The Sunday Club

By: Nicholas Hall
(© 2022 by the author)

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

nhall@tickiestories.us

Chapter 2
One-Eyed Jacks 

Momma (Beth Thompson) and I lived with my grandparents Fred and Anna Thompson, like forever! Their house is where I was raised and loved! I remember no father present in my life or even heard anyone speak of one except on one occasion while unintentionally eavesdropping I overheard Grandma Thompson comment “just because he had money was no excuse to take advantage of her and then abandon her” while speaking to Grandpa.

He'd just nod with understanding and respond, “Don’t fret over it, Anna. She and the boy are doing just fine right here with us.”

And we were! Momma had her own room and so did I. Her room was the one she had growing up in a house full of boys She has four older brothers and I occupied, as my bedroom, one of “the boys” rooms. Two rooms were allocated for their use growing up in a two story four-bedroom house. Grandma and Grandpa’s bedroom was located on the first floor.

It wasn’t the fanciest house, but located on a large double lot with a large garden space and several fruit trees along the back fence. I later learned Uncle Lou owned the house, among others, originally and at some point, signed off on a deed so Grandpa and Grandma owned it.

So, Grandpa Thompson served as my father-figure as well as my grandfather. But, the one who’s favor I seemed to attract the most was Uncle Lou. Uncle Lou was Louis Thompson, grandpa’s younger brother. He was the one who spoiled me rotten, according to Momma, the one who took me fishing, hunting, to baseball games, and introduced me to the Sunday Club card game, along with other wonderous and marvelous things to see and do.

Uncle Lou would stop by Sunday morning, help me get ready for the day, and would trundle me off for the day’s adventure. During the winter time, our adventure would begin and end at Uncle Lou’s tavern, “Uncle Lou’s Ale Haus and Eatery.” He just called it “the Ale Haus” while everyone else in Frenchtown and in the city called it “Uncle Lou’s.” There, Pudge Smith (he used to be skinny according to Uncle Lou) would be busy preparing a buffet type breakfast for Uncle Lou, me, and all of their friends who’d gather for cards, food, or whatever. Pudge must have liked his own cooking because he carried a bit of an overhang, if you know what I mean. Somewhat on the corpulent side of life or as he’d say, “I belong to the dicky-do club. My tummy sticks out farther than my dicky-do.” Couldn’t argue that fact with him, although when his dicky-do got stiff, it was noticeable, if you know what I mean!

The group of men comprising the Sunday Club got together every Sunday. During the spring, summer, and fall, they might get together to go fishing, hunting, or even nut-gathering, although sometimes the nuts they gathered weren’t from trees. Men of like tastes sexually, well-closeted in the community, bonded together, and very private! Yet they were most kind and gracious, helped those in need, and turned no one away who needed assistance or a little loving.

At the time, the members of the Sunday Club were Uncle Lou, George (Pudge) Smith, Carl (Preacher) Suiter, Walter (the Piano Man) Phillips, Neil Moore, Ernest Olson, Vinnie Rosetti, and Pete (Dinky) Peterson. Walter was the custodian at our elementary school, Vinnie was an auto mechanic, Neil and Ernie were commercial fisherman, and Pete and Carl were factory workers. None of them rich men, but damned good hearted and loyal to each other! Of course, they were just as protective of me as was Uncle Lou. The only two of the bunch from Frenchtown, originally, Pudge and Uncle Lou. Walter lived in the main city, up at the North end, but found he fit in Frenchtown more readily as he matured. His problem, according to some, was fiddling with little fiddlers attached to young boys. Never caught, but Uncle Lou helped him get the job at the school.

“Remember,” Uncle Lou told him in a warning, “don’t shit where you eat! Could be fatal, if you know what I mean!” Walter listened closely, got the message, and was more than discreet.

The others moved in, albeit Neil and Ernie from down south somewhere where they fished commercially as well. Apparently, they had a short hiatus from fishing when they spent some time in jail. Seems as though they helped themselves to other peoples’ catch, money, and when confronted, beat the living shit out of the accuser! The law took umbrage to their deeds. Vinnie came out of the Chicago area where he happened to be a specialist in cars- theft, that is!  Now, Carl (Preacher), supposedly was a defrocked minister of some sort who thought it appropriate to shove “the staff of God” up some of his male parishioners rear entrances to heaven, trying to “bring them to a state of grace” and him to a well-satisfied sexual relief! Apparently, he had no preference in regards to the ages of those he “preached” to in such a personal manner. “Any port in a storm,” he once was quoted as announcing. Well, the final port for him to choose happened to be the sixteen-year-old son of one of the more prominent deacons and Preacher was soon unemployed! Lucky he wasn’t left cock-less as well!

Pete moved into the area from the Tri-Cities, evidently no longer employed by a major industry in the area after being discovered in a factory restroom fucking another male employee. According to Uncle Lou, he might have gotten off with just a warning, but offered to give the foreman a blowjob on a regular basis if he’d “just forget about it!” Didn’t go over well at all! Uncle Lou helped him get a job at a on the street repair and snowplowing crew until he could get on the payroll at a local factory.

“Not as fucking cold in the winter,” Pete acknowledged. “Snowballs are blowing up your asshole as you try to clear the roads.”

Winter time, when it was cold, snowy, and” just plain fucking nasty outside” as Pudge would say, was the time most of their activities included playing cards, poker to exact. “Uncle Lou’s” was always toasty warm, the heat aided by the rock and metal lined fireplace Uncle Lou had installed years before. They’d sit at the table nearest the windows so they could look out over the river, frozen or not, depending on weather, while they ate, visited, and played cards.

I was Uncle Lou’s favorite from day one! There was never any hesitation on his part if asked to care for me while Momma worked or if Grandpa and Grandma needed a break. When I was little, he didn’t hesitate to change my diapers or bathe me, even though it may have taken time away from his various businesses since “The Ale Haus” wasn’t his only business, a very successful part, but not all!

I loved going to “Uncle Lou’s” tavern the most, especially Sundays. