The Unliely Quarterbac

*Thanks to Alwaysready64 for editing and contributing some snippets of this story, and to HellCat_Sundry for her two cents.

*All sex described in this story will be between consenting adults, 18 or over.

* This is a long story. It's a story first, that happens to have erotic content in it. There is no sex until half the story is complete, so don't bother reading if you want something to get off on.

*This story has elements of "Romance", "First Time", "Fetish", "Group Sex", "Loving Wives", "Mature" and "Interracial Sex" in it. If any of those categories offend you, you were warned.

*Comments and votes are appreciated. For you grammar police out there, yes I edited this story but it, being a long story, is bound to have some uncaught errors here and there. Feel free to contact me with any errors you find but don't leave them in the comments. I will collect any errors and overwrite the story with the corrections when I have time. Please leave your comments about what you like or dislike about the story only, and please keep it constructive either way you go.

*I am NOT a professional writer, nor am I retired with a lot of free time to write, so don't read this if this free story doesn't fit your standards. Before complaining about how bad my grammar is or how poor my writing style is, etc, try writing a story yourself and see how it goes. That being said, criticize away, I have a pretty thick skin.

*One complaint someone made with "Karma Served Cold" was that my characters were too perfect. I don't agree in this case even though the protagonist does have a lot of superior characteristics (he's smart, good looking, and successful), he also has a lot of baggage to deal with too (raised poor, with an abusive father and a major introverted personality disorder, he may even be on the spectrum). I hope you like it.

Chapter 1 - Childhood.

My name is Mike Thompson. I grew up in the South Bay (Los Angeles County, California), between Torrance and Long Beach. We moved around a lot growing up, mostly living off the charity of others.

We didn't start off that way, my parents owned a house in Gardena until they divorced at age five. I remember we had a huge tree in the backyard that had a treehouse built in it - sort of. It was more a couple of platforms high up in the branches with wood planks nailed into the trunk as an impromptu ladder to the platforms, you had to be able to climb to the first branch just to get to the ladder.

The backyard was unusually long; more than a football field's length. Our backyard was kept clean. Once you have passed the tree behind the house and the Sears shed behind it, there was just a grass lawn, that my father always kept short. There were a couple of trees along the left side wall, some rabbit cages along the right and all the way in the very back of the yard there was a cropping of bamboo that obscured the junkyard behind us. We had no neighbors to our left, just some warehouses.

My neighbors to the right shared the same sized backyard and they filled it with junk. They rarely cut their grass and it grew to be over three feet at times. We only had a dilapidated chain link fence separating us. The only thing I remember about my neighbor was the fact that they owned a bunch of tortoises (one was a snapping tortoise) and we often saw them crawling around their yard. As a child less than three-foot-tall, the neighbor's yard looked like a jungle. We kids used to crawl through a hole in the fence and explore their yard like it was a wild exotic locale. There was so much junk in the backyard that we could hop from one junk pile to the other. The tall grass was like a sea and the junk piles were islands. I remember there was an old boat that we used to sneak into when I was little and pretend it was a secret fort.

My memories of that place were both good and bad. A guy from my church was an inventor for Mattel and he would often let us use some of the prototypes he came up with from time to time. I think me and my sisters were his beta-testers since he didn't have children of his own at the time. So, although we were poor, I was still the first kid to ride a Big Wheel, and we were the first kids to ever try Nerf guns, and my sisters got to test market all of the new Barbie dolls that came out.

Not all my memories were good, I remember there being times when we had no food in the house and my father tried to feed us a can of sauerkraut and I refused to eat it despite there being nothing else to eat. I also remember my mom and dad fighting. One time my father (6'5 and over 220 lbs.) hit my mother (5'2 120 lbs.) knocking her across the room. When he was angry all we kids could do was hide in our rooms.

When I was four, I was given my first skateboard. Of course, the first day I rode it, I was too scared to stand up on it, so I rode it on my knees. I rode down the block and hit a crack in the sidewalk and face-planted into the concrete busting my lips open, chipping my front tooth.

