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The Fickle Finger of Fate


By Chris Carr


April, 2014








The boy quiet as a church mouse, Martin probably wouldn’t have ever noticed him if Rashod hadn’t all but thrust them together that day. A captain on his basketball team, his son had guys over so often, Martin paid little attention to it. If they weren’t lazing around watching sports on TV, they were out back, shooting hoops and talking trash. Tall, athletic and boorish, they were Rashod’s tribe.

Martin blamed himself. At an early age he’d gotten him involved in sports, taking him to little league baseball, peewee football and whatever else he could find, much to his mother’s chagrin. “He’s so little,” She’d protest, but Martin was hearing none of it. No boy of his was gonna be sitting around the house all day.

He and Kourtney no longer together, he’d gained full custody of his son arguing that a boy like Rashod needed a father. Surprised when she eventually agreed, he and the boy were more like roommates than father and son. Proud of his athletic prowess, he saw more of himself in him every day.   

Posted in front of his big screen in the den, he was catching up on scores on ESPN when his son came sidling up beside him. “Hey pops, do me a favor?” Reaching for his wallet, Martin was about to start the interrogation when Rashod waved him away.

“Naw, need you to run ol’ boy home.”

“Ol’ boy?”

“Yeah, dude that’s been helpin’ me with English. The goofy looking one?” Martin was about to start protesting but Rashod anticipated him.

“I know, Sports Center, but check, you can tape it. Besides, Miami got it Friday.” Sitting up, Martin blinked.

“How do you know?”

“Got a tip,” Rashod winked.

“From who?”

“Take dude home and I’ll tell you.” He’d played him like a fiddle and Martin couldn’t protest. Sighing, he sat his beer down.

“Where is he?”

“I’ll get ‘em,” Rashod said, hopping up.

“Better not forget to…”

“Already taping it dad,” Rashod called over his shoulder, strutting smugly down the hall.


Shuffling out to the car the boy idly hummed to himself. Head down, he seemed off in his own world. His appearance unremarkable, he was somewhat tall for his age, much like a lot of Rashod’s friends. His clothing layered, he wore a hoodie, jacket and ski cap.

Sliding in the car Martin popped the automatic locks for the boy. Still idly humming the boy stood outside the door until Martin finally leaned over and opened it. His phone in his hand, he was busy staring at it, unaware until the door bumped him. Abruptly silent, he looked down, as if the door had magically opened, then slid in the seat.

Returning to his phone, his fingers worked over the screen, accessing apps. His long legs extended, he hunched over the phone, head down, that idle humming starting again, his earbuds jammed in his ears.

Faces and various videos popping up on his phone, the boy was absorbed, his only acknowledgement he was there his involuntary bobbing and weaving as the car moved. Glancing at him Martin ascertained that he wasn’t necessarily ugly, but not the type girls would fawn over either. His eyes squinty, he wore large framed, dark-rimmed glasses which, on one of Rashod’s friends would’ve looked super goofy, but on him worked. His skin smooth, he was a stunning mocha brown, his form hidden beneath the layers of clothing yet hinting something more than a geek.

Had Rashod not given him the boy’s address Martin would’ve been up shit creek trying to extract it from him. Idly driving through the city he couldn’t understand why he kept studying the boy. He should’ve been occupied with that elusive tip Rashod had mentioned. His Heat in trouble, word they may have a chance this Friday against Chicago was good news.

But The Heat weren’t foremost on his mind. Instead he kept glancing at this odd boy with the long fingers and squinty eyes. Just what was it so compelling about that damn phone? Damn kids today, all they do is stare at those phones.

Before he knew it he’d tapped the boy on the leg. Startled, he looked first at the spot where Martin had poked him then up at him, that incessant tune still on his lips as he pulled an earbud from his ear. Regarding him with those sad-sack eyes, he blinked.

“What’s your name?” Why the fuck did he care?

“Jerrell,” The boy softly replied. His eyes trained on him, Martin blinked.

