Introduction: This story is based on Bruce Springsteen's classic song "Glory Days," which has to do with memories, immaturity and aging. In the song, the narrator talks about, "boring stories of glory days," in a hardscrabble Rust Belt town.
As I've listened to the song over the years, I've started seeing interesting possibilities for a very nice erotic story with an important message. The plot loosely follows the song through the first two stanzas, the first two chapters, then makes its own way to the conclusion.
In order to understand this final chapter, you should first read the first two chapters, as the story picks up immediately without much of a recap of preceding events.
Chapter 3
Christmas at the Rogers' house was a great deal more festive that year than it had been the year before. That year, it had only been about seven weeks since Mary Rogers's sudden death, and Braxton's dad was still in the early stages of grief.
In fact, Bruce Rogers hadn't done any decorating for the season, and spent most of the holiday with his oldest son Lenny in Philadelphia.
Braxton had gone up for a couple of days, but it had been a rather somber occasion, and his sister Julie had stayed home in California with her family and her in-laws.
But this year, Braxton was determined that the holidays were going to be lively. He got Julie and her husband to promise that they'd fly in to spend some time with her father, and Lenny had been very agreeable to coming over from Philly with his family for a couple of days.
Braxton didn't say so directly, but he gave both his brother and sister the firm indication that this might be the last Christmas they'd have their father, so they'd better grab the opportunity while he was still around.
Braxton got a tree, a real one, dug the decorations out of the attic, and he spent most of a Sunday afternoon fixing up the house for Christmas, while an NFL game blared away on the TV in the den.
He was feeling better about life than he had in quite awhile. He still wasn't entirely satisfied that he was back in his old hometown of Palestine, wasn't sure if that was where he wanted to spend the rest of his life.
But he was doing well in his job, he and his father were getting along good and he had a nice little romance brewing with his old high school friend Debbie Stewart.
It was a couple of days after Christmas when things took an unexpected turn.
Things had not gone well for Bobby Stewart over the previous few weeks. He'd been reprimanded in his job, and his career in Boston was stalling, plus he'd broken up with yet another girlfriend who had gotten fed up with his philandering ways, and his temper, fueled as it was by increasingly excessive drinking.
He'd had some vacation time, so he'd decided to spend the week between Christmas and New Year's back in Palestine. He'd see a few old acquaintances, see his kids, maybe even give his ex a tumble or two. He figured by now that she was probably desperate enough that she'd put aside her animosity toward him just to get another chance at his hot cock.
But that idea was rudely scotched when he learned that Debbie had been seeing an old classmate of theirs, Braxton Rogers, and she wasn't the least bit desperate for some loving, especially from him.
That didn't sit well with Bobby. As far as he was concerned, Debbie was still his girl, and it pissed him off to see that she was happy without him, especially with Rogers, a guy he'd never liked much in high school. Braxton was just a little too ... nice, plus he suspected that Debbie had always had some feelings for Braxton from way back in middle school.
So when he saw Braxton and Debbie together out at the Roadside Tavern, he was more than a little drunk and spoiling for a fight.
Debbie didn't bother to hide her disgust when he approached the table where they were sitting, and that just pissed Bobby off even further.
"I thought you were too good to be a slut, Debbie," he sneered. "I can see I was wrong about you. I think we may have to revisit our custody arrangement if you're going to be whoring around with every guy in town."
"Listen, asshole, she's not your wife any more, so why don't you fuck off," Braxton said, getting right up in Bobby's face.
Bobby was just about ready to take a swing at Braxton when he felt a meaty hand on his shoulder, and he turned slightly to find himself in the grip of one of the largest men he'd ever seen.
Curt Marlowe had been out with some co-workers and had seen the trouble brewing, seen how the angry man with the tight-lipped look had been watching the couple at the table and for some reason he never quite understood, decided to intervene.
"Dude, I don't think these good people are interested in anything you have to say," Curt said as he ushered Bobby toward the door. "I think it's time for you to leave."
