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A Fresh Start
Part 4

by Graham

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Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 24 Jul 2010

Sure enough, Tommy was up, scrubbed fresh and dressed, and sitting with the Mueller family for breakfast before joining them in their ride to church Sunday morning. It was an unfamiliar experience to him, but one that held a lot of close-knit family bonding in it. Besides that, the Mueller family seemed very devoted in their participation in the service.

Afterward, he rode home with them, had a light lunch with them, and then returned to his apartment for some study in preparation for Monday. After Sunday dinner with the Muellers that evening, he thanked them, and excused himself, to return to his preparation for the coming week of classes.

So, almost unthinkingly, the pattern was established each weekend. Additionally, Tommy was a very diligent and achieving student. Constantly studying and preparing ahead, his reward was mostly A’s, only a few B’s.

After that weekend of two, shocking, unanticipated disciplinary spankings by Mr. Mueller, for having allowed, and indulged in, illegal substances and alcohol, Tommy was emphatically on his best behaviour. In fact, the Mueller boys began picking him up on Saturdays to help out at the office, and they took to calling him Mr. Perfect and Perfect Boy to their Dad. Tommy seemed almost impossibly good. He did what he knew was required, what he was requested, and refrained from any hint of behaviour that he knew – or even suspected – would be unacceptable to Mr. Mueller.

In the meanwhile, imperceptibly, he grew closer and closer to the Mueller family. So much so, he often felt like the Mueller boys, Jake and Marty, were the brothers he never had. But not so with Anna. Nothing about her seemed like a sister. In fact, he often stole thirsty glances at her that later set off longing, lustful thoughts and feelings. She was often the subject of his awakening wet dreams and of his private masturbations. He was plainly smitten with her.

Late one Sunday evening, about 10:30 p.m., a knock at his door surprised Tommy, who was already bared down to his boxers for heading to bed. He peered out the window to see Jake and Marty Mueller standing by the door. Unlocking it, he opened it to let them in, and an icy blast of winter chill too.

They followed him in to the kitchen area where they all 3 quickly sat down at the table. What is it, guys, er, I mean, Jake, Marty?

Just this, Tommy. You have become a great asset around her – a great part of our whole family mix. Dad is really impressed with you.

That surprised, but pleased, Tommy very much. Ah, thanks, guys, ah, I mean, Jake and Marty. He wondered why they had come up to see him this later to tell him just that.

There’s one thing – one caution – we want to pass on to you, though, Tommy. We are aware of your relations with our sister, Anna, Jake began.

Relations?! Tommy interrupted. What relations? We are almost deliberately distant and avoiding each other. I don’t think I’ve done anything improper, anything bad, he added.

Oh, no, Tommy. You haven’t done anything at all – at least not yet. But a person would have to be blind or naive beyond belief not to pick up on your feelings about her. Your little, furtive glances, your long watching looks when you think she doesn’t see you, your quick turns of attention to her whenever she says something.

Ooooooaaaaaa, I’m, ah, sorry – embarrassed, and sorry, Tommy replied.

Sorry isn’t the point, Tommy, Jake explained. Here’s the point. To our Dad, his family – his wife, our Mom, and his kids – are beyond reach – untouchable. He will do anything for, to protect, and to benefit, his family. There are no exceptions or compromises.

Our little sister, Anna, is the jewel of his eye. She’s starting her senior year of high school, has friends, activities, even a boyfriend; and she’s a lot younger – and a lot less experienced – than you. Nobody could help notice the way, and how often, you looked at her during dinner tonight.

So, just forget it, Tommy, ’cause Dad will never allow it – and you’ll just end up ruining a great relationship here, and losing a good, benefiting friend.

Wow! That was direct and to the point! Well, ah, okay, ah, yes, he admitted, I couldn’t help being struck by your sister – she’s more than pretty, really beautiful. So, I guess I was obvious in not being able to keep from looking at her. But I’m not stupid. Of course, I know she’s a lot younger than I am – and she’s still a minor. Believe me, I’m not going to do anything, or get between her and her friends, or family, or boyfriend.

He didn’t comment though that, even though he was 5 or more years older, he wasn’t all that more experienced. He had never had a steady girlfriend, had been so busy – preoccupied even – with working and saving to go to college, that he had socialized very little. Shy, except amongst friends, by nature he waited for others to make advances. So far, he was still a stranger to sex, though not adverse to exploration. Meanwhile, there was the time-honored resort to private, solitary pleasures to keep his sex drive at least partly satisfied.

Just be careful, Tommy, they both said together. Keep a watch on yourself, and good strong control of your emotions. Don’t do anything reckless or foolish or that you will regret afterward.

Man! They weren’t mincing any words. Okay, Jake, Marty, I will. I appreciate you being honest with me, and I’ll be a lot more aware and careful about my looks and actions and words. Thanks for leveling with me, he concluded.

