Trapped Nerves

Trapped Nerves By Drew Hunt Chapter 1 Pill Hill—Portland, OR, July 2005 Whenever he entered an elevator, Dr. Mason Grant always felt a slight pang of fear. Guiding his wheelchair through the opening, Mason was glad to see the car was empty. However, when he turned around to face the doors, someone else had stepped inside, too. Mason gazed up at the broad, heavy-set frame of the newcomer. His body froze when he reached the man’s face. Feeling a desperate need to escape, Mason reached for the rims of his wheels, but his arms refused to co-operate. To his horror the steel doors began to close, locking him inside the car with the one person he hoped he’d never see again. * * * * Central High School—Crawford, Vancouver, WA, September 1991 The coach had worked the soccer team hard: harder than usual in Mason’s opinion. Dragging his tired body out of the showers, Mason reached for a towel. Stepping into the main part of the locker room, he beheld the sight of the football team in a state of semi-undress. Usually the soccer team used the smaller locker-room in the sports complex, but it was closed due to some problem with the water supply. Snapping out of his momentary shock, Mason made his way to the benches and began to dry himself. The sight of so much new eye candy proved too hard to resist, however. One particularly fine example of maleness was displaying itself to Mason’s right. The p***s was good sized; Mason was willing to bet its owner was getting aroused judging by its slight plumpness as the smooth pink tube rested against an almost hairless ball sac. With a jolt, Mason realized he’d been staring too long. A brief glance could be passed off as innocent curiosity, but a prolonged stare was something else entirely. Lifting his gaze, Mason’s eyes swept up a smooth and beautifully muscled torso to a handsome, square-jawed face, a pair of intense grey eyes staring back at him. Mason gasped. He’d been checking out Parker Collins, The Parker Collins. The six feet two inch, hundred ninety pound star wide receiver and safety. Feeling a wave of nausea rising from his churning stomach, Mason put his clothes on over his still damp body and got the hell out of Dodge. In his haste he almost tripped over the laces of his sneakers, which he’d left untied. How the f**k could I have been so goddamned stupid? Parker Collins. Of all the mother-fuckingly dumb-ass idiotic things to do! Mason thought. Mason didn’t sleep much that night. Visions of Parker and his team mates bearing down on him, kicking the crap out of him, didn’t exactly aid his rest. * * * * An insistent buzzing woke Mason from the light doze he’d managed to slip into. Opening his eyes, he wondered if he ought to pretend to his mom that he was too sick to go to school. Hell, I won’t have to do much pretending, he thought, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the door of his closet. Getting out of bed, Mason knew he had to face the music sometime; putting it off would only make things worse. To his surprise the sky didn’t fall in when school began. No one stared at him, called him names or threatened to break his bones. Maybe Parker’s gonna bide his time before kicking my ass, he thought as he pushed open the door to the main building. Mason kept a low profile during the day. He thought he saw Parker at the other end of the hallway when they were both changing classes after second hour, but he managed to dive into a bathroom before Parker could see him. Two days passed without incident. Mason was sitting in his usual spot under a maple tree, enjoying the warmth of the fall weather. After grabbing a sandwich, some fruit and a can of soda from the snack bar, he would often escape to his tree to eat his lunch. Few people used that part of the campus, tucked away as it was behind the sports complex. A shadow fell across his gaze. When he looked up, Mason’s jaw fell, and his stomach clenched. “Hi,” the calm voice said. “Um.” Mason stared up at his visitor. “This spot taken?” Parker asked, nodding at the space next to Mason. “N-no.” Parker, never losing an ounce of his fluid grace, positioned himself next to Mason, their bare arms touching slightly. “What ya got in the sandwich?” Parker eventually enquired after the two had remained quiet for a couple of minutes. Mason stared at the object in his hand; his appetite having deserted him the moment Parker had shown up. “Um, Bologna and Swiss cheese.” “Cool,” Parker said, before asking, “You gonna finish it?” “I…” Mason wondered why they were talking about food. Why hadn’t Parker already beaten the crap out of him?” “Dude?” “Err, um, n-no, sorry.” “Hand it over then. Man, I’m f*****g starved. Lunch was a pile of shit.” Silently Mason gave Parker the remainder of his meal, stealing glances at the jock-god from the corner of his eye. When Parker had finished eating, belched loudly and scratched his nuts—an action that caused Mason to whimper—he got to his feet. “Same time tomorrow, then,” Parker said over his shoulder before loping away. It wasn’t until Parker had gone out of sight before Mason felt he had been released from some kind of spell. Why did being in Parker’s presence make him act like a blushing tongue-tied f**k up? He was a senior just like Mason, they both played sports. Mason shook his head, unable to come up with a rational explanation.