'd always be out there.

I really wanted to take a long, punishing run through the neighborhood, but I was already low on time. I took a shower instead, and caught a good look at myself in the bathroom mirror as I undressed. My body was back to peak condition these days, especially after the last few weeks of nothing but rest and exercise. Every hard line of it was ready to explode, pumped with youthful energy so raw it was almost violent. The sight made my dick harden up, bobbing between my hips as I stepped into the steaming water, fogging up my brain. It should have been easy enough to ignore...but I hadn't had sex in nearly five months. Ever since that night at the rest stop, when I'd let those men...

I was touching myself within seconds, running my hands over the round slabs of my ass, the tender slope of my belly, trying to ignore the hard cock throbbing below. I was basking in the memory of everything those hungry men had done to the body in my hands...until the images of dirty tile and filthy drains bled into something much different, something I hadn't been able to get out of my head since I'd seen it, no matter how hard I tried to forget...

The images flooded my mind, filling my cock with blood; exaggerated and extreme, as all memories are, but not by much. The video had been slightly grainy with vaguely muted colors, just like all the others, but more than clear enough. The first few shots jerked and blurred as the Chief adjusted the camera, until it was perfectly trained on the desk in his study, and the restrained figure splayed across it.

The young, redheaded jock was completely naked on his back, bound with the same blue climbing rope the Chief had used on me, but his position was even more compromised than mine had been. He'd been tied to the desk itself with several constricting knots. His meaty legs were up in the air, bent at the knees and open wide for the camera, pulled firmly apart by two lengths of taut, knotted blue rope. His ass was suspended in the air at the center, the edge of the desk digging into the small of his back. His arms had been pulled tight above and behind his head, wrists tied off somewhere near the floor on the other side, elbows bent upwards like some crude parody of a centerfold model. This kept his spine arched against the desk, stretching the furry, toned musculature of his torso in a lewd way that made me painfully hard the instant I'd seen it. His was a vision of conquered flesh, his pale skin rubbed pink and raw wherever the rope dug into it, crisscrossing his prone body under the pecs, ribcage, jaw...

He'd been made as vulnerable as a person could be, exposed and ready for the taking...but he'd obviously been taken many times before that moment. The bruises and bitemarks from the first night were still plainly visible across the length of his body, along with plenty of new ones. His nipples were swollen, inflamed, almost purple, and it actually hurt to look at them. His poor hole was obscenely puffy between his welted ass cheeks, red and loose and glistening with lingering wetness, thoroughly deflowered in all sorts of unimaginable ways. His genitals were just as bruised as the rest of him, uncut cock shriveled and limp above the straining lump of his ballsack, which had been gathered up in a noose even crueler than the one used on me. In addition to the constricting band of leather around the base of his scrotum, which kept his balls pulled away from his groin, a third band had been snapped tight between them - top to bottom - bluntly separating those tender orbs in a way that couldn't have been remotely pleasurable...but he wasn't complaining.

Even though the edge of the desk cut into his bound shoulders, leaving nothing to support his skull between his upturned elbows, he actually seemed to be sleeping. His head hung unseen beyond the firm, furry mounds of chest...rising and falling to a slow, steady rhythm that was peaceful, serene...

"Morning, sweet cheeks."

The jock's head snapped up with a faint, terrified whimper at the sound of the Chief's gravelly voice. He'd been blindfolded with the shredded remnants of his t-shirt, sweaty red hair plastered against his forehead. His ruddy mouth was stuffed with a black rubber ball gag, strapped tight against the copper scruff of his cheeks.

"You get any sleep last night?" The Chief approached in all his muscled, black-furred glory. He was just as naked as the jock, slowly pumping the curved weapon of his cock. He sneered down at his captive as he settled between his legs, digging his fingers around in that puffy red hole as roughly as he pleased."I fuckin hope not..."

The jock blubbered wordless noise against the ball gag, drooling from the corners of his mouth, flexing and writhing under a fresh layer of sweat. The Chief removed the ball gag with his free hand, and it popped out with a burst of stringy, panting spit. The jock tried to say something, but all that came out was a ragged, gurgling sound...which quickly turned into a gasping yelp - and then a healthy shriek - when the Chief gripped the bands of rope around his thighs like a pair reigns, and shoved half the length of his steely cock right into his helpless ass. The monster broke down any resistance with a series of quick, punching thrusts, until he was buried to the hilt in a matter of seconds.

