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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

The Preacher's Kid: High School - 1. Please Call Me Eddie

Well, I never thought I'd come up with a new story so soon after leaving Barnstable! This time around we're going to hang out in Charlotte, NC.

There is a lot of character introduction in this first chapter. I hope you find yourself interested in Eddie and Matthew. They have a very special bond... one that will only become more special (but not for the reasons your thinking)!

NOTE: There is some child abuse in this chapter. It will be handled and we will move on with the story.

So, I guess the first thing I should do before I start telling you my story is my name—Clayton Edward Hamilton III. Pretentious as fuck, I know. I think I hate on my parents at least once a day for doing that to me! I mean, really?

My friends call me Eddie. Mom and Dad call me Trey—it’s about that Roman numeral at the end of my name. No matter how much I beg them to call me Eddie, they insist on honoring my so-called legacy. They tell me I’ll understand when I put an “IV” at the end of my first-born son’s name. Ha! Like that’s ever going to happen!

I’m seventeen and a junior at Ardrey Kell High School in Charlotte, North Carolina. I’m kinda-sorta a jock at AK. Not so much that I’m this big athletic dumb-as-shit type, but when you’re active in sports, it keeps you out of the house quite a bit. That in itself is all the reason I need to play varsity soccer in the Fall and baseball in the Spring.

Another thing that keeps me motivated to stay in sports is the endless supply of eye candy! I mean, Jesus! Do you realize how much control it takes from popping major wood in the showers after practice? Or worse—after winning a game and everybody’s clowning around when they’re celebrating? But those showers sure give me a lot of images for my wanking sessions!

So yeah, I’m gay. Well—at least I think I am. Pretty sure, though. I’ve never done anything with a dude, but I can tell you that when I’m strokin’ at night, I’m thinking about dick and kissing the boys they are attached to. And the quickest way to ruin a stroke session for me? All I have to do is think of what a pussy looks like. I mean, I can only guess since I’ve never seen one—or even want to!

Okay—and this is super important. You can’t tell anyone—not a fucking soul—what I just told you is a total secret between you and me. If you can’t keep that secret, then you should just quit while you’re ahead. Stop reading. Now!

I know, I know—it’s 2019. The world has changed. It’s okay to be gay. Blah blah fucking blah! It’s definitely not okay when Clayton Edward Hamiltion, Jr. is a pastor. Not just any pastor, either. Oh nooooo—dear old Dad is the pastor of Rising Hope Church—one of those mega-churches cropping up all over the South.

Now, before you jump to any conclusions about that, I do have to say that Dad isn’t one of those “my way or the highway to Hell” kind of preachers. For a mega-church, RH is kind of progressive. I mean, he’s pretty conservative, but I’ve never heard him do a sermon on how those queers are an abomination and heading straight (pun intended) to Satan. Or even worse—Dad has never said that “love the sinner, hate the sin” crap. I guess I should be grateful for the little things, huh?

Mom’s pretty cool, though—she’s a typical preacher’s wife. She stands beside Dad and supports him in whatever kind of shit he’s up to at the moment. But when she’s away from him, Mom does a shitload of volunteer work. What makes her cool is she decides for herself what she’s going to volunteer for and doesn’t let anyone (including Dad) tell her what to do. I mean, Mom volunteers with the local Out Youth program and their plans to create North Carolina’s first shelter for homeless gay kids. Pretty dope, if you ask me!

That kinda drives Dad crazy at times because, as you might have figured out by now, Rev. Clayton Edward Hamilton, Jr. is all about image and the impression he and his family make on a daily basis. I mean, really—that fucking Roman numeral at the end of my name is all about image. Everyone knows it!

The sibs—I guess I should tell you about my sibs. First, there’s Haley. She’s my older sister, nineteen, and a sophomore at Appalachian State up in the mountains. She’s getting a music education degree up there—but if you ask me, she’s up there so she can ski her ass off during the winter! I know that’s why I would go to school up there.

