Trapped Nerves

Chapter 1-1

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.