Coming of Age
By: Brock Archer
(© 2020 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

barcher@tickiestories.us

Chapter 12
Troy

When we got back home to Texas from France, we had only a couple of weeks to prepare for football camp. Just two days before we were to leave for camp, Johnny, Mike, and I each received a package from Claude. They contained albums of the photo shoot much like the ones that Armando had sent the year before except that these also had pictures of Johnny and me lounging by the hotel pool and working out in the fitness center. Among these were not only the “official” photos, but also close-ups shot from different angles. They were really no different from the type of photos that anyone might take on a family vacation except that they were so professionally done that they seemed more like works of art than mere snapshots, so we had no qualms about showing them to our parents. Even Mike, who had placed strict limits on how Claude was permitted to photograph us, was impressed.

Johnny seemed almost like a different person at football camp. He was still basically the same ole Johnny, but he approached the game with a new, deeper sense of commitment. Paradoxically, he had a greater sense that it was just a game. What really seemed to matter to him more than the score were the people—the players, the coaches, the student body, the families. Ironically, as a result, he played even better than before, and he was rewarded by his teammates, who voted him co-captain along with our quarterback, Matt Williams, a senior.

In accordance with tradition, we gathered around the imaginary campfire the last night of camp for storytelling and bragging of our conquests, which were largely as imaginary as the flames in the pit. Of course, what everyone was eager to hear about, especially after the tales we had told the year before, were our experiences in France. I led our accounts, embellishing some details and omitting others. Johnny followed with his own elaborations, but, of course, there was actually more truth in the story this year than before, and he relayed that truth with what I can only call “respect” and “maturity.” When it came time for the ritual circle jerk, Johnny participated, but it seemed that he did so more out of a sense of camaraderie and responsibility than mere juvenile revelry.

The second week of school, after we had already won our first game 36-7, Coach Davis introduced a new member of the team, Troy Mazure, a transfer student from Chicago. Like Johnny and me, he was a junior. “Troy has some experience playing back there,” said Coach, “so I’m sure he will be an asset to this team. I want you men to welcome him to the team, to the school, and to the community.” After all the members of the team shook his hand and welcomed him, we hit the field for practice, but Coach pulled aside Matt and Johnny and reminded them that it was their duty as team captains to ensure Troy’s successful transition into the team and to the school.

Johnny and I had always had lockers next to each other, but Johnny suggested that I move down one so we could put Troy between us. At first, I thought Johnny was just ribbing me, but then I realized that he was serious. Johnny wasn’t just being a good host, he was assuming his role as the leader of the team. He was manning up. I had always admired Johnny, but now I could see that he was really earning that admiration.

Johnny on one side of Troy and me on the other…I felt like one of two bookends. While Johnny had that cute baby face, Troy was more ruggedly handsome, like a young Paul Walker or Antonio Banderas, Jr., with a five o’clock shadow that presented itself at full force before noon. Johnny had medium-length blond hair, while Troy had longer, dark brown hair that hung over his thick black eyebrows and shaded his brown eyes that were so dark, they looked almost black.

I had shot up a lot over the spring and summer, so Johnny, Troy, and I were about the same height, around six feet, and we all had that V-shaped mesomorphic body—broad shoulders and chests, narrow waists, and rock-hard six-pack abs—but Johnny’s body was perfectly proportioned while Troy’s was just a tad on the husky side. Johnny’s body didn’t have a hair on it (except where it really counted), while Troy was covered with thick fur on his chest, belly, arms, and legs.

Both had beautiful cut cocks, slightly above average, but not nearly as big as mine. The penis of the average American male when erect ranges from 4.7 inches to 6.3, with the average being 5.1 inches. Having seen Johnny’s erect penis, I estimated it to be around the top of the range, and though I had not seen Troy’s penis erect (yet), based on its flaccid size, I guessed that it would be about the same as Johnny’s. Mine was almost 7 inches and still growing. I used to tease them that even if they tied their dicks together end to end, theirs would still not be as big as mine. Of course, that is an exaggeration. Slightly.