If he'd used any lube, I hadn't seen it...but the jock was obviously accustomed to such treatment by then. After a few more pained yelps he shook his head, grunting through clenched teeth with each cruel thrust he endured, comely brow furrowed with concentration...until the only sound coming through the speakers was theSHLOCK SHLOCK SHLOCK of the bigger man's tool pumping in and out the sloppy, well-used channel of his fucktoy.

"Good," the Chief growled, as if the jock had passed a test."Glad this hasn't been a total waste...you're nothin but a pussy now, jock-boy...MY pussy..."

The jock's girthy dick began to harden up after a few more minutes of this rough treatment, strained grunts now shifting into wispy, defeated little gasping sounds...and that's when the Chief's face broke out in a crooked, sadistic grin. If the jock hadn't been blindfolded, he'd have known to be afraid. The Chief slapped his fettered balls with an open hand - once, twice - making the jock cry out, bucking his hips around the buried cock as much as the ropes would allow - and then the Chief pulled out completely, and nearly turned his dilated channel inside-out in the process.

The jock was heaving in his bonds, trying to follow the Chief's movements around the room through the ream of tattered cloth covering his eyes. He was steeling himself, preparing his mind and body for the next round of punishment, and it was certainly a brave front. Admirable, even. The Chief even looked impressed for a moment...but he was lubing himself up all the same. Not his cock, though - his knuckles, his palm, his wrist.

He ripped the blindfold off the jock's face before he began, revealing those stormy gray eyes to the camera. They were drained and bloodshot, wet with tears...and now bright under a rush of sheer terror at the sight of what came next...

What are you doing?

I clamped my fist down on my throbbing cock, seconds away from cumming all over the shower stall - but I stopped myself. I always stopped myself, even if it hardly made up for anything. I couldn't do it, wouldn't let myself - sick at the thought of crossing that final threshold, no matter how much the degradation on the screen had turned me on. He wasn't just the grainy image of a gorgeous jock, I reminded myself for the thousandth time. His name was Russell Barrett.

I went back to cleaning myself, dick and balls screaming for release. I filled my mind with thoughts of climate change and war crimes, and somehow I went soft. Once dry, dressed, and packed, I stalked downstairs to get some breakfast. I ignored the eggs in the refrigerator, as well as the plate of cold bacon in the microwave, which I dumped into the trash, hidden beneath a crumpled wad of greasy paper towels. The mere thought of eggs and bacon made me feel sick these days.

I was finally out the door after that, driving through the tacky suburban maze I'd grown up in. Despite a bit of stained siding here, or a widening patch of kudzu there, nothing had really changed about this place since I'd been in diapers...but the high school had grown along with me, fat on football games, looming like a temple-city as I approached.

The field dominated much of the western half of the school grounds, offensively green beneath the towering steel ramparts of the bleachers, rows and rows of empty silver seats. It wasn't technically football season, but my dad was the sort of coach who inspired ongoing devotion to excellence, one way or another. He had a way of making his team show up for endless "voluntary" practices throughout the year, without ever being questioned by anyone. The parents never questioned it because this was football country, and the sport was worshiped more widely, and with more fervor, than any god of any church. The students never questioned it because my father terrified them.

I parked my car and walked past the giant statue of a horned Viking, the team plaque proudly displayed on the block of granite at its feet. I was crunchy in my boots and khakis, and an old black t-shirt one size too large. I'd stopped wearing my newer wardrobe of tight-fitting shirts and ass-hugging jeans, enjoying a marked lack of attention ever since. Even my hair was messier these days, black and thick and wavy at the ends, almost covering the top of my ears.

My dad was on the sidelines next to a pair of orange water coolers, broad and stocky and only a couple inches shorter than me. His short-shorts were just as tight as his shirt, the cartoon image of a yellow-skinned Viking stretched across his barrel of a chest. His big hairy hands were planted on his hips, and his face was slightly red from yelling - as he was doing even now, barking out orders and criticism, demanding nothing but the best.