When I was five, I was finally old enough and brave enough to climb up to the top platform of our "treehouse", I remember being in awe of the view. The tree was taller than our house and you could see the whole neighborhood from up there.

Often me and my sisters would sneak behind the bamboo and scale the back fence to clamor over some of the scrap metal in the junkyard. We were never brave enough to go very far in as it was known to have a mean dog guarding it from time to time and we never knew when it was let loose. Looking back, I realize that my older sister used to take me out there to hide from my father, but at the time I always thought it was just another game we'd play.

I loved living in our house, it connected me to my sisters and gave us some wonderful memories but mostly it bonded us together.

When my parents got divorced it devastated me. Before I knew it, the house was sold, we (my mother, sisters and me) moved away and I never saw my father again. For years, I grew up angry at my mother and my sisters. I blamed them for the loss of my father. All of the sudden, my best friend Lorry was now my enemy and I didn't know why. Not only did they take me from my "hero" but there was some sort of secret that they all knew and kept from me. I grew up resentful and explosively violent. I was like a ticking time-bomb. Although it took a lot to get me angry, once I did, I turned into a monster.

My mother was a manic depressive, and the way she handled my anger only exacerbated it. My mother's mental health issues were exponentially worse than my anger in that they came up daily whereas I was more like a volcano that went off every few years. Her state of mind made things so chaotic at times, that I found myself being an arbiter of reason. My mediation of her emotions helped me to bottle up and control my own. I could go for months without an incident but then something would happen that would trigger me, and my violence would rear its ugly head.

I couldn't stand bullies and got in fights constantly. I lost more fights than I won, but when challenged I never backed down. Most bullies got the message and would pick on easier targets but since we seemed to move a lot and I was constantly changing schools, I would keep running into different bullies that didn't know me yet and the fights would start right back up. Being poor, with hand-me-down clothes, haircuts from home, and shoes from Payless Shoesource I was an easy target for mockery - I attracted bullies like flies to shit.

The biggest bully, (to me), was my sister. As latchkey kids, we were often left to fend for ourselves while my mother worked, but sometimes Lorraine was put in charge. We had only one TV in the house, (it was an old color tube tv with four channels), and when Lorraine was in charge she acted like a dictator and would torment us with TV shows that we hated.

When I was nine years old, my sister Lorraine and I had a huge fight. Punches were thrown, hair was pulled, skin was scratched and arms were bitten. Our fights were often nasty and afterwards I would have welts and bruises all over. Honestly, I don't remember what that particular fight was all about, but I'll never forget how it ended.

Just to be clear, I was a nice kid for the most part and I didn't go around beating on my sisters. Lorraine was 13 at the time and she was much bigger and stronger than me. I didn't like fighting with her but I was too stubborn to back down from a fight, even when I knew I would lose. Believe it or not, it was Lorraine that instigated most of our physical conflicts. I wanted to be friends with her, but she had so much anger and resentment toward me that I never understood until that day.

"You want to know why you can't see your DAD anymore?" she sneered. I was confused because he was her father too. "Your father... molested me. He should have gone to jail for what he did! But, somehow he weaseled out of it."

I found out later that he did go to jail for a couple of months, lost his job and was forced to get counseling for over five years. I don't know what specifically he did, but, according to her, he should have been locked up for the rest of his life. Since I only had her pain to go on, I could only agree with her. But she wouldn't let me love her; I reminded her too much of my father.

The divorce kept me from starting kindergarten until I was six. I went to kindergarten at the same time as my sister who is a year younger than me. However, it was discovered early on that I had a genius level IQ. I learned to read when I was two and I was reading at a high school level by the time I was six. I was like a sponge, I loved soaking up all the knowledge I could. My mom would drop me off at a library rather than a playground because I loved reading more than playing. Although I started school late, I was able to skip three grades in elementary.