“What’s that? What’s that you’re doing?” Glancing down at his phone, Jerrell returned,

“Instagram.” Somewhere in his son’s lingo he’d heard the term but had no reference for it.

“What’s that?” Shrugging, Jerrell quipped, “Social media,” His attention returning to his phone.

His fingers flicking across the screen, he was soon lost in his own world again. Martin of no consequence, he said nothing more the rest of the trip. What a weird kid, he thought, watching him traipse to his door after he’d dropped him off. 



Who is this weird boy?



How it’d fallen his lot to take the boy home after that Martin wasn’t sure but there he was, taking him home the next time he came over. Like before Jerrell was lost in his phone, earbuds jammed in his ears, a soft tune on his lips. Just what was it with this boy? What the hell was so important about his phone he all but blanked out the world around him?

Ferrying the distracted boy home on another occasion, he couldn’t take it anymore. Tapping him on his leg, he watched as the boy made a similar reaction, glancing at the spot where he’d tapped him as if his ‘space’ had been violated, then up at him as he pulled an earbud from his ear. Sorry to interrupt you, Martin thought.

“Instagram?” He said, indicating the boy’s phone.

“Twitter.” Holding him with that inquisitive gaze, he said nothing as they traveled. Rattled, Martin blinked.

“Uh… what’s that?”

“Social media,” Jerrell quipped with a shrug. Returning to his phone, he was going back down the rabbit hole when Martin added,

“What… whadaya do with it?” Blinking, the boy said nothing. Was he thinking or just ignoring him?

“You follow people on Twitter.”


“Yeah. Your friends, celebrities…” Quiet, he squinted at him a while then looked back at his phone.

“So… who do you follow?” Shrugging again Jerrell answered,

“Mostly people from school. But like I follow Rihanna and Kim too.”


“Kardashian?” He said it like everybody should know. Nodding, Martin wasn’t sure he knew any more than when he first inquired.  


During subsequent trips he made more inquiries, the boy’s brief replies providing him answers in small increments. Certain he could’ve learned all about social media from his son (and in less time) he found it intriguing to extract it from Jerrell. The boy a complete oddity, he was like a strange archeological find, one to be studied until the mystery was revealed.

About the house he’d bump into him, the boy less distracted, yet still unavailable. His shoes removed, he quietly traipsed about, a virtual stealth assassin, his light footsteps not even announcing his presence. One time Martin walked in on him in the bathroom. Head down, he just stood there, his dick prominently presented, earbuds in his ears. Startled, Martin pulled the door towards him, stepping back. Just before it closed, however, he stopped, his heart racing as he peered at the boy, so caught up in his own world he never realized he was there.

Shaken, he had no explanation why he’d spied on him. He’d seen plenty of Rashod’s friends half naked, if not naked over the years. From sleepovers when they were young to their brazen bouts of nudity as young athletes, seeing a boy’s body was of no consequence. So what was it about Jerrell that was different? He pondered. 




What is it about Jerrell that's different? And how will it affect Martin?


Coming soon to The Studies, a story about exploration and discovered secrets debuts...





...A few days after he’d stumbled in on Jerrell fondling himself (and don’t think he didn’t want to ask Rashod what he thought of that) he was driving the boy home when something unusual happened. Apparently tired, Jerrell had fallen asleep. Like all the times before he’d started out fiddling with his phone, earbuds jammed in his ears but, in time, he started swaying then slumped in his seat against the door.

Images stared at him from his phone, frozen where he’d left them until finally it winked off. Glancing at him Martin felt a sudden kinship with the poor boy, a flash of compassion surfacing. Obviously a loner he was a victim of his own isolation. Too bad, he thought because, as he kept looking he’d decided he wasn’t bad looking. With a few minor changes he imagined the boy could become a real looker.

