Dude Are You Serious

Published on Nov 20, 2023

Gay
Highschool

Dude, Are You Serious? - Chapter 7

Dude, Are You Serious?

© 2015

by

Jonathan Longhorn

Copyright © 2015 by Jonathan Longhorn (jonathan_longhorn at yahoo dot com). All rights reserved. Except for the use of less than two pages in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means is forbidden without the express written permission of the author. Express permission is granted to The Nifty Erotic Stories Archive for storage, indexing, retrieval, and display of this work.

Disclaimer: The material in this work is for mature audiences only and contains graphic sexual content and language. It is intended only for those aged 18 and older. All of the characters in this work are assumed to be at least 18 years of age.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and settings are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, names, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental. In the real world having sex without using a condom can be very dangerous to your health. Don’t ruin your life or your future. Slip it on before you slip it in.

Note: There are some references in this story and others, to things mentioned in another of my stories, Target Nemesis: The Tentacle Lord’s Revenge, which you can find here: http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/sf-fantasy/target-nemesis-the-tentacle-lords-revenge.html. The story itself is about the movie being watched by characters in several of my stories - in which an alien warlord bent on revenge, ‘has his way’ with an Earth Forces Brigade hero. While I hope that you would enjoy reading that story, it may be a bit brutal for some readers and you do not need to read that story first in order to understand or to enjoy this story.

All trademarks used in this work are the sole property of their owners and have been used without permission or endorsement.

Chapter 7

‘Inferno’.

Sigh.

His first day on the job.

His first customer.

And it had to be the alpha-in-your-faceitudinal Ellis Blackwell. Okay, well…. In sales one had to deal with the final sale. If he could get through dealing with Ellis, he could get through anything. His dad would be proud. Maybe he’d lay off him for joining the Cheer Squad.

Yeah. Fat chance of that.

‘Inferno’.

Summer. South Texas. Sweltering. And Hell’s prince was standing beside him.

Yeah, ‘Inferno’.

‘Inferno’.

That was the color that Reagan Bender had called the specific TRD Pro that Ellis had broke into a run for from clear across the dealership parking lot. Oh. Sure. There were a few dozen other TRDs between him and ‘Inferno’ but, they might as well have not even been on the lot.

“That one,” Ellis had said with all the confidence in the world. No haggle. No ‘if’ or ‘and’ or ‘but’ or even ‘how much’ was needed. “That’s the one.”

Great. Just … friggin’ … great. Naturally, Hell’s prince would choose a monster of a truck with a color called ‘Inferno’.

I’m gonna go down in flames, here.

“Dude, are you serious?” Reagan had to pick his jaw up off the asphalt. “The ‘starting’ price on that model is….”

“I don’t care about the starting price, man,” Ellis said as he stopped. He stared. Finally, he ambled across the last twenty feet toward his pick of the litter. “Starting price … final price with options … it doesn’t matter. That’s the one.”

Sure, they added a few ‘options’. The top of the line ‘connectivity kit’, the 5-inch Oval Black Tube Steps, the Ball Mount, the bedliner, a high-end Bose System with 9 strategically placed speakers—enough to blow the roof off the cab of the truck. Tint as dark as Texas laws allowed; not to mention what he could get away with considering his favorite uncle was a Deputy Sheriff here in Bent Horn County, Texas. And, yeah—they jacked it up some. He was 6’3” of prime teenage bull stallion, after all. Good thing for anyone else that ever planned to get into it that they threw in those steps.

Black seats with red stitching. GPS. Custom wheels. Yeah—this was a monster. A monster owned by a monster.

He even talked Reagan into a custom detail job on the hood. A tornado of flames. Yeah, ‘Inferno’ all the way.

“Reag?”

Bender’s eyes slowly floated upward from the throbbing erection that he had found tenting his customer’s jeans. A throbbing erection that was threatening to burst out of those jeans right here, on the dealership parking lot.

Imagine that. Ellis Blackwell throwin’ a bone over a truck.

Yeah, he’d seen Ellis in all his glory a thousand times over in the showers at school, camp, the Natatorium…. Okay, all his glory except in full bonearama, anyway. His eyes floated and floated until they rested in the hungry for that truck stare that was aimed back in his direction.

Gulp.

“Ye…. Yeah?”

“This is the truck. I want this one,” Ellis said with now barely controlled … control. “Make it happen for me. Please? I’ll be your slave for life.”

“I. Erm. Your wish is,” Reagan Bender fought the flashes of scenes that would fulfill that ‘slave’ promise. If Ellis Blackwell knew what he considered at that moment, a fist would be flying through the air toward his face. “Yes, Sir. I aim to please. Let’s do the paperwork.”