Growing up I didn't make many friends. We were constantly moving around. My mom lost all of her divorce settlement money and my father wasn't making his child support payments so at times we were practically homeless. Every year, until I turned eleven, I went to at least two different schools a year. Looking back, I realize I went to fifteen different schools growing up (not counting college). So, I was under a double whammy, not only was I always the new kid, but everyone in my class was always a couple of years older than me. The only friends outside of family I had growing up came from our church and none of them lived near me.

So, when my sister told me that she was molested, I knew the full implications of it as I had done research on human sexuality in the library years before. Not only did I empathize with the pain my sister was going through, I simultaneously felt betrayed by my father and I was finally able to let him go in my heart. The look of shock and sadness must have taken all the pleasure out of her reveal and after that things were never the same between us. We stopped fighting, she stopped talking to me and all hopes of us reconciling seemed hopeless.

After her outburst, she suddenly looked full of guilt and tried to apologize, but I walked away in a haze not even hearing what she had to say after that. I wept and grieved at the loss of my father that night because for the first time he was dead to me. With his loss I became even more of a loner and turned completely anti-social.

My mother tried to combat my anti-social behavior by not allowing me to skip any more grades. I found school to be unchallenging and I often studied college textbooks that I checked out from the library rather than participate in class. My teachers often got annoyed by my disinterest, but I could always correctly answer their questions about anything they were teaching when challenged. Eventually, they gave up and let me sit in the back of class, so I could study and not disturb their lessons.

When I was ten, my older sister went to live with my grandmother in Tacoma Washington. I didn't see her much after that except for a few weeks she came to visit during the summer.

My mother never went to college, but she, like me was a voracious reader. What she lacked in a degree, she didn't necessarily lack in knowledge. It was her emotional issues always kept her away from college not her ability. She couldn't handle the ups and downs of failure and success, so she never tried and conversely, she also never encouraged me to succeed at school either. When I think back at how she would let me ditch school whenever I wanted, the fact that I did so well in school was based more in rebellion to her than to please her. I became disciplined to spite her.

As I mentioned, my mother lost all of the money she got from her divorce to my father. She knew a Hollywood producer who convinced her to invest her money in his next movie. From the age of six until nine she would drive out to LA to see him in his mansion to try to get her money back. But, he was always full of excuses and eventually she gave up. I would ask her from time to time why she stopped asking him for her money, but she would just make up excuses. So, much like college, she simply gave up rather than fight. She was like that with everything it seemed, she didn't get welfare, not so much because she didn't believe in it or need it, rather because she couldn't deal with the stress of all the hoops the bureaucracy made you jump through.

So, she ended up working her ass off instead. She took all kinds of jobs. She even had her own cleaning business for a while. She hired a lot of Mexican workers on her crew and her company would often do construction clean up. That didn't last long, as most of her workers kept getting deported and she lost a lot of her contracts. She ended up cleaning houses for individuals, but that work wasn't always the most stable so she often took a lot of temp jobs at offices stuffing envelopes or answering phones to supplement her income.

We were living out of a car for a little while, but mostly we lived in various people's homes from whomever in our church would take us in. At one point, we lived in Downey with a couple who had five kids of their own. I loved that time of my life however brief because they treated us like we were just another extension of their family. The funny thing was, the father was Japanese, and the mother Chinese and their real families hated each other (old WWII hatreds).

None of the temporary houses lasted long. Either we were too much of a burden, mom was too much to handle or my mom had to go where the work was.

Things did stabilize for a few years when my mom found a cheap place that she could afford in Long Beach. It was not like the place in Gardena, but it was our own.

The church my mother attended was a famous cult-like Christian church. We had to go to church every day or else we were "backsliding." They tried controlling all aspects of our lives including what we could read, the music that we listened to and even the people we associate with.