He was pondering this and other things when his eyes fell on the boy’s groin. He’d tried fighting the urge, eyes front as he gripped the steering wheel but, we all know how the power of suggestion works. The more you try not to think about something…

Succumbing to temptation when he did look, he almost ran up on the curb.

This little freak is hard?! Eyes bugging, he regretted looking more than ever.

Catching the veering car, his heart pounded as he glanced at the unmistakable tent in the boy’s pants. Accepting he’d never gain a clue about the oddities of the mysterious youth, Martin found himself slowly driving down a back street. His attention riveted to the growth in the youth's pants he lingered at a stop sign for so long, another car came behind him and tooted. Flummoxed, he pulled off.

He was about to drive back to the main road when the boy stirred. His legs falling apart, the outline of his dick was more prominent than ever. And then it throbbed, pushing the fabric up as he fell into a quiet snore…

All reasoning going out the door Martin was suddenly possessed with the powerful desire to see it. There was no logical rationale for his actions but he wasn’t thinking logically at that point anyway. Without thinking he’d found a remote place to park, his heart in his throat as he turned off the engine.

In the silence he heard the boy’s earbuds, blaring in his ears. Even while he was sleep Jerrell was still in his own world, Martin marveled. Looking around he made sure they were alone then, hand trembling, he extended it towards the growth.

God, he must be hard as a brick. He thought, the bulge virtually tenting his pants. Looking around again, when he was certain no one was around he slowly, painstakingly lowered his hand. Heart in his throat, he constantly monitored Jerrell's breathing for any changes but, so far, he was still softly snoring.

Lower and lower his hand went until, his heart practically stopping, it made contact. Immediately looking up at the boy’s face, he took a breath when he saw he hadn’t stirred. The growth beneath his hand he looked down.

Heart thundering in his ears he gently pushed, frequently glancing up to see the boy’s reaction. Oblivious, he quietly snored, his tunes still blaring in his ears. Relaxing a tad, Martin formed his hand about the growth. And then it writhed, extending its full length, the tip of the head peeking above the waistband of his loose fitting pants.

That minute display electric, Martin’s dick did flip flops in his pants. The total irrationality of the moment overtaking him, he repositioned in the seat, wedging his hand between the sleeping boy’s tummy and his lax pants.

There was no explanation for his actions and when his conscience smote him he rationalized that the boy was asking for it. Fingers trembling, he gingerly slipped them about the tip of the head. A slop of juices greeting him it confirmed his greedy rationale. See? He wants it.

His fingers sticky, the boy’s juices wet them as he painstakingly slid them against the quarter inch peeking from his pants. Drunk on his emotions, he was about to reach further when Jerrell stirred. Scared shitless, Martin snatched his hand away. Staring at him for what seemed an eternity, he waited for a reaction. To his great surprise he merely slumped once more, his quiet snoring picking up.

Had he been in his right mind Martin would’ve taken that as a proper warning however, way past reasoning, he waited until he was certain he was deep in sleep again and tucked his fingers back inside his pants, this time reaching further.

His heart beating so hard he swore it must’ve been audible, he was dead set on freeing the steely monster. Performing a series of maneuvers that would’ve impressed the best jewel thief he stealthily labored with his pants until they gave a few precious inches, freeing his wickedly hard boy wonder.

While he was still playing it super cautious his lust-driven mind had somehow convinced him the boy was playing along. No way he was that sleep, he subconsciously justified, carefully extracting a few more millimeters. As if adding credence to his argument, Jerrell’s hips arched slightly, extending his dick further.

His breathing labored, Martin feverishly slaved over his clothes until finally, approximately one to two inches were freed. His fingers constantly diddling the sleeping boy’s stiff offering, he manipulated it, causing more juices to flow. He’d just wrapped his finger about the wickedly hard head when the boy made a tiny whimper and his dick started to writhe. Of its own volition, his hips thrust upwards and Martin was certain he was about to blow when suddenly, he woke.

