Judging

JUDGING 3 - ACER'S STORIES - Fish Stories and Coupons

This is my third attempt to write a stand alone short story. Characters may be in several stories, but my goal is for the reader to be able to follow the story without any bacground information. If I fail at this, please let me know. I hope you enjoy the sroty and thank you for taking the time to read it.

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Phil Ford

Judging

Fish Stories and Coupons

by Phil Ford

Curtis Rawlins was Acer's roommate all through college. They were both from Texas. They both had a weakness for a fine looking man. They both graduated college and were finding they excelled at their chosen work. They also loved cutting horses and competing in calf roping and team roping events. They liked to fish when they had the chance, too. All similarities stopped there.

Paris, Texas, where Curtis lived, was just south of Lake Texoma. It had been stuck at the turn of the last century for what seemed like forever. Dallas began growing north and it looked like it would grow all the way to Tulsa sweeping up little Paris in the process.

Nearby McKinney had already been swallowed up. The high paid seat warmers that filled offices to the south discovered roping as a pastime and now every one of them wanted their own little spread and a place to practice. Curtis competed with a partner he'd known all his life and Acer got called to judge events from time to time.

Curtis had gotten a law degree that kept him in school a few years after Acer was finished. He had a practice in an old Victorian house on a main street that had been his grandmother's and lived with his widowed grandfather in the carriage house behind it.

Growing up, Acer wasn't rich by any means. His family got by. Curtis, on the other hand, would have needed some pebbles to put in his mouth to come up with spit. He'd gotten scholarships and grants to cover college and been in practice for two years. So far nearly everything he made went toward making everything in the old house work. Prize money from roping kept him from sweating when the bills came due. His clients that paid, paid well, and the list was growing. More than half of those making use of his skills were sent to him by the courts and that work didn't give him enough to even afford a secretary.

A guy who's finishing his morning run at nine, pulling into the drive of his million dollar house at five after driving both ways on US 75 and a two hour power lunch in between times, doesn't need the damn prize money. He may be able to buy a fine looking horse and all the right clothes, but he still ain't a cowboy. They could at least learn to talk right. Hell, if GW could pull it off, anybody could.

"Howdy, Mr. Rawlins," Acer said, extending his hand to the old man. He'd pulled his trailer past the carriage house and had dropped his horse off where Curtis kept his before turning back to cross the river and into Paris.

"You are a sight for sore eyes," Dauber Rawlins told Acer. "It's been what, three years now? You know better than to call me mister, too, I'm Dauber to anyone who speaks up."

In his younger days the eighty year old man had been a plasterer and then a drywall finisher, called tape and bedders in Texas. He been tagged with Dauber the same way most electricians end up tagged as Sparky. He only stayed in that line of work for a while but the name stuck.

A tiny poodle, fluffed up, ribboned, and with painted nails, sat at Dauber's feet barking up a storm and staring up at Acer. "Don't mind Fifi, she's all bark and no teeth," Dauber told him. "She was Francis' dog. I try to keep her looking pretty like she did. She even lifts her little feet for me to paint her nails. She's spoiled, that's all there is to it. I just made a pitcher of sweet tea if you'd care for some."

"Thank you, I believe I will," Acer replied. Fifi followed Dauber into the carriage house, turning to look at Acer every few steps. When Dauber handed Acer the glass, Fifi sat on Acer's foot and gazed up at him. She'd decided he was OK. "What's Curtis up to today?"

"I'm never sure what he's doing. I can't make it up the stairs anymore so I took the space that was Francis' beauty shop. Curtis took the whole loft. It's been in his name since he was ten, same as the store is in Toby's. Francis' sister signed back the deed to the farm to Curtis last year, though. He always shows up for lunch and fixes me something."