My mother, being the rebellious type, read what she wanted and never tried to prevent me from reading anything. By the time we were teens, we only went to church on Sundays if at all. My memories of church were mixed, for me growing up it was my parents that made us go to church, so I didn't personally feel controlled by the church growing up, I was only there because of them. By the time I was old enough to rebel against their influence, we stopped going. Most of the congregation were ex drug addicted hippies, so the church acted like an impromptu rehab facility and allowed them to get clean. Eventually my mother moved on to different churches and began church hopping, and me and my sisters stopped going altogether.

The place we moved to in Long Beach, was an old house that was converted into a duplex. It was in an alleyway seven blocks from the beach. We lived at the edge of an artist community, an older well-to-do beach community and the ghetto of Long Beach depending on which direction we walked. We lived in the right half of the house which was nothing more than a one bedroom, with a kitchen, a small living room and a galley style bathroom with a bathtub and no shower. There was no real yard, more of an easement, so me and my sister ended up using the alleyway as our playground. Our backyard was bordered by an apartment building's garage wall, and the rest of the alleyway was the backside of more apartment buildings.

Unlike our life in Gardena, there was no tree house, no bamboo cropping, no neighbors yards to explore. All of my clothes were donations except the cheap shoes my mom would have to get me from Payless Shoesource. We had no toys not even the prototypes the inventor from Mattel used to give. He had kids of his own then and didn't need beta-testers anymore I guess. Half the toys we got were scrounged from the hand me downs that church members would donate or we made ourselves.

Stephanie and I, often collected glass bottles to turn in for the CRV values. We would search neighborhoods streets and parks and dig through trash bins to find our elusive bottles. Back then aluminum cans didn't have a CRV and only paid money by its weight so they weren't worth collecting. It would take us all day to earn a couple of dollars, but from it we were able to afford a few candy bars and cheap toys.

We made long chains of rubber bands, learned how to make friendship bracelets, or got bags of marbles or jacks from the grocery store. We couldn't afford nice toys like GI Joes or Barbie dolls, so we used our imaginations instead. Stephanie and I were always inventing new games to play together and we were practically inseparable.

We did have a couple of neighbors. One who lived in a house next door to us and the only thing I knew about him was that he was gay and owned a Great Dane whom would stand up on his legs to peak over the six-foot redwood fence that separated our side yard from our neighbor's. Also, there was our neighbor, Cindy, whom lived on the other half of the duplex. I found out much later that Cindy was a part-time prostitute and part time waitress. She had a daughter whom my mom would watch from time to time. Her daughter, Delilah, was my younger sister's age, so my sister and Delilah became fast friends. Delilah often stayed over at our house with us even when mom was off at work.

My mother took the back room and shared it with a roommate from church and my sister slept on a pullout bed in the living room. I ended up in a "laundry room" that stuck out of the side of the house. The laundry room had barely enough room in it to fit a mattress it was more the size of a closet than a room. By the time we left there I had to lay in it at an angle because when I laid down my head touched one wall while my feet touched the other. There was a door that led out to the side yard that was nailed shut and a door that was attached to the kitchen. It was kind of claustrophobic but at least I had some privacy since I was the only boy in the house.

Delilah and I didn't really get along at first, I thought she was odd and didn't know what to make of her. She and my sister Stephanie became best friends and Delilah started staying over more and more, especially when her mother would go on a drug bender or was entertaining a John.

Stephanie didn't have trouble making friends like I did. She, like me, was always the new kid but at least the kids in her classes were her age and Stephanie was super social and always friendly. Stephanie became my only friend and we became closer and closer. So, since I spent the most time with Stephanie than anyone else I knew, I was forced to let Delilah into my bubble. Eventually, Delilah and I became good friends too.

Even though I was in middle school already, Me, Stephanie and Delilah would go across the street to the elementary school while it was closed (mostly weekends, summers and holidays). We would hop the fence to play on the playground. We used to love playing handball and occasionally, they would forget to put away the tetherball and we would play for hours. We used to make up all kinds of games to play and we three became inseparable.