Then there’s Nathan. He’s my twelve-year-old little runt brother. He’s a mama’s boy and can do no wrong in her eyes. Of course, I have him under my thumb now since I caught him stroking his itty-bitty little boy dickie in the bathroom we share. He claims he didn’t know what he was doing. He had heard a couple of the boys at school talking about how they did that, and he just wanted to see what the big deal was. Hehe, when he was standing there with that baby dick in his hand, there was nothin’ big about anything! God! I crack myself up, sometimes!

So, there’s something you should know about PKs (Preacher Kids). We’re bad. So far, in my experience—we’re all bad! Some, like my sister Haley, aren’t very creative in their badness and just go for the obvious. She would do shit like color her hair blue, get a piercing on her nose, or start wearing that god-forsaken goth look. She would purposefully do shit to drive my parents crazy. Then she would go up to her room, and I could hear her laughing and talking to her freak friends about how the parents reacted to her latest stunt.

Me? I’m the quiet-but-deadly-if-they-ever-found-out-about-my-shit PK. We usually live our bad-ass lives in secret because—well, because we’re that bad!

The little runt is probably going to be the type of PK that knocks up a different girl every month and lets the bigwigs at Daddy’s church deal with the outcome—and not give a fuck the entire time. Little perv!

Okay, so now that you have an idea what the family is like, it’s time to tell you about the one person that means more to me than anyone—or anything else. Matthew Jordan—my bestie, next-door neighbor, and even my father calls him my brother from another mother!

Matty’s family and my family are super close. Our moms were best friends and were pregnant with us at the same time. I was born on July 25, and Matty was a day late and a dollar short. He decided to wait a day and was born on the 26th.

Of course, I was Mom’s second kid. Matty was his mom’s first—and only. My mom would be there to answer any questions and help Matty’s mom through her pregnancy. Mom says that from the minute we were brought home from the hospital, we would always be together. We would take our naps together in the same crib. When we got a little older, we would hang out and play together in the same playpen.

For as long as I can remember, Matty and I would spend three or four nights sleeping over in one of our houses. In case you’re wondering, Matty has no idea that his best friend wants to suck a dick more than just about anything in the world right now.

Matty’s also a jock—well, at least for half a year. Next year, he’s going to be the starting quarterback for the AK Knights. The rest of the year? The fucker does musical theatre! I know, right? Fucking insane. Okay, I have to admit that he’s really good at it. He gets a lot of grief from the other guys on the team, but they can’t argue his logic. He says the theatre program is loaded with girls—most of them hot—all of them frustrated with the number of gay boys in the department.

Matty’s an only kid. Lucky fucker! No freak sisters or little twerp pervs around to get in the way of his life. I really shouldn’t say lucky, though. You see, about three years ago, Matty’s mom died after a long fight with breast cancer.

I think that was the saddest I’ve ever been. I mean, we were all sad that Mrs. J. died and all, but it tore me up to see Matty so sad. I can’t tell you how many nights he’d sneak into my room at night so he wouldn’t have to sleep alone.

He would cry himself to sleep for weeks. Then the alarm on his phone would wake him up at five in the morning so he could sneak back into his room next door. I think Mr. J. took it the hardest. He still hasn’t recovered from losing Mrs. J. Who could? She was fucking awesome.

The ironic thing is that Mr. J. made a fortune as a motivational speaker and author. I guess that’s good since he didn’t have to report to an office job while Mrs. J. was sick and all. But then again, if he knew he had to go back to work, maybe he would have got his shit together. Instead, he just sits in his chair with the TV on and drinks—way too much.

The other good thing is that money still pours in from his books and videos, so at least Matty’s got everything he needs.

So now we get to the reason I decided to share my story. You see, the shit hit the fan last night.

It was after midnight when I heard a tap on my bedroom window. Thank God I had already stroked, cleaned up, and put my boxer briefs back on. At least I could crawl out of bed to see what the fuck was going on.

Fuck! It was Matty, bleeding like crazy and crying outside my window. I opened it, and he crawled in—barely. I had to help him get over the windowsill. He stumbled, and we both landed on the floor with him on top of me. Glad I wasn’t wearing a shirt, or his blood would have totally ruined it. Okay, okay—that was a shitty thing to say—or even think.

