Reginald Gallagher

Those of you who have read all or parts of Geoff and Chet, published on Literotica, will recognize Reg who is portrayed as an amoral antagonist in that novella. This story was inspired by that portrayal and takes place three years before. It is one of several potential epilogues. All characters, places and events are fictional. All characters portrayed in sexual situations in this story are over 18, but there is reference (not description) to earlier illegal (abusive) events which impact character formation. Presumably as a consequence, Reg is not what might be described as a nice guy. This story is a little dark. If this troubles you, please skip this story. Copyright 2023, all rights reserved. BD

Reginald Gallagher (Reg to all his friends) had just finished his last class of the day at North Dallas High School. He planned to skip cross-country practice. He could get away with the skip because he was absolutely the finest runner that NDHS had ever produced. He was already a two-time All-Stater and co-captain of the team. Today was Reg's 18^th birthday and a group of his buds had promised a party in his honor. So he headed home to change into his party duds.

Reg is tall, very tall—already 6-5 with long "runner's" legs and that small high bubble butt that long distance runners seem to develop. He has a café au lait complexion, dark hair, cut close, sculpted cheek bones, a long neck, pillowy dark pink lips and large violet-black eyes. His cut muscles are long and lithe. He has large hands (he could easily palm a basketball) and thin, long feet. Almost every girl at NDHS—including some female teachers—had already hit on him. But he put them most of them off in that deep baritone voice that suggested maturity well beyond his years—blaming his reluctance on fear of his father's (the "Rev") strict regimen and rules.

He is also a cyclist at the Dallas cycling club at the YMCA. This was a unique Y—it was an old club, but when the Westin opened on the next block, the city council had persuaded Westin to rehab the building—taking the top two "new" floors for the hotel's gym on a long term lease. Thus, it was really two gyms in one building—the lower four floors and basement a neighborhood Y, with sufficient funding to host various teams and events for the local population and the top two floors, the exclusive gym for the hotel. Both gyms shared an elevated track that circled two basketball courts on the enclosed roof. The basement Olympic sized pool was also available to Weston guests. So there was some contact between hotel guests and neighborhood athletes. This arrangement permitted the Y to host an informal cycling club and maintain high standards. Westin didn't advertise this in its brochure for the hotel, but repeat guests knew that there were many opportunities to "interact" with the dozens of fit young gym rats who lived at the Y.

Reg was also an avid cyclist, encouraged by his uncle Joe Gallagher, a former national cycling champion and retired police officer (Dallas PD). Joe is the Reverend's younger brother—if one could indeed describe the two guys as brothers, for they were about as different as possible. Joe is a big burly man, tall and muscled, obviously athletic, but he had allowed himself to soften a bit--perhaps thanks to a gunshot wound in his thigh which is really slowing him down. In fact, his retirement at full pension after only 14 years of active duty, at age 38, was the direct result of the gunshot incident. The Rev was fifteen years older, bookish, short and slim—but with a booming preacher's voice and commanding presence that seemed to belong to someone else.

Reg is the "baby" son of The Very Reverend James Albertus Gallagher, head pastor of Zion (Third) Baptist Episcopal Church of North Dallas and his former-beauty-queen wife, Suzanna, a dark, sensuous, Somali beauty. (Everyone always wondered how the Reverend had landed such a prize trophy.) Rev runs the church, his house and his family with an iron fist. He is famously puritanical, preaching fire and brimstone from the pulpit each Sunday. In fact, sins of the flesh were his go-to topic for almost any occasion. Many in his congregation had come to believe that sexual intercourse between consenting partners within a marriage was somehow biblically sinful! Certainly, talking about it or asking for it was; there was only one biblically-acceptable position: missionary between a married man and his subservient wife, desiring to pro-create.

No scandals haunted his pulpit—he was as chaste and strait-laced in his private life as he preached to his congregation. (With a wife like his, who could possibly tempt him?) No doubt Reg recognized the contrast between the life his father preached and led vs. the free-wheeling, anything-goes, highly sexually-charged atmosphere of a modern urban high school (and coincidentally, the bachelor life of his Uncle Joe). Suffice it to say that Reg, like almost all his classmates, was not chaste and had not been since arriving in high school, although, thanks to the Reverend, he was discreet and rarely indulged. (But, we can't talk about that here.)