Reagan Bender was stunned. Gobsmacked. This was the biggest sale he’d made at the dealership. Okay, it was the only sale he’d ever made at the dealership. His first sale. And it topped out well over $50,000. He was also stunned that Ellis Blackwell had gone for something that color. He was positive that he would have gone for one of the black trucks on the lot. Stunned, too, when Ellis Blackwell pulled out a letter from Bent Horn Bank & Trust and took note that he could have gone another $30,000+. Oh well. $50,000 on his first day? On his first sale? To Ellis Blackwell? Fuck yeah! This car sales thing was looking good right about now.

*****

Inferno.

The word said it all.

But, not just for the truck that Ellis guided into the lot at B&T’s. He shifted into park, killed the engine, popped the door open and slipped out of the driver’s seat. He swung the door shut and then stepped back to study his gleaming gem. It smiled back at him. No, it was more like a shared smirk—there—under the glow of the neon lights.

‘Inferno’.

Yeah, so friggin’ totally.

The truck.

The day.

Even now. It was hot as Hell right now. Even this long after midnight.

He popped the fob button and the security system chirped into activation mode. He imagined that he would be ‘fobbing it’ a lot for years to come, or at least until the ‘new’ wore off. Ironic, in a way, he was parked in the lot next to a Bent Horn County Sheriff’s cruiser. But, he barely even had 73.06 miles on the truck yet. He had to pet his ego and soothe the faint presence of nerves over such a hugely expensive piece of metal.

He turned toward the building and made his way to the glass and metal entrance doors; he peered through the floor-to-ceiling windows and studied the crowd as best he could before stepping inside the brightly lit, heavily-A/C’d building. The majority of the crowd was kids from the 3 high schools in the area. B&T’s was a melting pot of humanity thanks to its owner/operator. Lane Burkeholder was a god—in so many ways.

He noted that a table right smack dab in the center of the dining area was occupied by a half dozen kids from school. At the center of the group was none other than Misty Tomlin—last year’s head cheerleader. Holding court. Just like old times. The former Head Cheerleader looked totally in her element. Even now, after having passed the baton of her previous occupation on. An occupation now occupied by Charley Stockton’s girlfriend, Chelsea. Well, a few alterations this year. Chelsea was the head ‘female’ cheerleader. They had decided to add a head ‘male’ cheerleader when Cullen Lee Hargrove broke into the ranks along with 4 other guys.

Ellis nodded his approval. It was a good move. Not only ‘politically correct’ but beneficial to the team and in its own way, to the whole school. Cullen Lee and the guys had made an enormous contribution already and they had been able to add some spectacular routines with that kind of muscle in the mix. His mind pulled up a slow motion flick of memory from the showers. Yeah. Totally. For sure. Cullen Lee added serious beef in more ways than one.

“So, Misty,” Ellis chimed sarcastically as he reached for the door. “Yale didn’t take kindly to your ‘Y’all’s’ and giggles and Miss Bent Horn County, Texas money, huh? A year later and you’re back home slurping down double chocolate, chocolate chip, chocolate drizzle shakes at 1:00 in the morning….”

Snort.

Go figure.

Actually, he felt sorry for her. Beyond her looks. And her boobs. And her Momma and Daddy’s money … well … she might be waitressing here at B&T’s before long and trying to snare a cowboy or farmboy with a fake pee stick reading. He admonished himself for that thought but unfortunately, it held an all-too-familiar ring of foreboding. It happened. It always had. It always would. No matter what. It would always happen to someone. However. In Misty’s case? Well, beyond the talents in cheerleading and a rep for being a wild woman in bed that had gotten her this far … well … the girl had the wits of a wet tinker poodle.

She had even been good for ‘his’ rep. She had circled like a ravenous buzzard at a holiday party and then gone in for the kill. She had ravaged him. She had taken his virginity. She had left him completely, totally … unimpressed. Unfulfilled. Kind of, well, confused about what ‘it’ was all about. If that night was any indication of what sex was all about—with a girl, anyway—well, he might just stick to jerking it for the rest of his life and avoid any high maintenance girl drama. He actually felt kinda sorry for Stockton. His girlfriend was as high maintenance as they come. She even challenged Misty for ‘that’ crown, too. Charley was a good guy and in Ellis’ opinion, he deserved better. A lot better. Go figure. The sex must be epic.

He studied a few more faces or backs of heads as he opened the door.

Lane Burkeholder. The owner of B&T’s. A family tradition since … forever. Former sports god and aspiring pro-Hall of Famer. A dream that crashed and burned along with a car and his parents and a train meeting in the same ‘crossing’ at the same time. In that split second, his dreams went up in flames but he steadfastly refused to let his younger siblings go to anyone else or, worse—be split up. He took over the farm. He took over B&T’s. He took on the kids. He became a dad to them. He astounded everyone, and yet—didn’t. He did the right thing. Right for the kids. Right by their parents. Right for them all. And he still managed to be a hero in new and ever-changing ways that just made people respect and admire him more and more, day in and day out.