I got Matty up off the floor and took him into my bathroom. I found a dark blue washcloth (it would hide the blood better than the white ones), got it nice and wet, and cleaned his face the best I could. I told him I needed to take his shirt off so I could clean up the blood that had dripped. He didn’t say anything. He just nodded and kept crying.

I wet another cloth and told him to hold it to the cut on his forehead. I don’t know why—I guess it made me sound like I knew what I was talking about—but I told him to press as hard as he could stand so the bleeding would stop. Hell, I didn’t know if that’s what you were supposed to do, but it at least gave him something to think about other than what had happened to him.

Fuck! What did happen to him? Who could do this to Matty? Why would someone do this to him?

It took another fifteen minutes, but we finally got the bleeding to stop. Even more importantly, Matty got the crying to stop.

“Dude, stay here. Let me go to the kitchen. Mom has a first aid kit, and I’m pretty sure there’s a roll of gauze we can wrap around your head like a bandage thing.”

“Okay. I won’t go anywhere. Nowhere to go, anyways.”

I tip-toed into the kitchen and found the first aid kit. Yep! There was a roll of gauze. I snuck back into my bedroom and quietly shut the door. Matty was still sitting on the lid of the toilet, looking like shit warmed over.

I asked him to take the cloth away from his forehead so I could bandage it. Motherfucker! That was a nasty-ass cut. It probably needed stitches. When I told him I should wake up Mom and Dad so we could get him to the hospital, he freaked out and said he wouldn’t go. I calmed him down again and wrapped his head in the gauze.

I told him he was sleeping with me tonight, and he got all freaky on me again.

“Dude. How many nights have you spent over here? We can set your phone alarm, so you can get back to your house again before your old man wakes up.”

“Hell no! I’m not going back. Never fucking again!”

“Why? What happened?”

“Not gonna talk about it, Eddie. Don’t ask me.”

“Fuck! Your old man did this?”

Matty didn’t have to say anything. The way he started to cry again told me everything I needed to know. Fucking bastard! I don’t care what happened—you don’t beat your fucking kid to a pulp!

When Matty calmed down again, he thanked me for letting him stay with me. “You don’t have to thank me for that. We do it all the time, anyway. But Jesus! You smell like shit. You aren’t getting into my bed until we get you cleaned up.”

“I can’t, Eddie.”

“You can. And you will. I’ll help you, so you won’t get your bandage wet.”

I pulled Matty up from the toilet and helped him get undressed. Damn! He might look like shit—and smelled even worse, but fucking Matty had one fine body!

“I can’t do this, Eddie. Please.”

“Jesus, Matty! It’s not like we’ve never seen each other’s dicks before!”

I turned on the water and pulled the hand-held shower thing from the holder up on the wall. I could just use that and help him get clean and make sure I point the water away from his head.

“Get in, dude. I’m gonna help you.”

“You can’t tell anyone—not even your parents!”

I didn’t know what the fuck Matty was talking about until he stepped into the tub. Holy shit!! Matty’s back was covered with bruises and welts. Some of them looked fresh, but a lot of them looked old. I had to keep my cool, though. I couldn’t freak my bud out any more than he already is.

I pulled off my boxer briefs and stood behind Matty. I carefully wet his body with the hand-held and asked him to hold it while I got the sponge and loaded it up with the liquid soap. I started on his back and gently washed it.

“Does that hurt? I’m not pressing too hard, am I?”

“No. Kinda feels good.”

Oh, fuck me. Here I am doing what I can to help my best bud out when it hit me. The back was easy. I looked down and realized I had to wash Matty’s hot ass. I mean, c’mon. It was perfect—and I was gonna have to touch it. Eddie! Don’t be an asshole and just help your friend already!

I ran the sponge over his cheeks and pressed it into the crack, making sure I got him clean. I got out of there as fast as I could and ran the sponge between his legs. Aww shit! Yep, his balls grazed my fingers as I cleaned his taint.