Reg had four older sisters, three married within days of their 18^th birthday—the Reverend was taking no chances with the commitments of his daughters to virginity and so arranged marriages as soon as he possibly could. The oldest sister had been injured in child birth and had several mental defects which required her to be institutionalized almost immediately. She was essentially a non-member of the family. In fact, Reg's Dad sometimes felt that Isabelle's "accident" was somehow a divine retribution, related to the fact that he had impregnated his wife two months before their wedding, and thus he steadfastly avoided visitation at the institution.

The Zion Baptist Church of North Dallas is unfortunately dying. Black parishioners are slowly moving to the suburbs, where they are becoming more secular and not likely to make the long drive down to Zion several times each week to participate in the life of the parish. Those who remain are very religious, older and poor. For them, a weekly contribution of spare change or a dollar is the norm. The church is in financial trouble and the Rev's salary is often the last expense to be paid. Fortunately, the kids are almost gone and the preacher's house is paid for. He prayed, confident that he and Suzanna would survive.

Reg cycled home, showered and changed to his party gear—a tight logo-ed tee, old threadbare jeans that exaggerated his enormous basket, and expensive new Nikes--being careful to wear a big "letter" hoodie over most to avoid the Reverend's comments about how tight, revealing clothes were the tools of Satan—in case the Reverend spotted him as he departed. Reg heard the familiar three-tone horn of his best pal's 4 by 4 and headed out, calling to his mother that he would not be home for dinner. She in turn wished him a happy birthday and reminded him of his 11 pm curfew on school nights. Reg acknowledged her with a hug—she was only slightly shorter than he--and ran to the waiting car where the shotgun seat had been reserved for the birthday boy. Getting in, he tore off the hoodie and threw it into the back seat.

Four guys headed to a neighborhood "club" and its famous "Keg Happy Hour 5-7." Reg was looking forward to his first "legal" beer—since, even in nearly dry Dallas, the drinking age for beer and wine had been reduced a few years previously to 18. This was also dance contest night at the club and Reg knew he had all the right moves—and the body—to attract partners, provided Joe let him, that is.

Joe was planning to meet at the club and, although he was clearly older than Reg and his buds, Joe had blended well with the gang for several years—often providing the beer and occasionally some weed. (This was obviously not Reg's first beer!) Joe dressed and talked young. He wasn't married. He was either celibate or extremely secretive. All of Reg's friends teased him about Joe's apparent virginity. So Joe had lots of time to "father" the boys—most of whom were being raised solo by hard-working mothers. For the last two years, since his retirement, Joe had been volunteering at the Y, coaching basketball and cycling and acting as a trainer-instructor in the gym.

Joe had made a special project of Reg. Uncle Joe had always been around, playing sports and video games with Reg. And he was very affectionate from the time Reg was about 11. They hugged. They wrestled. Years before Reg could often be seen carried on Joe's wide and muscled back. Quite often Reg even slept over at Joe's house—which meant the same bed since there was only one—where Joe spooned his tightly. Uncle Joe had answered all of Reg's tough questions about life and love and had even coached him on how to masturbate. Essentially, he adopted him. Joe was always around, offering advice, and showing how certain cycling techniques improved performance, how certain stretches cured runner's thigh cramps etc.

At the Y, Joe was Reg's trainer and spotter. Reg, starved for any kind of physical contact with his father, attached himself to Joe. They became best friends, working out together, showering together—and completely comfortable with each other's nudity and with frequent physical contact. Joe had become Reg's regular masseur. Joe, like so many others, was obviously attracted to Reg's beauty. He rationalized his possibly illegal relationship with his nephew in that Reg wanted and needed it.

(Details of the conduct which the law describes as child abuse are not going to be described here—except to note that they changed Reg and formed his character. His young adult life was impacted. The fact that heredity provided him with a photogenic body, athletic prowess, and truly enormous genitals was, of course, also a factor in his character development. The extent to which child abuse impacts character is still an open issue—particularly with strong, otherwise normative male personalities.)