Ellis’ survey moved on.

At a table in the back—food and drink and laptop spread out in front of him, was the cop that belonged to the cruiser out in the parking lot—his favorite uncle and his ultimate superhero. The cop was the youngest brother on his Momma’s side—Cayce Foster.

He gazed past his uncle and found Chelsea’s brother—Whitney. Seated in a booth in a corner by himself. Just him and a burger, rings, and a chocolate shake. Her twin was just as beautiful as she was, actually. Aside from the jiggle boobs on one and the rock solid, ripples of muscle on the other, they could be interchangeable. He was surprised to see Whitney here—alone. He would have thought that queer dog would be out looking for cock to slurp. He swallowed. He looked around. Whew, nobody heard him ‘think’ that. He really had to be a little more careful with his ‘phobias’. Especially with a best friend like he had. Dillon Jamison was the king of openness, acceptance, tolerance.

Whitney Lancaster Sterling-Middleton looked up just then and their gazes linked and locked. Whitney smiled and offered a half wave. Ellis chin jutted in return. The guy should have a corndog on his plate instead of that burger. Fucking dick dog.

He shifted his stare from the admittedly gorgeous fag and looked right—surveying that end of the dining area. A few truckers. A couple of holders-on from another era….

In a booth—over in the far corner, his eyes landed on the handsome face of the studly Bennett Brownley and the profile shot of the absolutely gorgeous Ryan McGregor. Alone. Just the two of them. Strange. Girls were usually dripping off of them like sweat bees . Huh. No sign of their joint-best friend—Charley Stockton. Poor guy. Chelsea probably had her claws in his balls. Lucky her. She had her lock ‘n key on the prince of the school. Well, he was hot. No doubt about that.

He stepped out of the way, letting the door swing shut and heard the bells tinkle just over his head. A shiver ran down his spine with the sudden blast of ice cold air.

Thank you, Mr. Burkeholder!

He had the A/C cranked into Kilimanjaro mode.

Sigh.

A quick ‘final’ survey proved fruitless.

He checked his cell again. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Not even.

No sign of his best friend.

Dillon had totally ditched him tonight without even a text to say what was what. That was odd. Very odd. So unlike Dillon to do that. He wasn’t angry about it but more than a little perturbed by it.

Cayce Foster looked up at the tinkle of the door bells. He saw his nephew, noting he was minus his best friend, Dillon. The deputy offered a very faint smile and a wink. He was a cop. Yes. But he was also a loving uncle. He totally doted on Ellis even when he was in one of his alphatudinal moods.

But, he had grown up here, too. He knew how people watched everything and heard everything and took notes on everything and blabbed everything to anyone and everyone. Everyone knew they were relatives. But, he didn’t want to shove that in Ellis’ face out in the public eye. He never lorded over him in front of anyone—especially any of the kid’s peers. Well, usually. There were times when the kid needed to be whacked down a peg or two. He offered that subtle acknowledgement and then left it up to his nephew if he wanted more.

In this case, apparently he did.

Ellis maneuvered his way through tables and girls and guys and ambled straight over to the deputy’s table. Cayce Foster stood and they fist bumped, slid into a buddy / uncle / nephew hug and then Ellis deepened it. He pulled his uncle into his arms and held him tight. And, he sucked in air. God, he loved Cayce. God, he worshiped Cayce. God, Cayce smelled good. He always had. He sucked in another snort of Cayce Foster. And, another for good measure. Finally, storing those scents in his internal vault, he stepped back and smiled broadly.

“’sup, Uncle Cayce? Catch any bad guys tonight?”

Cayce Foster beamed and flexed his beautifully proportioned body—eliciting several moans and ooh’s and ahh’s from several of the diners—and made a few playful boxing jabs at his nephew. Gosh, that sounded so weird. Ellis was only a few years younger than him.

“Yep, pardner. I got me a few tonight,” he said as he backhanded across his nose and sniffed. “I caught me some rustlers over to the bunny hop and then snagged a coyote hauling a hen from the Rosales farm, and….”

Ellis snorted.

“Full of shit, Uncle Cayce.”

Grin.

“Yeah, but you love me anyway, Els,” the deputy said with a grin in response.

Yeah. He did. Totally. He wouldn’t even attempt to deny it. He loved his uncle completely. Love, and—a massive dose of hero worship.

Ellis shifted on his feet as he studied his uncle. He felt eyes on him. Again. He made a quick survey and caught Ryan and Bennett studying him intently. He wondered, not for the first time, if Charley Stockton knew his two best friends were fags. Who knew, if he ever ended up blue balled by Chelsea, maybe he blessed these two with slurpage opportunities.

Yeah. They were definitely eyeing him. Probably wondering what it would be like to take a ride on the Blackwell Express.