His dick extended from his pants, his hips were still salaciously gyrating as he looked about, half sleep/ half woke. Slowly coming to consciousness, he appraised the situation, his eyes flashing up at Martin then wandering down to his exposed growth...




Battling their own demons, Martin and Jerrell are thrust together, the combination electric!



Slumped on the couch in his den the TV was on but Martin wasn’t hearing it. The boy’s presence making him uneasy, he couldn’t wait until his mother picked him up. Too many questions unanswered, Jerrell was such a distraction Martin heard little to nothing of the scores and team stats broadcasting. Idly sipping his beer he figured he’d be able to jump in the shower and fully relax, once Jerrell was gone. Until then, he sat staring at the TV.

“Um… my mom wanna talk to you,” Jerrell said, suddenly over him. Startled, Martin looked up at him as he pushed his cell towards him. Now what? He irked, taking the phone.


“Hello, Mr. Bartlett?”


“Oh hi, I’m Tricia, Jerrell’s mom? Yes, I don’t know if he told you but I was supposed to be picking him up.”

“Yes…” A short pause as someone spoke to her in the background.

“Yes, I’m sorry but they need me to stay over.” More talking in the background to which Tricia replied, “Trauma room 3.” Returning to Martin she continued,

“Ok, sorry about that, it’s crazy around here. Listen, can you do me a big favor and let Jerrell stay over with Rashod? I know I was supposed to be picking him up but with the storm they’re shorthanded around here and they really need me to stay.”

Lightening flashing outside the windows he listened as she talked to someone else off the phone. Glancing at Jerrell he felt a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach as the ensuing thunder sounded.

“Mr. Bartlett I’m sorry, I’ve gotta go. Can you do me this big favor please?”

“I… but…”

“I know, under any other circumstances I wouldn’t do this but he gets along so well with Rashod and I thought this would be an excellent opportunity for them to spend some time together…” And then she was gone again, directing people in the background. Returning to the phone she hastily inquired,

“So will that be alright?”

“I… guess. But…”

“You’re a lifesaver, Mr. Bartlett! I’ll be sure to get him first thing tomorrow. Can you put him back on the phone?”

“Ok,” Martin said, handing Jerrell his phone..



...Time passing, he was still debating some time later. Sweat on his brow his dick was harder than ever even though he hadn’t touched it. Unable to resist any longer he crawled out of bed. Telling himself he was merely going to check on the boy, he tiptoed towards Rashod’s room.

Heart pounding, he slowly pushed the door a crack. I’m just making sure he’s ok, he kept telling himself. Peering into the darkness, he was surprised to see Rashod’s computer was still on. The screensaver cycling, eerie shadows were cast about the room. 

On the bed Jerrell lay on his back, his legs dangling over the side. Earbuds in his ears, his phone lay beside him. Wondering if he’d found his charger, Martin took a step into the room. Music playing in his ears, he concluded he must’ve then, his eyes fell on the boy’s groin. Sticking straight up from his boxers his dick stood boldly like a truncheon, throbbing to his heartbeat…








This is just a tease! Join today to read the entire story!




...His squinty eyes on him, Jerrell quickly looked away as he opened his pants.

Unfurling his anxious length Martin’s respirations increased. Snapping to attention his dick bounded from his pants like a freed captive. Rearing to its full inches, the head pointed towards his chest, hard as nails. Glancing at him, Jerrell fiddled with his phone, as if nothing was happening. Encircling it, his hips involuntarily rose, Jerrell quietly emitting a sigh.

Nervously looking around once more, he pulled at his hand when Martin played it over the sensitive head. Conflicted, he fought to pull the man’s hand away while his body consented, raising his hips higher. Eyebrows knitted together Jerrell tried not to whimper, Martin’s hand finding a seductive combination. Eager drops of sticky juice oozing, he quivered when Martin applied them about his anxious length.

Pushing on the seat, his hips raised, his dick pointed towards the sky. Head thrown back, he uttered a loud gasp, his hips bucking and then...



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