Regardless of what the law might say, well before his 18^th birthday, Reg was already a man—he had the body of a man, a concave gut with chiseled abs, bulging bis, and big round dark nipples set in slab-hard pecs. He also had the most impressive set of genitals that Joe had ever seen. Reg's cock was long (probably 10+ hard), medium thick, almost black except for the dark blue veins which popped and the large plum shaped and colored cut helmet. And it was almost always hard—and apparently still growing! When flaccid, it arched beautifully over two large balls and hung nicely between them. Reg was nearly hairless, undoubtedly a genetic inheritance, with a small patch of curly black pubes. When Reg stood in the shower, Joe had always faced the wall to hide his erection. Somehow Reg suspected, but he didn't want to spoil a good thing. He needed Joe. But, recently Reg had asked Joe to soap him and had reciprocated. So Reg now knew that Joe was attracted. And thus, Reg was beginning to develop the wiles of a man—the techniques of how to use body and voice and the "look" to get what he wants from someone else. Of course, Reg was not a virgin—he had taken girls and boys on many occasions.

Now of course Joe knew Reg was 18. He was pretty sure that Reg was going to let him "deliver" a special birthday present. He was excited—and pleased that Reg had included him in the 18^th birthday celebration. Joe was going to make Reg his, if that were not already true. He had waited long enough. Now he was going to foreclose on the mortgage.

Joe was at the club when the guys arrived. He probably had started early on the celebration. He embraced Reg and whispered in his ear, "Happy First Birthday, young man." Reg stumbled over the reference to "first", but then smiled when the implications hit him.

All of the guys enjoyed the club. They drank and danced and danced. Reg collected three phone numbers from dancers—two about his age and beautiful and a third, much his senior who promised him a "really good time." But, it soon was after 10. Only Reg had a curfew and he didn't want to break up the festivities, so he asked Joe to drive him home. Of course that had been his plan all along. Joe had been seducing him for a half dozen years. Reg was certainly not dumb or oblivious. Joe had conditioned him to want a real man to own him. He was already hungry for whatever Joe might do to him.

En route home, Joe diverted to a small park, pulled into a parking space and cut the motor and lights. He turned to Reg. "I've been waiting years for this." He pulled Reg into a tight squeeze, placed his hand behind Reg's head and drew him into a kiss. Reg opened, reached out with his tongue as he formed a seal with his lips and pushed his arms around Joe's back. Minutes later and breathless, Reg released. Joe motioned to the larger back seat of the old Crown Vic. "In the back boy. I need room for what we're going to do." Both guys got out to reposition.

Joe moved over Reg, unbuckled, unzipped and released him from the denim prison by pulling his jeans and briefs to the well of the car. Then he pulled off the tee—leaving Reg completely naked against the black leatherette. Joe went down to begin the seduction. Using his massive hands, he lifted Reg by his hips and sucked hard on his cock which was already painfully hard. Reg hissed a "yesss." He was ready to explode.

"We don't have long tonight, Reg. I'm just going to do this and then get you home. This weekend I'm expecting that you'll be over at my place on Saturday. We can deal with the icing on the cake then. I'm gonna take you boy—take you to paradise. I'm your guardian angel. I know you're going to come to love this man-cock." Joe slipped off his trousers, lubed from a handy tube set in the seat-back pocket and pulled Reg into his lap. Joe was huge. His cock was thick and long with a gentle curve toward his gut. Reg grabbed and stroked it. Then he bent down and sucked on the bulb as Joe held his head down into his crotch. Joe lifted, probed and lubed Reg's tight entrance with his large beefy fingers, and released his cheeks so that Joe's big, hard pole touched Reg's gate. Slowly he let Reg down, being sure to scrape the prostrate with each pass. Reg's passion was boiling. There was little pain; the endorphins were flowing. Reg was technically an anal virgin since he always topped, but he had used toys that Joe had dictated and fingers.

Soon he was squirming and dancing on Joe's dick. Joe pulled him into a chest embrace, used his hips to arch his dick deep into Reg, and blasted his hot, soupy spunk into Reg. Reg felt the spurts and it pushed him over the brink. Joe reached between them and fisted Reg's cockhead and cupped to receive the young man's first adult "legal" cum. Reg was in love. This was his first real fuck from a real man. He'd do anything for this uncle who had taught him everything. Joe had branded him and bred him. He was now Joe's. Anything for Joe. Joe brought his hand, filled with Reg's cum to Reg's lips. "Here, drink this. When we're together you've always got to finish what you start." Then he pulled Reg's head down. "Now clean up my cock."