Johnny exuded amiability and self-assurance while Troy conveyed a touch of innocence along with a hint of the feral in his pheromones. Both were sexy as hell, but in very different ways.

“What’s with all the pin-ups of Mike Murphy?” Troy asked Johnny. Some of the guys still had pictures from Mike’s magazine ads the year before on their lockers, some had removed them, and some had replaced them or added to them with photos from our more recent shoot in France. A few had even put up ads with Johnny and me in the background, and a couple had drawn mustaches or devil’s horns on our faces. “Ask Rick,” said Johnny with a smirk.

“Oh, the guys are just razzing me,” I said.

“You? What’s this got to do with you?” he asked. Johnny grinned more broadly, and I thought he was going to burst out laughing.

“Let me re-introduce myself,” I said. “My name’s Rick Murphy.”

“Yeah, I got that, but…. Oh, wait. Murphy. You’re not…I mean he’s not? Oh, shit!” And with that, Johnny did burst out laughing.

“It’s OK,” I said, slapping him on the back to reassure him. “Happens all the time. And yes, Mike Murphy is my brother.”

“Oh, my god! That must be…I mean what’s that like? I mean….”

“It’s great,” I said. “I couldn’t ask for a better—”

“And he’s a super great guy,” Johnny jumped in. “You’ll love him.”

“You mean I might get to meet him?”

“Sure,” I replied. “He doesn’t get home much during the season, but when he does, we’ll have you over. He loves meeting my friends.”

Troy didn’t respond immediately, but I had the sense that he hadn’t expected to hear the word “friends.” He smiled, and I slapped him on the back again.

That Friday, we had an away game, which meant cheerleaders at the back of the bus. I got the sense that Johnny contemplated inviting Troy to sit with us but decided that such a move might be premature, so instead, he gave up his back seat to Matt Williams and sat with Troy in the row right behind the cheerleaders up front. I followed suit, giving up my seat to whomever Matt wanted to assign to it and sat across from Johnny and Troy.

The next day, Saturday, Mom asked me to help her load some things into her car after breakfast. “What’s up?” asked Dad. “You leaving us?” he teased.

“Oh, you know I would never leave you, dear. You’d be totally helpless without me.”

And people wonder where I get my vicious sense of humor.

“No. You recall that Edna Fowler’s mother lives over in Bryan and is homebound.” Dad nodded, knowing that Edna Fowler was a member of Mom’s garden club. “Well,” she continued, “Edna asked if anyone would like to help her put together a bouquet to send to her mother. Apparently, the health department has hired an itinerant nurse who’s going that way today, and we all agreed to put together several arrangements for her to distribute to the patients on her route.”

I helped mom load three boxes of bouquets and potted plants into her Lexus, and about 30 minutes after Mom left, she called and asked Dad to meet her at the nurse’s house. “Her car won’t start, and I thought maybe you could take a look at it.”

Since Carlos had everything under control at the house (Eddie had the day off), I decided to ride with Dad. Dad is not exactly a mechanic…and I’m certainly not…but Dad has had some experience doing routine maintenance on tractors and such, and I thought he might need an extra hand.

“This is Sarah,” said Mom when we got to the house. Dad and I shook hands with her.

“So, what’s the problem?” Dad asked.

“I don’t know. It just won’t start.”

“Well, let’s take a look. Pop the lid for me, Rick.”

And just as I was about to get in the car, a voice called out, “Hey, jerk! Don’t steal our car!”

Mom, Dad, and Sarah looked shocked, but when I turned around I saw that it was Troy. “Troy! Hey, man, you live here?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Just moved in.”

I gave him a hearty handshake with a jerk and quipped, motioning to Sarah, “Well, this can’t be your mother. She’s way too pretty.”

Troy punched me on the arm, and our parents breathed a sigh of relief. “I can see that your son has kissed the Blarney Stone,” said Sarah, Mrs. Mazure.

