*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
Disclaimers: Yes I need an Editor; no, I do not want an editor. Yes, there's too many people to keep track of. Yes it jumps around too much. Yes it's in the wrong category. Yes it's too long. Yes it's too short. Yes this is stupid shit and yes, I am a horrible writer; barely legible, hardly literate.
For those of you that have not hit the backspace key, I hope you enjoy this tale.
*
Chapter 1
It had taken very little persuasion for Arville Brodt, the hotshot quarterback for the University of Louisiana at DeGarde's Storm to convince Helen Vanderkin to allow her blind son to work with Clayton Verdot, the student equipment manager for the three remaining home games for the Storm.
Arville and Courtney had gone on one date, only one date, but that was all it had taken for Courtney Vanderkin to assume that they were an exclusive item and that had full and total control of their relationship. A series of voice mails had prompted Arville Brodt to call Courtney and let her know that, while they could be classmates and friends, he had absolutely no interest in pursuing a relationship with her.
But Trevor would still assist the ULD Storm in the locker room.
Clayton told the young boy he'd be there at eleven o'clock that Saturday to pick him up; the eleven year old boy was up, dressed, and ready to go at seven o'clock.
His mother got up an hour later and saw her son sitting on the couch, waiting.
"Trevor William Vanderkin, what time did you get up?" she chided him gently.
"I don't know," he lied.
"Honey, he said he'd be here at eleven, it isn't even eight yet," she said. "Come on, I'll fix you breakfast.
He let her pull him into the kitchen and he took his seat.
"Courtney even up yet?" he asked.
"No, don't think so," his mother said as she rapidly scrambled him some eggs. "Want grits?"
"Yes ma'am," he agreed and she put a cup of water into the microwave.
She looked at his milky eyes as he stared unseeing at the blank wall.
"Honey, I know you don't like them, but don't you think you might want to put on the glasses?" she asked as she put runny eggs and grits on the table in front of him. "What about some toast?"
"Sure," Trevor agreed, already shoveling the food in.
Courtney did not get out of bed until nearly ten o'clock and Trevor was almost frantic by then.
"Honey, come on, calm down, it'll be all right," Helen soothed.
"But he'll be here at eleven, and it takes her all day get ready!" Trevor declared.
"Oh shut up, it does not," Courtney said, giving her long red hair a sniff to see if she needed to wash it, or if it could wait another twenty four hours. "Why I got to go anyway?"
"Needs some adult supervision but you're the closest thing we got," Helen smiled as Courtney decided on a bowl of Lucky Charms cereal for breakfast.
She was in her room, pulling on her red and white socks when there was a knock at the front door.
"Hey," Clay Verdot smiled when Helen Vanderkin opened the door. "I'm Clay Verdot; I'm the equipment manager for the Storm?"
"Well good morning; I hope you know what you got yourself in for," Helen smiled at the good looking young man.
Clay stood at nearly six feet tall, with sandy blonde hair, brown eyes, and square, strong face. He wasn't overly muscular, but Helen could tell that the young man did do some exercises, more than just lifting a twelve ounce can of beer to his lips. He had on his U.L.D. Storm uniform of long white slacks and bright red football jersey which had his name on the back of it.
"And, here is my helper's jersey," Clay smiled, holding out the folded jersey.
"Oh boy; I know he'll love that!" the woman smiled and gestured the man into her home.
The young man introduced himself to his 'helper' and explained what they'd be doing for the duration of the game.
"Well, will you look at that? It's even got your name on it!" Helen praised as Trevor slipped the quite large jersey on.
"It does? Cool!" Trevor whooped.
"Thank you, Mrs. Vanderkin," Clay said, shaking the woman's hand.
"We ready?" Courtney asked, coming out of her room
"Uh yeah, uh, hi, I'm Clay; you must be Courtney," Clay stammered, looking at the red headed beauty.
She stood at five feet, six inches, with long, slender legs, trim hips, compact backside, and slender waist. He couldn't help but stare for a brief moment at her thirty four double D chest, then at her cute freckled face and brown eyes.
"Turn around?" he asked.
"What, why?" Courtney asked but did so.
"Nothing, just wanted to see how long your hair is; how long you been growing it like that?" he asked.
"Hmm, last time she had it cut she was what, five? No, no, she was six, so twelve years," Helen said.
Courtney did smile, most boys did not look at anything but her chest.
"We ready?" Clayton asked and they trooped out to his car. "Now, from what I understand, I'm supposed to let you hold onto me, right?"
"Oh, my God, how old is this thing?" Courtney asked, looking at his 1973 Chrysler New Yorker.
"It's a bus, huh?" Clayton laughed. "But, another sixty three payments and it'll be all paid for. Oh, and it gets great gas mileage! I get eight gallons to the mile ever since I did that tune up like President Obama suggested."
"Trevor, it's a nineteen seventy three Chrysler New Yorker," he explained to the boy. "My uncle gave it to me when his cataracts got too bad and he couldn't drive it anymore.
It's probably as long as your driveway; two of your sister's cars could fit into this car."
"At least!" Courtney agreed.
"But he took really excellent care of it," Clayton said, opening the door for her.
Courtney appreciated the fact that, since they were with the team, they could just walk out onto the field; she didn't have to pay for her ticket, or Trevor's ticket.
"Um, and here, you're seat's right there," Clayton pointed to a roped off section. "I um, I got you right up front, you know, in case Trevor needs you or anything."
"Thanks," Courtney said and walked up the aluminum steps.
"Now, where in the fuck..." Coach Schaeffer was bellowing in the locker room.
"Hey, hey, Coach!" one of the assistant coaches said, motioning to Trevor and Clay. "Kids, huh?"
"Oops," Coach said. "Hey, tell the kid take the sunglasses off; this ain't Hollywood."