The grassy field in front of him boiled under the faint summer breeze, thick and hazy with golden clouds of drifting pollen. It was swarming with pretty young meatheads, sweating in full gear that showed the barest hint of titillating midriff, pecs bouncing like unripe melons as they ran in place, waiting for their turn to tackle a column of stiff, featureless dummies. Other than a few sideways glances, none of them acknowledged my presence.

He nodded when I joined him, but he barely looked at me. "Your mother said you were heading up to North Carolina. That right?"

"Yes sir," I answered, pure reflex. He hadn't accepted anything less than "sir" since my tenth birthday.

"Any reason you're not going back to school instead? Why not get settled in for your new classes? Get your head in the right spot? Your mother says your grades almost slipped this semester. You can't afford to lose that scholarship, boy..."

"I know, sir." I gulped, itchy with sweat. It wasn't just from the heat. "It won't happen again. I was...well, I've been going through a rough patch. Nothing I can't handle, though -"

"EVANS!" he roared, setting every nerve in my body on edge. "That was an absoluteshit show of a tackle! We talked about that, son! You even trying? Five laps, then do it again!"

One of the players broke away from a swinging dummy and jogged toward the track, heavy gaze on the ground in front of him...and I could tell he had a massive package, barely contained under the cup in his tight pants. He glared at me as he passed, a subtle look from the corner of his dark eyes, embarrassed and resentful and dirty - a look I knew very well. I'd gotten many looks just like it throughout my time in high school, that and so much worse. It isn't easy, being the son of a tyrannical football coach who spent half his time on the bench - and even less so once you weren't even on the team anymore, spending all your time studying and exploring the woods alone, dreaming of the larger world and little else...

"...man up."

I blinked. "What?" I shifted in my sneakers, worried he was pissed. "Sorry - got distracted."

He shook his head, still watching his fieldful of players, but that was all. "Everybody goes through rough times now and then, but that's just life. You haven't even gone out into the real world yet...so you just need to man up, and buckle down. Focus. College is easy street, boy - but paying for it ain't no picnic. Keep that scholarship, no matter what it takes. You hear me?"

"Yes sir..." My nose was starting to run, tickled by the pollen. I scrunched up my face...anything to keep from sneezing, or making any sound at all. "That's why I'm gonna spend some time up in the mountains, before I go back. Do some solo camping up there, get my head on straight. I'll do better..."

I'll man up, is all I was really saying, because that's all he ever really wanted to hear. It was his answer for everything, always had been, and sometimes it even worked...but only as a band-aid, a numbing agent; temporary at best, and I knew that now more than ever.

"I guess that's better than pissing your time away drunk on some beach." He nodded again, still not really looking at me, but it was practically a bear hug coming from him. That's just how things were between us. It was how they'd been for years now, after I quit his precious football team halfway through my junior year. He simply had his priorities, and by then they'd become perfectly acceptable flaws. There were plenty of sons who had it much, much worse...

"Well." I brushed the pollen off my shorts, eyes watering. "I'd better get on the road. Daylight's burning..."

"Let your mom know you made it safe," he grumbled, but I knew he was only angry at something he saw on the field. Just as I knew the only reason he'd wanted to talk to me was because my mom had asked him to, her way of gluing our bonds together just tightly enough to be called a family.

I ducked away and returned to my car, shooting a pair of pollen-choked snot rockets across the team plaque before I left, which felt good for all kinds of reasons.

***

I was on the highway now, heading north and east as the hills rose into mountains, and my nerves were finally catching up with me. My spine wanted to slither right out of my body, my palms slippery with sweat against the steering wheel. I was sure I'd see an unmarked police cruiser whenever I glanced in the rearview mirror, only to suck in a shallow breath of relief when there was nothing to worry about...until the fear returned, as it always did, and the process repeated itself...hours and hours...same old song and dance. Eventually it passed, because my brain had simply worn itself out.

Akerton, North Carolina was a large enough town in the cradle of the mountains, older than America. Rows and rows of brick and cream, old squares bristling with plump pedestrians and their dogs and the squirrels that infested the great trees above it all. I could see at least two white steeples towering over the rooftops as I drove down into the valley, finally arrived. It was all so wholesome, like plastic miniatures suspended in amber...but it wasn't where I was going.