“Sometimes I think he’s swallowed it,” Dad replied.

Turning to Troy and me, Mom said, “I take it that you two know each other”

“Yeah,” I replied. “Troy’s our new back-up quarterback. But I’m sure we’ll have a winning season anyway.”

“Oh, stop that,” Mom scolded me with a chuckle. “You’re going to make these folks feel unwelcome.”

“Not at all,” replied Mrs. Mazure. “I believe that this is the young man who Troy told me has been so nice to him since he enrolled at school here.”

“No, Mom. That was the other guy, Johnny. This is the one that I told you I felt sorry for because he didn’t know the difference between a football and a shuttlecock.”

And before I could hit back, Troy reached out his hand to greet Mom and Dad and said, “You’ve got a really great son, Mr. and Mrs. Murphy…and I guess this one’s not too bad either.” Mom and Dad laughed, and Mrs. Mazure looked perplexed.

“Their other son,” Troy explained to his mother, is Mike Murphy.”

“Mike Murphy?” asked Mom.

“You’ll have to forgive my mother,” said Troy, winking at my parents. “She doesn’t really follow pro football. He’s with the San Francisco 49ers,” he turned to his mother and explained, “and one of the best quarterbacks who has ever played the game.” Then he turned to my parents and, with a second wink, said, “I guess one out of two isn’t so bad.”

Mrs. Mazure gave her son another “Troy Mazure!”

“Ahem,” Dad grunted, “let’s see what we can do with this car. Troy, would you like to do the honors and pop the hood for me? OK, now start the ignition.” Dead silence. Not even a sputter. “Was it like this when you tried to start it this morning?” Dad asked Mrs. Mazure.

“No,” she said. “It sputtered a few times but wouldn’t start, and finally it just stopped altogether.”

“Has this sputtering happened before?”

“Yes, off and on for a couple of weeks, but I’ve just been so busy what with the move and the new job and all….”

“Of course,” Mom reassured her with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Have you ever changed the fuel injectors?” Dad asked to a blank stare.

“I’m sorry,” she lamented. “My husband always took care of things like that.”

“Mom and Dad are divorced,” Troy explained.

“It could just be the spark plugs or the wires, which wouldn’t be too bad, but if it’s the fuel injectors, that could get quite expensive, and with a car this old, you’d probably be better off just replacing the car.”

Seeing the concern on Mrs. Mazure’s face, Dad said, “Let me pull the spark plugs and see what we can do. When Mrs. Mazure asked how long that would take, Dad explained that he had to go back to the farm and get some tools, come back and pull the plugs, go to the store for new ones, come back and install them, and see if that solved the problem. “Probably about two hours,” said Dad.

“Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Mazure, apparently on the verge of tears. “There are patients counting on me, and I hate to disappoint them, especially on my first week on the job.”

“We’ve got this,” affirmed Mom. “I’ll take you on your runs, Sarah, while the boys see what they can do with this car.”

“Oh, I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Sarah objected.

“You didn’t ask,” said Mom. “I offered.”

“But I have to go all the way to Bryan,” which was more than an hour away.

“I know,” said Mom. “Edna Fowler’s mother lives there, and I haven’t seen her in ages. Besides,” she added, “it will be so refreshing to talk to someone about something other than football.” Mrs. Mazure relented; nobody argues with my Mom.

“Troy, go with Mr. Murphy to get the spark plugs. I’ll get you some money.” She looked at Dad for his approval, and Dad, always a man of few words, just nodded his permission.

While Mrs. Mazure and Troy went back inside to get their things, Mom said to me, “When you get back to the house, I want you to make a phone call.”

When Mom and Mrs. Mazure got back that afternoon, Dad, Troy, and I were waiting with the bad news. Replacing the spark plugs did not work; it was probably the fuel injectors.

“Do you have more runs to make tomorrow?” Mom asked Mrs. Mazure, and she replied that she was off for the next two days.