Think nothing of it, Jake replied. We like you – think a lot of you – Tommy and don’t want to see you make a terrible mistake that would destroy everything that we’ve all been glad to build with you.

Wow! He really was feeling a part of the Mueller family – even if this straightforward, man-to-man talk by the Mueller boys caught him off guard and flustered him. They got up to leave, and he walked along barefoot with them. Good night, Tommy, they uttered as they prepared to open the door and leave.

Good night, Jake, Marty, ... and, ah, thanks, ... thanks a lot.

After that night, Tommy’s attractions, feelings, and desires were pushed down hard under a tight lid of self-control – the same self-control that guided him to keep out of trouble and do what pleased Mr. Mueller. Consequently, he had no more encounters of discipline with Mr. Mueller for the rest of his freshman year and into the summer.

In early December of his second year of college life, one Friday night, Tommy did not come home from school as was in unvaried habit. That fact alone struck the Muellers as odd, not to mention the strangeness of his not having called to say he wouldn’t be home, or present for dinner, of where he would be and what doing.

In fact, although it was very cold and the ground frozen hard, there was still no snow. Tommy still rode his bicycle to campus. In the late, Friday afternoon, some guys in one of his math classes prevailed on him to go out with them to socialize for a while. They put his bike in the trunk of their car, squeezing him in with them, and took him to a place called The Crow’s Nest.

It was a rowdy, packed tavern with round tables throughout. There was a long bar up front, from which customers obtained pitchers of beer to bring back to their tables. There were 6 guys at their table, and they were on their second pitcher of beer when the highlight fun of The Crow’s Nest began. Every 30 minutes a siren would sound, a bell was rung, and a long whistle blown over and over. At that time, each table was to select a person to get up and stand on the table and chug down a long-necked beer before the sounds ended.

When the siren, bell, and whistle began the first time, everyone else at the table called out for Tommy to be their designated chugger. He tried to refuse, protesting that he didn’t really drink all that much, but they wouldn’t hear of it. Pulling him up together, they pushed him up onto the table to stand while the commotion continued, and somebody handed him a long-necked, litre glass of beer. Sipping it slowly, he heard the calls and shouts for him to speed it up and chug it down, but he wasn’t used to that.

Suddenly, somebody else was on the table too, standing next to him, and grabbed the glass, lifting it up and pouring it in his mouth. He began gulping and swallowing rapidly to prevent it from spilling out all over him and the table. Before he knew what had happened, he was holding the empty glass to cheers as he stepped down from the table to his chair.

Thirty minutes later, the commotion began again. Once again, Tommy was the unanimous choice at their table, and with only slight hesitation, he tried to object, but was back on the table top with another long-necked, litre drink. This one he started drinking faster, fully aware of what the ceremony was now. He just made it, emptying the glass by the time the sounds had ended. Grinning broadly, with a silly look in his eyes and on his face, he stepped back down to his chair.

The third, 30-minute cycle, people beyond his table were also cheering for Tommy to return to the table top. This time, he bounced – almost jumped – up onto the table. With the siren, bell, and whistle going, he grabbed the long-necked, litre glass, inverted it to guzzle down and chugged the whole thing down swiftly – before the celebration ended. That only gained him more cheers and admiration, and grinning and laughing foolishly, he jumped down from the table to the floor, to retake his seat.

The fourth, 30-minute cycle came too soon. Tommy was feeling woozy and all that beer so fast on his empty stomach was not settling well. He had run to the bathroom during the break, so when the celebration began again, with only a bit of encouragement, he willingly retook the table top to down another. Forcing himself to match his earlier record, he chugged down the beer before the wild commotion ended. At the end, he looked up and across at the crowd, smiling a grin of triumph.

Slowly, he stood and stepped carefully up on his chair, then onto the table for the fifth, 30-minute cycle. Concentrating on what he was doing, he forced the lite glass to empty out into his mouth, gulping and gulping it down. This time, his smile was a bit wan as he stepped extra carefully down from the table and sat down. Now, he was sitting quietly, not really speaking – almost as if he were in another state of consciousness.

By the sixth, 30-minute cycle, Tommy was starting to feel queasy. Nevertheless, the entire body of patrons was now his cheerleaders. With less animation, Tommy mounted the table again, and more slowly drained down another long-neck litre. On concluding that, he was not smiling, and unsteadily was helped down from the table. He sat silent, stone-faced, and feeling withdrawn in his chair.

The seventh, 30-minute cycle was foreboding. The crowd called for Tommy, but he sat silent, trying to ignore them. That was not possible, and other people from other tables came over to help the guys at Tommy’s table get him back onto the table. A dozen guys lifted him up out of his chair, and onto the table, where he stood looking out across the place with an almost unseeing, blank stare. The long-neck litre was shoved in his hand, and robot-like he lifted it to his mouth to try to drink it. He couldn’t. He was back to where he had begun, only scarcely sipping it slowly.