For the time Acer stood there talking to Dauber, all he could think about was Curtis. Acer had pounded his ass several times a day all through college and Curtis loved getting it. When Acer went to judge a show or event on weekends, Curtis usually went along. He was at Acer's side so much, Acer was sure Curtis could judge every bit as well as he did. For a moment, Acer thought he could remember the feel of fucking Curtis or the way he gave head. He sure remembered Curtis' taste and smell. Acer turned up the glass and drank down the last of the tea.

"Can I get you some more tea?" Dauber offered.

"If you have no objection, I'd rather have a beer," Acer replied.

"I never have touched alcohol and I'm too old to start drinking now, but it's fine by me. Curtis leaves his door unlocked with me at home all the time. I'm sure he has plenty upstairs that's good and cold. Even if you brought your own, his will be colder."

Acer's beer was on ice and you couldn't get it any colder than that. He wanted a look upstairs. He had a yearning for his friend that would be quenched by beer from his cooler but might be eased some from a trip up the stairs until Curtis showed up.

The carriage house had six bays originally. Dauber used the two bays where Francis had her shop. Four were still like a garage, but larger and unused. Curtis made use of the entire loft space for his apartment. Acer went up the stairs and glanced around. He found the kitchen and grabbed a beer. Then he found Curtis' bedroom. In a pile on the floor lay some clothes Curtis had worn, and they still held his scent. He brought a shirt up to his nose and inhaled deeply. He let it drop back to the pile. 'That will hold me for now,' he thought.

Dauber had brought over another chair while he was gone. It was an old style from the forties or fifties with a back shaped like a sea shell, but had a new coat of paint. He took a seat beside Dauber. This time Fifi launched herself into Acer's lap and he gave her ears a scratch.

"How is it this place came to be in Curtis' name?" Acer inquired. "Curtis never told me. It was Francis' and yours."

"Curtis is on one side of the law," Dauber began, "But there was a time that try as I might, I found myself on the other. Curtis' dad was mine and Francis' only child. He was Curtis Leroy Rawlins. And Curtis is Curtis Leon Rawlins. The deed says Curtis L. but sold to Curtis and signed by him. He was only ten then. His dad worked a couple of ranches here and married Linda, his mom. He had a hard time getting work and it never paid enough. When Curtis was three, Linda took off and left Curtis with his dad. That lasted a week and our son brought him to us to raise. We haven't had a word from him or Linda since," Dauber explained.

Acer nodded or said 'un huh' knowing his question wasn't answered yet, just to show he was paying attention.

"I had a small supermarket across the river and Francis kept the shop here. We made ends meet but not much more. They built a Wal-Mart about the time we took Curtis. We thought it was great. Some of the old stores here closed because they couldn't compete, but we kept going. When Curtis was nine, they added the food mart part and it started getting rough."

"We'd always taken coupons and it worked just like cash. I'd mail them in and a check came back. With sales dropping where I had a hard time paying the help and keeping the lights on, I decided to mail in more coupons to make up for the shortfall. Francis got the ladies who came in to clip them out while they sat under the dryer. I'd crumple them up and stick them in a pillow case in the dryer so they looked used. Hell, it was twelve miles from my store to Wal-Mart. The only thing selling was beer and that was because Paris was dry."

"After a month, it worked so well, we went to the churches and the food bank saying we'd donate food in exchange for coupons. For the next year, we did just that. The problem was, the companies giving out the coupons kept track of what we bought. We were sending in coupons for more stuff than we bought and they caught on quick. Francis' cousin was a county judge and when he got word that something was going to happen, he changed over the titles to our property so we wouldn't loose it and back dated a divorce for me and Francis. I had to move to the trailer where Toby lives behind the store and a few weeks later they came and arrested me. Damn near the whole town had helped with the coupons. They really missed getting the food for the poor, too, but I got sent to Federal Prison for a year and that's how Curtis came to own the house."

The story had Acer drinking his beer down faster than he normally would have. He excused himself and went upstairs for another one, a sniff of that sweet smelling shirt, and to take a piss. Fifi was waiting on his return to take her spot on his lap. "So, how did you keep the store?" Acer asked.

