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I Am Going Nuts! (Chapter 2a: Juggling (Balls in the air))
Part 1 It was second period. My “conference” period. I was in the teacher’s lounge. The marching band rehearsal before school had gone great. The marching band rehearsal first period had gone even better. My wife had given me the best blowjob I had ever had the night before, and she swallowed! There was only a minor ache in my balls. I had my feet propped up on the chair across from me. The coffee, today, was decent. I had just lit a cigarette, and took my first drag. Life was good. Allen walked in, and swatted my feet with the newspaper in his hand. “Hey, man! Missed you the last two days. You want to do weights or aerobics, today?” Part II Allen and I have a strange relationship. Band directors and football coaches do not, normally, have a good working relationship, much less are friends. Allen and I are probably the two closest friends of the entire faculty. It’s kind of weird. It goes back to my first few days as a teacher. I went to Allen and asked if I could use the gym’s weight room, and workout facilities. He was rather amused that a “band fag” would be interested in working out. He, blatantly, came out and said that the gym, it’s workout facilities, and the football field were his “property”, and whether it was me, or my band, we would get to use them if and when he “damn well felt like it.” I had heard about Allen Stone from the other teachers. Cocky, arrogant. He had been a somewhat successful football player for a lackluster NCAA Division 1 school. Good enough to be his school’s star, but not good enough for any of the NFL scouts to look at him. He did one hitch in the Army after college, because they would pay off his school loans. He was in during Desert Shield/Storm, but he never ended up getting deployed. Some of the teachers remarked that when he was drunk that he complained about doing “police call” on Fort Carson, while everyone else was in the desert. However, he was a pretty good coach. His teams won just enough games that there was never any question of whether his contract would be renewed, but not enough to really contend for Area or Region Championship on a regular basis. He did manage to get all of his stars an athletic scholarship to the school of their choice in the state, though. I looked at him for a moment. He looked like a guy who might have been in good shape, at one time. He probably worked out regularly, at one time. However, that time was past. It looked like, given the size of his beer gut, that the only exercise he did now was “12 ounce curls”, and he went for a lot of repetitions. I had achieved a perfect score on an Army Physical Fitness Test less than 2 months, ago. (Event #1: how many pushups can you do, with correct form, in two minutes?, Event #2: how many situps can you do, with correct form, in two minutes?, and Event #3: how fast can you run two miles?) “Okay, Coach Stone. You are absolutely right. I am a ‘band fag’, as you say, and I have no right to ask you to allow me in your ‘house’.” He looked at me stunned for a moment. I was not sure what he expected me to say in response to him. I knew one thing, though, what I was saying was a total surprise. “Uh-huh.” “Tell you what, Coach.” “What?” “A push up contest.” “What?!?!” “We get down and do pushups, together. If you beat me, then I will never bring my band into the gym, unless you ask, and we will find another practice field, other than your football field. If I win, my band gets first priority for concerts in the gym, when there is not a game in here, my band can use the football field whenever your team is not practicing, AND I can workout using your weight and aerobic equipment whenever I want. Deal?” A grin slowly spread across his face. I could tell that he was anxious to show this “band fag”, that he was the “lead dog”, in his domain ... the athletic department, and its facilities. “How many days would you like to ‘train up’ for this, Mr. Lewis?” “None.” He gave me look of astonishment, that was quickly replaced by a look of triumph. “So, when do you want to do this, Mr. Lewis? “I was thinking we would do it now.” He looked confused for a moment. “Who is going to count the pushups?” “Nobody is going to have to count, Coach. It’s just you and I. We get down, and stay in cadence with each other, the first to drop loses.” He grins. “You are on.” “Let’s go, Coach.” “Down.” We both dropped into pushup position, facing each other, our noses just inches apart. He looked at me, and said, “Go!” He started doing pushups, and I stayed with him. Both of us, toes, and hands on the gym floor, facing each other, eye to eye. 10 ... 20 ... 30 ... 40 ... He started to slow around 45, and I stayed with him. 47 ... 48 ... 