I moved down to his legs as quickly as I could. At least those were safe.

I took a deep breath and asked Matty to turn around. At least I was freaked out enough to keep myself from popping any wood! What I wasn’t expecting was to see Matty’s hard cock pointing right at me. Really? Why??

“Sorry about the wood, Eddie. I mean, you were rubbing on my ass and balls. It’s gonna happen.”

“Yeah, I guess it would.”

I washed his chest and arms, then his legs.

“Don’t worry, Eddie. I can wash my own dick. I wouldn’t even think of putting you through that.”

“Thanks, dude. Greatly appreciated.”

I took the showerhead from him as he sponged his now half-hard cock clean. Oops! Hard again! Hey! Don’t judge! I’m probably gay—okay, I am gay. How was I not gonna look?

Once he finished cleaning, I rinsed Matty and turned off the water. I checked the bandage on his head. Bone dry. Shit! Didn’t mean to say bone!

I grabbed the towel hanging on the shower door and gently dried him. I took the towel, dried myself, and stepped out of the shower, pulling on my boxer briefs.

“C’mon, Matty. Let me get you something to wear.”

I opened the top drawer of my dresser and pulled out a pair of boxer briefs. “Okay, put those on and get into bed. You gotta be exhausted.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

I crawled into “my side” of the bed and pulled the covers back for Matty. He crawled in but didn’t lay down.

“What’s up?”

“I can’t lay on the pillow. What if I start bleeding in the middle of the night? Your Mom will kill me!”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But I do, Eddie. I’ll just sit up. Probably can’t sleep anyway.”

I had to think of something. I couldn’t let Matty stay up all night. I knew what I had to do, and part of me liked the idea while the other part of me was terrified.

“C’mere.” I held out my arms and pulled Matty to me so his head rested on my chest. “I’ll be your pillow tonight, kay?”

“Thanks, Eddie. I don’t know what I’d do without—”

“Shhh. Don’t even worry about it. That’s why we have each other. I take care of you. You take care of me, right?”


We were quiet for a few minutes, and I felt Matty sigh.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. The hot shower really helped.

After another minute or so of silence, I had to ask—I had to know. “Matty? You still awake?”


“How long? How long has he been doing this shit?”

“A few months—maybe four. But please, Eddie—you can’t let anyone know. They’ll call CPS and take me away. They’ll put me in foster care. I won’t get to see you anymore.”

“Shhhh. Don’t worry. Dude, I won’t say a word. Stop stressin’ over it. I got your back.”

“Thanks, man.”

“No worries. And by the way, when I wake up tomorrow and have the morning wood thing happening, you gotta know it’s cuz I’m seventeen. It’s not you. Got it?”

“Got it. And just so you know, if I’m hard in the morning, it has nothing to do with you holding me all night. It just means I hafta pee.”

“Got it.”

After another short pause, Matty had one more thing to say. “Thanks again, Eddie. I love you, dude.”

“Love you too, man.”

Well, I didn’t sleep all that well. I was worried about Matty. And I was worried about me. I’ve never spent the night holding someone in my arms—let alone someone I cared about so much.

I kept dozing off and waking up. On the other hand, Matty barely moved all night. He must have been exhausted. Hell, why wouldn’t he be? How could he sleep in the same house with a man who’d been beating the shit outta him?

It was around 6:00 in the morning when the shit sort of hit the fan. I’m usually up at 5:30 to get ready for school. When Mom didn’t hear anything from my room, she tapped on the door and opened it.

“Oh! Dear Lord!” At least she didn’t shout loud enough to wake Matty. I motioned for her to be quiet as she stepped into the room.

She gasped as she saw the bandage around Matty’s head. But when she saw the bruises on his back, she started to weep.

She whispered to me, “Do you know who did this to Matty?” I silently nodded my head. “Was it—did he—is his father responsible for this?”

I nodded again. “How bad is the cut on his head?”

I mouthed the word “Bad.”

“I should get your father.”

I shook my head and mouthed, “Nooooooo.”

“I need to wake Matthew. He could have a concussion.”