"That was a little bit trickier," Dauber told him. "Toby was only ten himself. Did you ever try filling out taxes for a ten year old? It ain't easy, I tell you. All those damn questions and an audit on top of it. The liquor license was the hardest to get. It don't need to be the owner you see. Toby's dad had a conviction and couldn't get one for him. His mom had to do it. The same help kept working at the store until I got out and then it was just Toby's on paper and back to the same store it had been. People drove out there to buy things to keep us in business. The beer sales went way up. We kept it going. I let Toby pay it off to us when he hit twenty one."

Dauber needed more tea. Acer got to thinking about what Dauber said. He'd never seen Toby during college and he'd been to the store with Curtis many times. Toby would have turned twenty one when he and Curtis were juniors. 'There must be more story to tell,' Acer was certain. "Where was Toby all those times I visited?" Acer asked.

"Oh, he was locked up in the same Federal prison where I was sent from when he was eighteen until he was twenty three about the time Curtis finished law school and Francis died," Dauber replied. His was just a misdemeanor. He got to keep the liquor license. He'd been growing that damn marijuana somewhere and buying it, and selling it in the evenings after the store closed. They tried to catch him at it. Francis and I warned him, but he kept doing it."

"When the DEA decided they'd never catch him, they sent in two guys posing as fishermen. We had a meat and fish department in the store. We could buy fish and sell it there. These men got Toby to meet them to buy fish on the Texas side. He didn't think anything of it, he was just buying fish. They sold him fish several times. Then they arrested him for transport of game fish across a state line with intent to sell. It carried a year sentence and he was convicted. You can't win against the Federal Government, ask John DeLorean. Before his time was up, they'd kick him out on parole."

"They'd come up with some sorry excuse and revoke him. You loose credit for all the time you already served that way and it would start all over. He's the only person in history to serve five years on a one year sentence. Under the circumstances, we felt we had to let him have the store. I was too damn old to work anymore anyway."

"The house was in the name of Curtis L. Rawlins. If they knew it was Curtis' house and not my son's, he'd never have gotten the grants for college. We didn't have the money to pay for it. You do your best and sometimes you cross the line," Dauber finished. Acer always tried to stay close to the right side of the line. Curtis had to work by a different set of rules, bent here and there to get through life. "I've got to get my morning nap so I'll be up for lunch with you two. I need a lot of rest these days." Dauber went inside then, leaving Acer alone because Fifi jumped down and followed him.

Acer got up and walked around the yard for a while. He'd been to the house a lot of times. What he'd noticed passing between his truck and the house or with his eyes fixed on a rear view of Curtis who walked ahead of him during those visits, lacked any detail. It was a big lot. Curtis or Dauber had a small garden plot behind the carriage house and the lot seemed to go further back. When he swallowed the last of his beer the tour was over. He went upstairs to Curtis' apartment.

The living room was very minimal. A couch, no a loveseat and a chair with two small tables and a floor lamp, arranged on one side of a six by eight foot carpet was all it held. The damn room must have been nearly thirty by thirty. He got another beer and dropped the bottle in a trash can. There again, the dining area consisted of a small table and two chairs. He ambled back toward Curtis' room lured by thoughts of smelling that shirt again.

The bathroom wasn't bad. It had a shower and one of the claw foot tubs that was long enough for a tall man to lay all the way down in the water. One bedroom was filled with building supplies. A second one only had a mattress on the floor. Curtis" bedroom was much the same as it had been inside the old house. That was why Acer recognized it. The old four poster bed stood a foot higher off the floor than modern beds did. He went for the shirt.

He held the shirt to his nose and looked in the night stand for some lube. He found a bottle there and a box of condoms. The box had a coating of dust and only one was gone. Curtis' wasn't getting much or he wasn't getting it at home. Beside the bed was a really hot framed picture of a marine in his dress blues jacket and hat, without his shirt or pants. The marine was at attention below the waist and equipped to protect and defend or any other task put before him. The light was dim and filtered but he squinted to read a brass plate below the image. "IED Iraq April 2006" was engraved there. 'Shit what a waste,' Acer thought.