49 ... And, as he was about halfway up for 50, his muscles failed, and he dropped to the floor. “Thanks, Coach, slowing down to your pace was killing me!” 50! I knocked out 30 more, at my pace, and jumped to my feet, and started swinging my arms to loosen my muscles up. Allen still hadn’t mustered up the strength to roll over, yet. “You know, of course, Coach, that your form sucked, and that half of those wouldn’t have counted on an Army Physical Fitness Test.” He rolled over, and glared up at me, still panting. “What do you know about the APFT?” I grinned down at him. “I spent almost 10 years in the Army, as an Army bandsman. I maxed my last APFT. That was less than 2 months ago.” “SHIT!!!!” I haven’t called him “coach”, and he has not called me “band fag”, since then. He lived up to his end of the bargain, and we have become good friends. I call him “Bear”. Bear Bryant is his hero as a coach. He calls me “Maestro”. I work with his players on conditioning, and he assists me with working marching skills with my band. He is, now, part of the “crew”. Deb, me, Allen, and whoever the “woman of the moment” is, “Woof”, and CJ (when they can get a sitter), Gary Benson, Sean and Patty Turner, Frank Koniditsiotis, Pete and Bobbi Johnson, Bill and Cheryl Corwin, and Patrick Macelli were the “crew”. Apache Avenue Pub is where the “crew” hangs out. We eat, drink, and throw darts, together, when we can. The entire group is rarely there at once, but a lot of us are together most nights. Part III Back to today’s conference period. “Allen, things have been kind of rough the last few days. Work, Debby, and stuff. You know ...” “Yeah.” “Tell you what, Your boys drew a ‘bye’ this week, right?” “Right.” “No game until next Friday?” A grin started to appear on his face. “Right.” “They looked pretty sloppy last week against Fabenville.” “Hey!” “They did, Bear. ... They looked ...” I grinned. “tired. They need some motivation, and physical conditioning.” Allen’s grin returned. “You thinking what I am thinking, Maestro?” “I think so, Bear.” We spoke in unison. “GRASS DRILLS!” He swats my feet again, with the paper. “Time for the old dogs to smoke the young pups!” We both laughed. The cell phone in my pocket started vibrating. I grabbed it and answered it. Covering the other ear to drown out Allen’s laughter. “Hel ...” “Have you called?” It was Deb. She was at work. I could hear the sounds of her office in the background. “Huh?” “Have you called Dr. Freeman, yet?” “What? No.” “I thought we decided that you were going to call him today. You told me you would.” “Huh? I thought we were still talking, and researching?” “I’ve done all the research I need, besides you told me this morning you would call. You need to call soon before your conference period is over.” “I thought you were asleep. You never remember what you say to me as I leave in the morning. Besides ...” I got up. Covered the phone with my hand. Looked at Allen, and mouthed “Debby”. He took the hint, and headed out of the room. “I thought the last couple of nights ... all that talk ... I just figured it was one of our ‘games’”. “It was no game. I want you to call, now.” I stood there startled for a moment. She lowered her voice, so that none of her coworkers could here. It was low, dark, and sultry. (Damn, an alto voice can do things to me!) “I have been thinking of all the ‘games’ we could play between now and when it is done, and even more ‘games’ we could play, after it is done.” She said that, and “Henry” stood at attention. “Uh ...” “In fact, the thought of playing those games make me all wet, and creamy. I will probably have to go the restroom to clean myself up, in a few minutes. I wouldn’t want to soak through my skirt.” “Uh, dear ...” “Of course, for the games before the procedure is done, we would have to play every night, because ...” She giggled. “this is a limited-time offer, and supplies are limited.” “Henry” throbbed. My “other head” (the big one) was dazed. “Are you going to call, dear?” “Uh-huh.” “One more thing, you better do something about ‘Henry’ before your next class. That little bitch, Kindy, has messed with both of your ‘heads’, enough. I don’t want you to give her anything that might encourage her.” I croaked. “Yes, dear.” I picked up my coffee and took a sip to cure the sudden dryness in my throat. “I think we should do another ‘taste test’ tonight, does that sound like fun?” I almost spit coffee across the room. “Yes!” She purred into the phone. “Bye.” “Bye.” Part IV Shit! It appeared Debby’s “switch” was on! Not only that, given last night, and what she just said, it was on like it hasn’t been since we were newlyweds! It appeared that I could keep things that way, all I had to do was consent to having my balls cut off. I had a nagging feeling something was not right. All of the pieces of the puzzle did not add up to the results that I was seeing. I was missing something somewhere. What did I know? I had a problem, and my balls were it. My career, marriage, health and life were in the balance, here. Debby’s “switch” was on. It hadn’t been on for more than 3 hours at a time in the last 7 years. It had been on for over 12 hours now, and I was promised, at least, 12 hours more. She had nightly “games” planned for, at least, the next 2 months. We hadn’t “played” like that since the 1980’s. The last time she had been stone cold sober, and described herself as “wet and creamy” had been ... the 1980’s, as well. My conclusions, from what I knew: My libido threatened everything I held dear. What I would have to do to fix that problem turned my wife on like she had never been turned on before. If I took the solution offered me, it would fix the only facet of my marriage that I had ever had any complaint about. *** I dug the business card out of my pocket, and dialed the number on it. “Let me speak to Dr. Freeman, please. This is Jim Lewis.” “Well, leave him this message, I would like to take him up on his offer.” “Thank you.” *** What I didn’t know: Why did all of this kick Debby’s libido into full throttle? I had no idea. I did know, however, that I couldn’t go to my third period class with this kind of tent in my Dockers! END OF PART 2A
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