“Be gentle, okay?”

Mom rubbed Matty’s shoulder and spoke a little louder. “Matthew? Matty? I need you to wake up?”

Matty moaned and groaned and lifted his head. “Owww, my head hurts.”

“Matthew? It’s Mrs. H. Are you awake?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry. Don’t be mad at Eddie.”

“I’m not mad at anybody. But I need to take you to the emergency room and see if you need stitches. They should probably check you for a concussion, too.”

“No. I can’t go.”

“Son, you’ve been hurt badly. It needs to be checked out. Why won’t you go?”

“If they find out what happened, they’ll take me away.”

“Who will take you away?”

“Dad said CPS would take me away if they find out.”

“We won’t let CPS get involved. I promise. The important thing is that we get you to the ER and fixed up. Can we do that?”


“You boys get ready and meet me down in the kitchen. Mr. H. is still sleeping, so you need to move quickly—and quietly.”

“Okay, Mom. Thanks for being so cool.”

“Hey—it’s what I do.”

Mom left us alone to get dressed. Crap, we both had boners when we got out of bed. Matty was a little woozy, so I helped him into the bathroom.

“Go ahead and piss. I’ll find you something to wear.”

I heard Matty peeing as I found a pair of basketball shorts and a tee shirt. I took him the clothes and helped him change. Once he was dressed, I walked him out to the bed and told him to sit while I pissed and got dressed.

We were ready to go in less than five minutes. I held onto Matty’s arm and walked him into the kitchen. Mom was writing a note to Dad but only said Matty was hurt. She told him we were going to the ER at Presbyterian Hospital and to call her when he read the note. That was pretty good. She didn’t let on what she knew—or thought she knew.

On the way to the hospital, Mom told us not to worry about school. She said she would call and take care of our excuses. Damn! Mom is having all sorts of cool moments today.

We got to the ER in no time at all. Because of the potential head injury, they took Matty in right away. Mom went back with Matty, but they wouldn’t let me go. At least I had my phone and earbuds. I could pass the time watching some YouTube.

About ten minutes later, I had a call come in. Fuck! Dad! I had to answer, knowing that there would be Hell to pay if I didn’t.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Good Morning, Trey. I just talked to your mother, and she wanted me to tell you that the doctor said you did a great job with Matthew last night. She thinks you might have saved his life, too.”

“I didn’t do all that much. Well—I didn’t do anything for Matty that he wouldn’t do for me, ya know.”

“I know that. I’m really proud of you, son.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“I need you to be honest with me, Trey. Your mother didn’t have very much information, and she said Matthew refused to tell anyone what happened. Your mother thinks you know a lot more.”

“Dad, please don’t make me say anything. Matty told me some of it—but only after I promised him I wouldn’t tell anyone. I can’t break my promise to Matty, Dad. You should understand that.”

“Trey. I do understand. But you need to understand this. Your mother believes that Matthew’s father may be responsible for his injuries—and that this has been going on for quite some time. If you don’t let me know what you know, Matthew could return home. The next time something like this happens, he may not survive. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Of course, I understood what Dad was telling me. Hell, I thought about the same thing myself last night. But if I broke my promise and Matty ended up being carted off by CPS, he would never forgive me.

“Trey? Are you there? You need to help Matthew. I’m afraid you are the only one who can help put an end to this.”

Damn! I’ll just have to apologize to Matty. I love him too much to even think about him getting hurt again—or worse.

“Dad, I need to step outside. There are too many people sitting around here.”

“Okay son, I’ll wait.”

I stepped outside and found a bench off to the side. I took a seat and told Dad about my promise to Matty. “Before I start, I need to tell you why I made that promise to Matty. He’s terrified that if CPS finds out what’s been happening, they’ll take him away and put him in a foster home. You have to promise me you’ll keep CPS out of this. Please, Dad?”

“I completely understand where Matthew is coming from. I understand your concerns, as well. I promise you I’ll do everything in my power to keep CPS out of this. But I need to assure you that even if they do get involved, you should know that the church has worked with the agency on numerous occasions. They listen to what I have to say, and the vast majority of the time, they take my suggestions.”