Dream on, cocksuckers. Dream on….

What was that? Uncle Cayce had said something while he was warily observing Ryan and Bennett licking their chops over what he had to offer. Yeah, like he would offer it up to their kind. What—did they think that ‘he’ swung in ‘that’ direction? Dillon? Yeah, he was asking about Dillon.

“Um, good question,” Ellis said as he drew himself back from across the dining area to his uncle. “Not sure where he is, actually,” he said perplexed. “We were supposed to hook up over at The Bent Horn and shoot some cues and bowl a couple of games. Then, maybe come here for food. He never showed, though.”

Cayce Foster’s head tilted. That was really unlike Dillon Jamison. He was one of the most committed commiters around.

“Did you try calling him? Texting?”

Nod. Yeah, he had. About a half dozen times in each of those categories.

“Well, it wasn’t like a date or anything. Just the two of us hanging out and cueing up or throwing balls down the lanes.”

The deputy nodded his understanding. Still, that was very unlike the Jamison kid. Even more unlike him not to answer a call or text from his best friend. The two were like brothers in so many ways.

“Well, I’m sure something just came up last minute and he got involved with it. He’ll turn up before long.”

Ellis Blackwell nodded. He noted for the first time the little trinket on his uncle’s broad chest. His uniform was now equipped with a cam. Sigh. Sign of the times he guessed. Cops were really under the microscope these days.

“You’re still on duty?” He noticed Ryan and Bennett were still eyeing him, pausing now and then for a comment or two, a sip or two, a munch or two.

“Yeah, actually,” Cayce Foster said with a sigh. He grabbed a napkin and patted his mouth—can’t go out and bust those bunny rustlers with ketchup and mustard on your face. He shoved his chair under the table. “I’m due back out on the trail.”

“Hiyo….”

“Don’t.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good boy,” Foster said with a gentle slap to his nephew’s face. “If I see Dillon while I’m out on my rounds, I’ll kick his ass for you for not filling you in on whatever is going on.”

Ellis grinned. Yeah, and he could use the cuffs.

Cayce Foster looked over the crowd and his gaze fell on Ryan McGregor and Bennett Brownley. He noted that they were intently watching Ellis while attempting to not look like they were watching Ellis. He grinned. They waved and nodded. He waved and nodded.

“Well, until Dillon turns up,” the deputy said as he returned his attention to his nephew. “You could always expand your horizons.”

“Meaning…?” Ellis asked with eyebrows knitting and lips pursing.

“Nothing really,” the deputy said. He nodded over his shoulder. “It just looks like you have two friends sitting over there just waiting for you to join them. You know, you don’t ‘have’ to put all of your eggs in one basket.” He fist bumped his nephew’s shoulder and headed for the register. “Dillon isn’t the only friend, or—potential friend—in the village.”

Okay. Whatever the hell that meant.

Ellis watched as Lane Burkeholder waved his uncle off from paying his tab and they buddy hugged. Cayce Foster amble-strutted out the door and paused beside his ‘Inferno’ and wiped a smudge off the hood. Good ole Uncle Cayce.

Ellis turned his attention back to Ryan and Bennett after brief eye contact with the diner’s proprietor. They were watching him. Again. Still?

Soft snort.

Forced grin.

“Gay wolves hungry for prime beef,” he said in a barely audible tone. “Fuck it. Dillon ditched me. I might as well make their night.” He nodded to a few of the kids and to the truckers as he made his way toward Ryan and Bennett. He blessed Whitney with a fist bump as he passed. He studied his targets. Or, was he the target? Yeah. Right on that one.

Dream on, cocksuckers. Dream ‘friggin on.

END of Chapter 7

To be continued . . .

Author’s Note: Please show your appreciation for this wonderful service and help Nifty continue to exist by sending a donation using the Nifty donations page at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html.

This is just the start of a story which may or may not be continued. If there is enough interest, there MAY be additional chapters. The interest shown in it will be a determining factor in continuing the story.

Please send your comments, thoughts, and ideas to Jonathan Longhorn using jonathan_longhorn at yahoo dot com. Please start the “Subject” line with the name of the story so I don’t toss your email as spam.

Thank you to those of you who have taken the time out of your day to write me about my stories. The thoughts, comments, and feedback are VERY much appreciated.

My other stories on Nifty can be found using the Nifty Prolific Authors page: http://www.nifty.org/nifty/authors.html#jonathanlonghorn

Follow the Nifty Erotic Stories Archive on Twitter: @niftyarchive

Follow Jonathan Longhorn on Twitter: @JonathnLonghorn

Next: Chapter 8

Rate this story

Liked this story?

Nifty is entirely volunteer-run and relies on people like you to keep the site running. Please support the Nifty Archive and keep this content available to all!

Donate to The Nifty Archive