“Good,” said Mom. “Rick and I will be back here early Tuesday morning. Rick can drive Troy to school, and I’ll take you wherever you need to go. Meanwhile, we’ll keep working on ideas, and either of you can call us if you need anything before Tuesday.” Mrs. Mazure tried to object, but once Mom has issued her declaration, it’s pointless to argue with her. We all exchanged phone numbers, and on Monday morning, Troy walked to school. His house was not far from the campus.

On Tuesday morning, Mom and I left the house early to go back to the Mazure’s house. Since we didn’t know what we would find when we got there, we took separate vehicles. When we rang the doorbell, Mrs. Mazure seemed almost surprised to see us. “I’m sorry,” said Mom. “Do you have company?” gesturing to the unexpected Lexus SUV parked in her driveway.

“Oh, Faith. I’m so sorry. I should have called you, but everything’s just been—”

“That’s quite all right, so—”

“Come in, Faith. Come in Rick. Troy will be down in a minute.” She invited us to sit down and continued, “You simply will not believe what happened. Yesterday afternoon, when Troy was still at school, a woman came to the door and introduced herself as Heidi Bergman, the Director of Market Research at Lexus, the car company…oh, but of course, you know that.”

Obviously, Mrs. Mazure was so overcome with excitement that she could barely collect her thoughts.

“So, anyway, she asked if I was Sarah Mazure, and I assured her that I was. Then she asked if I was an itinerant nurse and if my job required me to drive more than 300 miles a week. So, I asked, ‘Yes, what’s this about?’ She said that I had been identified as ‘part of a demographic’ they were looking for ‘to assist in a research project.’ I was curious, naturally, so she explained that they were entering the beta phase of a new product and were looking for people to participate. Of course, I know what a beta test is, but I asked her exactly what kind of beta test this was. She said that they would soon be introducing a new SUV hybrid and wanted people who drive a lot to test the car and give them feedback.

“I told her that I couldn’t afford a Lexus,” and she just smiled and said, “Oh, you don’t have to pay for anything.’ She went on to explain that the company would loan the car to me for one year. Every three months, I am to fill out a brief feedback questionnaire and possibly participate in a telephone interview.

“‘Ms. Bergman,’ I said, ‘Right now I couldn’t even afford the insurance on a car like that.’

‘Oh, we cover the insurance, routine maintenance, everything. There is absolutely no cost to you whatsoever.’

“Well, Faith, as you can imagine, I couldn’t believe my ears. My car breaks down and two days later, someone is loaning me a Lexus free of charge.”

Mom started to tell her how wonderful that was and how happy we all were for her when she launched into her monologue again.

“And then Heidi…Ms. Bergman…oh, she was so nice…she said that their research had indicated that I had a son of driving age and she wanted to know if he was home. I told her that Troy was at football practice and would be home in about an hour. So, she suggested that we fill out the necessary paperwork, which she had in her bag, and that she could go over all the controls and features of the car—the one she had driven up in—with Troy and me at the same time when he got home.”

“So, that’s the car in the driveway?” Mom asked.

“How do you like our new car?” asked Troy, coming down the stairs with his backpack over his shoulder. “Isn’t it great?”

Mom and I both agreed that it was great.

Mrs. Mazure offered to show us all the fancy stuff in the car, but Mom reminded her that Troy and I had to get to school and that she had to get on the road to her patients. “Let’s do it when you have more time,” Mom said.

All day long at school, Troy cornered everybody he knew, mostly the guys on the football team, and gave them every detail about the new car. You would have thought he was on ecstasy or something.

Mom called Mrs. Mazure that night to see how the car had performed on her patient run, and I called Troy. He told me that his Mom had allowed him to drive it to the campus and back but that he could only drive it with her in the car because he only had a driver’s permit. I offered to take him down to DMV whenever he was ready.

A few days later, Troy put up a picture of Mike in his locker. It was from an ad using one of the photos taken in the hotel fitness center.

To be continued...

Posted: 01/22/2021