That would never do for the uproarious crowd. Once more, somebody was on the table top with him, holding the glass for him. All at once, Tommy’s wobbly legs gave way, and he fell backwards, lying on the table on his back. That made the task easier. Several guys held him in place, leaning him upward, slightly forward, while the guy on the table top began pouring the long-neck litre into Tommy’s mouth. He choked and gulped and swallowed rapidly, trying to get it all consumed – which, astonishingly, he pretty much accomplished.

After that, without even attempting to stand up, he was slid off the table on his back, his feet touching the floor, while he was lowered and settled into his chair. The Crow’s Nest was ecstatic with enthusiasm and admiration for Tommy Corbett, whose name had now been announced after each round beginning with the fourth one.

Tommy did not still quiet and still long, however. I, ah, ah, gotta peee, he called out to no one, standing up and staggering unsteadily across the room toward the men’s bathroom. He was gone a long while, but no one noticed until the next – the seventh, 30-minute cycle had arrived.

Hey, where’s Tommy? somebody asked. He went to the bathroom, another said. That was a while ago, was uttered, and then another declared, We better go check on him. The young man who got up to look for Tommy came back quickly and announced, Tommy’s on the floor, out cold. He got sick, and he’s lying in a real mess. That got his 5 buddies, and a few other guys, moving and they went to the bathroom.

They couldn’t awaken Tommy, but stripped off his vomit-covered clothes and shoes and socks, down to his boxers, and tried to rinse the clothes off in the sink, then put them in a bag. Although he was unconscious, as his friends hastened to undress him, stripping his body of his clothes, his manhood arose, tenting tall against the front of his boxers.

Several of the guys hoisted Tommy, unconscious, up to carry him out. It had begun snowing, heavy, as a group of young, college men carried the elevated, horizontal, chest-up, nearly nude young man, with his rod sticking straight up against his boxers’ front like a mast, from the bathroom, across the room, outside through the flurries, across the parking lot to the car they brought him in.

Even the cold, wet snow and icy temperature did not awaken the young man, and the others carrying him became alarmed over that. One of them went back in to The Crow’s Nest and got a blanket, which they wrapped around Tommy as he lay unconscious. Even in the frigid winter air, as his nearly nude body was wrapped in the blanket, Tommy’s boner continued to jab upward, extending through the fly of his boxers.

It was almost midnight when they drove up to the Mueller residence with Tommy Corbett stretched flat out, comatose on his back, across the three laps of the guys sitting in the back seat of the car.

The three young men slid out from under the unconscious youth, leaving him lying wrapped in a blanket, as they searched in the cold, damp, snowy air for his keys in the bag of his soiled clothes. As they were looking, Max Mueller, who was still awake and heard the car drive up, came out of his house and walked up to the car.

What’s going on here? he demanded.

They told him they had a sick friend whom they had to bring home, and were looking for his key to take him in. Mr. Mueller looked into the back seat and saw Tommy lying out cold, his socked feet and bare legs sticking out of the blanket.

What is wrong with Thomas? he asked. I want the truth, and the details, he demanded.

They told him that Tommy had been with them at The Crow’s Nest, and he’d become the designated drinker. Mr. Mueller did not know what that meant, and asked. They told him about the 30-minute cycles of guzzling down long-neck litres of beers in record time.

How many did Thomas have? he asked, and they told him seven. Almost two gallons of beer in 3 hours?! What damn fool pushes such a thing?!

The young guys were quiet in the face of Mr. Mueller’s angry criticism. They started to try to pull Tommy out of the back seat, sliding him out, as the snow flurries descended thicker and thick. As they were sliding him out to the driver’s side, Mr. Mueller stepped forward, scooped up the dead weight of the unconscious young man into his cradling arms. Fierce, snowy gusts swept the blanket off to the side, falling onto the stairs, leaving the nearly naked youth, engorged manhood rising through his boxers’ fly, exposed to the windy, snowy cold, in Mr. Mueller ’s arms that carried him up the stairs to the apartment.

We didn’t find his key, one of them called up to him.

I have a key, he retorted. I’m the landlord. With that, while still cradling the almost bare, dangling young man across his arms, Max Mueller unlocked and opened the door, and carried scarcely clad Tommy into the apartment. Kicking the door closed behind him, Mr. Mueller carried the young man straight back to his bedroom, temporarily draped him across his shoulder, as he turned down the bed and then lowered the unmoving, unconscious youth into it.

Mr. Mueller reached under Tommy’s arms and pulled him upward, along with his pillow, so that he was slightly sitting in the bed. Leaving just a night light on in the room, he went out, and saw that the other young men had left the bag with Tommy’s fouled clothes just inside the door. Mr. Mueller went to the kitchen, prepared a pot of coffee, and returned, taking the dirty clothes and putting them in the washer, with soap and some vinegar, to wash.

Periodically peeking in on Tommy, Mr. Mueller observed the young man’s eyes closed and no signs of consciousness. In a bit, he took a cup of coffee and brought it to Tommy, with great patience and lapse of t