Over the next few weeks, Joe and Reg were inseparable. Joe was taking Reg several times a day—always deep, always a little violent, often denying Reg release. And Reg was becoming a slave to Joe's desires and commands. Among his friends, Reg maintained his cocky in-charge persona, but with Joe, he was a sub, a slave, a cum-dump, a cunt, a boy pussy—or any of the other names that Joe called him, as Reg fell under Joe's seductive and masterly spell. Reg submerged his entire self into pleasing Joe.

*********

Nearly a month later, after a hard work out, Reg was showering at the Y. It was an unusual day—the showers at the "Executive Y" were being retiled and the Westin guests had been told they could use the Y's shower facilities, one floor down. Thus, although the Y's gym had been nearly empty, the showers and the steam room were crowded—even the multi-gang shower.

Reg walked, no strutted, into the shower, nude as usual and hung the towel on the rack near one of the showerheads. He soaped up and was dreaming of his upcoming weekend with Joe. Joe had convinced the Reverend that Reg could attend a cycle race in Austin and would be away with Joe for the weekend. Thinking of Joe, Reg of course hardened some. He turned from the shower to rinse his back and noticed a silver-haired older guy—maybe 48—who was just finishing. The guy was in shape, tanned and muscled, with a remarkable set of equipment for an old white guy. He smiled at Reg and stared for some time—almost an embarrassingly long period of time. His eyes seemed to be measuring every part of Reg's body. Reg was of course accustomed to that kind of situation (guys stared at this body and eye-measured his dick all the time). He smiled back, perhaps even turning a bit to present his best profile. Reg thus acknowledged the guy, even fluffing his cock just a bit to make the point clear. Reg smiled at the guy and licked his lips seductively. The guy finally broke the contact and reached for his towel to cover his stiffening cock. He dried himself, nodded to Reg, tied the towel around his waist, and left to find the stairs to the executive floor. As he passed the desk, he asked the attendant to identify Reg. The attendant, knowing that some of the hotel guests occasionally hooked while they slummed in the proletariat Y was reluctant—until the guy pulled a twenty from the key slip case that was around his wrist. He was then rewarded not only with a name, but a few details about Joe, the Rev, and Reg's athletic accomplishments.

The guy (later identified as Robert Evensted, an advertising executive with a major New York agency) was an agent and scout for potential models. He had a practiced eye in identifying young men and women who were likely to be photogenic and magnetic. He was also divorced and occasionally hooked young men when on business trips. He definitely wanted to get Reg in front of a camera (and in his bed). Reg was absolute dynamite. He was bait—for both men and women. He was a dusky god who could promise salvation, popularity, sex-appeal, and treasure—just by standing, maybe throwing a hip forward, and smiling. Reg was one of those models who could sell any product just by selling himself. And Bob intended to buy—and mange his sales to others.

Early the next morning, Bob Evensted visited the office of Reverend James ("call me Jim, please"). Bob apologized for appearing without an appointment, but the Rev didn't really seem to be very busy. He had been working on the budget for the coming year—and it was a depressing task that was easily set aside. He needed a miracle. "What can I do for you, Mr. Evensted."

"I've come to talk to you about your son, Reg."

"He's not in trouble again is he?"

"No, not at all. Relax. To the contrary. Reverend, I work with Publicis, one of the largest advertising agencies in the world. I'm in the New York office. One of my jobs is to identify young men and women who might make suitable subjects for print and television campaigns for our clients' products." Then, Bob exaggerated a bit, "I met your son at the Y yesterday. I think he might be one of those individuals. In order to be sure, we would need to do a photography session and a short screen test. That would require a trip to New York—probably just two days. We of course will pay all expenses—and if you wish, you could chaperone."

"Mr. Evensted, I'm gonna have to think about this. I often preach about the dangers of advertising—often those sexually stimulating ads are invitations to sins of the flesh. I wouldn't want my son to be a tool of Satan, tempting youngsters down the path of damnation."

Evensted went into his standard spiel, "Well, we obviously don't look at this in the same way. We are careful to guard the morals of our employees—including our model representatives. They always have adult supervision. We are in the business of selling products—legal products whose production employs millions of people. And right now, most Americans like being told about new products by attractive people. Incidentally, I am prepared to authorize a payment of $2000 if Reginald goes to New York for the tests and another $3000 if the tests demonstrate that he is indeed someone we want to add to our lineup of actors and models and he signs on with our agency."