Bobby just sputtered, but didn't resist as he was shoved out the door. He may have been drunk and obnoxious, but he wasn't stupid. Curt was easily 6-foot-6, weighed somewhere in the neighborhood of 300-plus pounds, and none of it was flab.
As Bobby made his sullen way to his car, Curt pulled out a cell phone, punched in three numbers, spoke for a few seconds then shut the phone and walked back into the bar.
Having disposed of Bobby Stewart, Curt turned back to the couple at the table, and he could tell the woman was upset. Braxton turned as Curt looked down on them.
"I could have handled him," Braxton said. "But thanks anyway. Look, can I buy you a beer?"
Curt agreed and sat down in an empty chair. Introductions were made, and when Curt and Debbie locked eyes and shook hands, something flared between them.
"Braxton Rogers?" Curt said quizzically after shaking hands with Braxton. "Did you play football down in Kentucky a few years back?"
"Uh, yeah, I did," Braxton said.
"That's what I thought," Curt said. "I grew up in that area, and I was in high school when you were there. It's kind of an unusual name, and it was in the papers some. I'm pleased to meet you."
Curt had gone on to play tackle for UK, then had a cup of coffee or two with a couple of pro teams before getting on with his life as a coach. He'd been the offensive line coach at St. James College for less than a year, and the two men quickly started talking football.
After another couple of beers, they called it a night.
"What about Bobby; you think he may look to start something?" Debbie asked hesitantly.
"I wouldn't worry about him," Curt said, with a conspiratorial grin on his face. "He's got more pressing problems right about now."
Curt explained that he'd called the police about a drunk driver in a car matching the one Bobby was driving.
They all got a good laugh about that, then Braxton and Debbie went one way while Curt went the other. But he looked with some longing as Braxton drove away with Debbie in the front seat. That was a fine one there, he thought.
Debbie was lost in thought as Braxton drove her home. She thought about the big man who come to their defense. He was quite good-looking and big, with mischievous eyes. She was a little confused, because she really liked Braxton, and she didn't want to hurt his feelings. But there was something about the big man that she found very appealing.
Braxton, too, was a little quiet as they made their way to Debbie's house. The incident with Bobby had unnerved him, then to see way Curt and Debbie had looked at each other gave him pause. He knew instinctively that something was there.
When they got to her door, Debbie begged off inviting him in, saying she was too upset from the night's happenings to be very good company. Braxton said he understood, and they kissed warmly before he returned home.
They got together for New Year's Eve, and he did spend the night at Debbie's house, but he still got a sense that things were cooling off between them. And his instincts proved to be right.
Braxton was at work a few days after New Year's when he got a call from Curt Marlowe, asking if they could meet after work for a couple of drinks.
They met at Chili's on North Main, the strip where most of the better restaurants in Palestine were located. After getting a round of beers, Curt looked at Braxton with a little bit of embarrassment on his face.
"Braxton, I'll get right to the point," Curt said. "I'm a single guy, and I don't usually have trouble finding women to go out with. In most cases, if I meet someone I like, I simply go after her, but this is a little more complicated."
"Let me guess," Braxton said. "You're interested in Debbie Stewart."
"You're very perceptive," Curt said. "I'm very interested in her, and I think she's interested in me. But I don't want to break anything up between you two. I like you and I've learned enough about you, and why you moved back here, to have a lot of respect for you. So I have to ask whether your relationship with Debbie is serious or not. If it is, I'll back off, but if not, I'd like to ask her out."
"I appreciate your consideration," Braxton said. "I don't know how much you know about Debbie, but we go back a long, long way -- as friends. I'm quite fond of her, but we're not in love, and I have no hold on her. She's just now getting out of her shell, where she crawled after she broke up with Bobby, and I've tried to help her. But maybe she needs to play the field a little bit, so if you want to take a run at her, by all means, go for it."
"Thanks, man," Curt said. "Like I said, I felt like I owed it to you before I did anything."