“Okay. I guess I have to trust you on this.”

“Thank you, Trey. Just tell me what you know.”

“It was a little past midnight, and I heard a tapping on my window. I pulled the curtains back, and Matty was standing there. He was bleeding pretty bad from his head, and he was crying. I opened the window and helped him climb into my room. Dad, he was in pretty bad shape.

“I took him into my bathroom and helped get the bleeding to stop. I went to the first aid kit, got a roll of gauze, and wrapped it around his head. When things started to calm down, I realized that he smelled awful. It was like he hadn’t showered in days. Well, that’s my opinion—not necessarily a fact.

“I convinced him to get into the shower, and that’s when I saw his back. Dad, it was horrible. Matty’s back was covered with bruises and welts. Some of the bruises looked older and almost faded. But the fresh welts and bruises were awful.

“I finally got him into the bed, and he thought he would just sit up all night. He was afraid he would bleed on the pillows. Well, I convinced him to rest his head on my chest. I figured my chest would be easy to wash if he started bleeding again. I already knew his dad had done this to him. He told me earlier. When I asked him how long it had been going on, he told me it had been three or four months.

“That’s when he made me promise not to tell anyone. He said his dad told him that CPS would take him away if anyone found out, and he’d never see his friends again. That’s all I know, Dad. I just betrayed my best friend. You gotta keep your end of the deal.”

“Thank you for telling me this, Trey. I know that was hard for you to do. Here’s my plan: I’m going to go next door and talk to George. I will tell him what I know and give him two options. The first option is that he admits himself into a psychiatric hospital and gets the treatment he needs. While he’s in the hospital, Matthew will stay with us. That’s not a stretch since he’s here so much anyway.”

“What’s the other option?”

“The other option will involve CPS. He will most likely be arrested for child abuse and neglect, and he’ll get his treatment behind bars. He might even be required to relinquish parental rights. Again, I will suggest that Matthew stay with us so he won’t have to change schools or lose his friends. The only difference with that option is CPS will be around quite a bit checking up on Matthew’s well-being and make sure he is properly taken care of.”

“Do you think Mr. J. will listen to you?”

“George and I have been friends for over twenty years. In his current state, he may resist what I have to say, but I know I can convince him to follow my plan.”

There was an uncomfortable silence on the phone. I finally knew I had to beg. God, I hate this!

“Dad? Please, please, please don’t let Matty know I blew the whistle. I promise to let him know when the time is right. But you can’t tell him how I broke my promise to him.”

“You have my word, Trey. And can I say one more thing?”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more proud of you. What you did was difficult—but it was also the right thing to do. You done good, Eddie.”

“What? Did you just call me Eddie?”

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Well, yeah—since forever.”

“You’ve certainly earned it. It’s Eddie from now on. I love you, son. We’ll make this right. I promise.”

Well, here we go! We're off on another adventure! I think you're going to love Eddie and Matty. They have a lot going in their favor...but even more working against them.

Let me know what you think! You know I need to hear from you so I feel motivated to continue with the story!


Copyright © 2019 FlyOnTheWall; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
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Actually there are two kinds of PKs (Preacher’s Kids). You’ve mentioned the first type: the rebel. The second type is brainwashed into following their father’s lead. In extreme cases, that means that the children of well-known ministers become ministers themselves (Franklin Graham and Yolanda King are prime examples of where the child relies on their father’s reputation and falls far short of their stature).

In the case of my family, things are very much moderated. My brothers are both very religious with my older brother even attending a conservative religious liberal arts college (my younger brother’s son just graduated from a different conservative religious liberal arts college). My parents thought I rebelled by merely being Openly Gay (my ’sin’ was not suppressing my orientation).

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If Eddie does have a son, will ‘Deuce’ call him Quinn (for quint)? or is there some other nickname associated with the position?