Acer undid his belt and let his jeans drop to his ankles, holding the shirt to his nose the whole time. He squirted some lube out and worked it the length of his shaft. He lay back across the bed with his feet on the floor and covered his face with the shirt. One hand stroked his length while his other hand worked his nips. He was groaning and memories of Curtis flooded his thoughts. The silky feel of the lube was different from any other brand he'd tried. Out of curiosity, he brought a finger to his mouth and tasted. It wasn't bad. Reaching back down to continue stroking, Acer felt a tongue circle his head. His face was still covered by the shirt. 'Curtis got back and snuck up on me,' Acer thought. Curtis had told him the night before that he would be at home all day and didn't have any legal work scheduled.

"That's right, you're doing a great job," Acer encouraged. He and Curtis had played a game like this many times. His eyes remained covered. He let the blow job continue and made more encouraging comments. "I need some of that hot tight ass of yours now," Acer insisted. He heard a boot hit the floor followed by another one. He heard the jingle of a belt buckle and then heard what he thought was a pair of jeans falling to the floor. He felt his own boots tugged off his feet and his jeans pulled free. He heard the sound of a cap flipping open, two squirting sounds, the cap snapping shut, and then he felt the cool silky smooth liquid being spread along his shaft. There was always a kind of electrical charge that passed between him and Curtis when the fuz on the legs made contact, before skin met skin.

"What the fuck!" Acer muttered when he didn't feel that sensation. He felt the tight warmth pressing down his shaft and reached to grab the hips coming to meet his groin. He shook the shirt off his face to get a view of his pleasurer. The hips he'd felt were definitely not Curtis'. They were much too slender. He lifted the lithe body with his legs, spun on the bed, and flipped the guy on his back with his knees pressed back into his shoulders by Acer's hands. Then he pushed all the way back inside him as roughly as he could and said, "Who the fuck are you and what do you think you're doing playing with my dick?"

"I'm Steven Bates. I do Curtis' yard every Friday to pay him back for some legal work. He leaves me a few beers up here and when I came up I heard you moaning. I couldn't help myself and I'm sorry. You won't tell Curtis, will you?"

Acer had noticed some lengths of rope in the night stand drawer with the lube and condoms. He held Jimmy firmly with one arm and slipped a loop knot over one wrist. He snugged it down to the headboard and secured Steven's knee beside it. He did the same with Steven's other wrist and knee. Acer rammed back in, saying, "The term for sex without consent is rape, you know? I might be as agreeable as hell, but I want a say in what happens," Acer told Steven. Steven was gasping at the pace of Acer's thrusts and couldn't voice a response. When Acer neared his release, he pulled Stevens head forward, rammed two fingers in his mouth and stuck his dick in beside them. He nearly choked the little guy on his load. Acer preferred men his own size or close to it. Under ordinary circumstances, Steven would never make the cut. He was cute as could be. There just wasn't enough of him, an no fuzz at all.

Acer pulled away and fumbled through his jeans pockets for his cell phone. "Curtis, this is Acer," he said into the phone. "I ran into your yard man, Steven and we're having a beer."

"I can't make it back," Curtis replied. "I got a call to come to Houston and hopped a plane. I won't be back until next week some time."

"I just came by for a visit," Acer added. "It saved me five hundred miles of driving. I'll stay the weekend and see that Dauber gets something to eat if that's all right?"

"Toby will bring food for Pops if you take care of lunch today. He has a backup partner for roping. Tell Steven I said to take you fishing. He knows the best holes on the lake," Curtis answered. "Stay as long as you like. My home is your home, bubba."

"OK, I'll see you when I see you," Acer told him and ended the call. He went right back to work on Steven's ass and relayed what Curtis had said.

(end of fish stories and coupons)