Edited by droughtquake
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I had to read this when I found it. While I'm not a genuine PK, I'm the next best thing. My grandfather was Sunday School Superintendent, Minister of Music, and Assistant to the Pastor. As such, my brother and I were held to a higher standard than the other kids in church. "Is he chewing gum in church? And he's Brother Danehurst's grandson!" "He didn't take his dishes back to the kitchen! You'd think Brother Danehurst's grandson would want to set an example for the rest of them."

The pastor was as old as my grandfather, and all his kids were grown, and not there to be picked on anymore.

Oops! I had to edit that last line. If the pastor's son was as old as my g'pa, how old would that have made the pastor himself? Probably older than that idiot, Robertson, and just as incapable of being a minister.


Edited by Richard Zucher
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10 hours ago, GanymedeRex said:

I know a "IV" kid, who is called IV ("Eye Vee").  Its awful.   This story is lively and interesting so far.   My only advice, ditch the "rents" phrase.   I work with and know a lot of kids. Nobody under 25 uses this term.

They still say rents in OH


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On 6/10/2019 at 10:32 PM, droughtquake said:

If Eddie does have a son, will ‘Deuce’ call him Quinn (for quint)? or is there some other nickname associated with the position.

Star Trek: Enterprise had Trip who was his father’s and grandfather’s namesake. And I realized Quinn/quint/cinq/cinco are actually related to quintuple or five! Quad (quatre/cuatro/quadruple) would be four.

There was an old spreadsheet application called Lotus 1-2-3. One of its rivals was named Borland Quattro (now owned by Corel). The story is that there’s an old song that begins with a chant: One, two, three, quattro! (Quattro being four en Español in Italian. This is definition is why Audi calls their four-wheel-drive models Quattro.)

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This kid isn't fooling anybody.  No suspense here.  Unless Daddy preacher has his head in a well, he KNOWS his kid is gay.

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Loving this story so far, I am looking forward to more chapters.

Katy Perry is a PK 

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On 6/13/2019 at 8:32 PM, tesao said:

OK,  you have me hooked.   This is kind of cool: a story venue I don’t know. Now I can let with my imagination run wild and create a  fictional mental place -  which may include all of the Southern stereotypes at my whim. 😈

Poor PKs.   I should know; I was one (of a well-known P),  except in the church from which I recovered the Ps are all “volunteer” (they’re actually selected and then seriously pressured) and have regular professions and jobs the rest of the week.  Even still, it was 24/7.  When I came out, I had to leave town.   God, I was also one of those suffix kids. Way to trigger your readers nightmares, @FlyOnTheWall.  😉 I hope things are easier for Eddie.  His dad certainly seems more woke.

I feel so badly for Matt.  He’s lucky to have such a loyal friend.  

Hugs 🤗 

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1 hour ago, Bft said:

Katy Perry is a PK 

Definitely a rebel-type PK. But I’m still not a fan. And it’s not about those fake rivalries with other shallow pop singers…

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Just read the first chapter and I love it.  I'm so captivated by this story.  Of course, I am hoping for a romantic relationship between these two best buds.  I love stories that are more about dealing with gay feelings than just the sex, but sex is the natural progression and is essential in making a gay story worthwhile.  So, the first chapter is worth an "A" in my book. Thanks

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I think Matthew’s dad is homophobic and doesn’t like his son being a theater geek when he’s not on the football team.  His wife was probably a buffer between them but her death and their grief boiled everything over.

I’m also getting Eddie and Matthew are in love with each other- and are keeping it from each other.  It’ll be interesting to see how that plays between them and their families.

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Ok this is a little different . As opening chapters go, once again youve nailed it for me and got my interest. I was thinking the PK was gonna be the abuse victim, so sad for Matty. I understand Mr J is grieving but thats really no excuse. Lets hope Matty and his dad both get the help they need. Thanks for the new story.

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I was one of those suffix kids, but I was in luck – I was named after my Grandfather so I was a II. But nobody ever called me 'Deuce' , thank you very much- But I was not a Jr. either.
As the Grandfather after whom I was named, died before I was born so there was no necessity of coming up with a numerical name, I was just called 'Will'. The same as was he when he was alive.

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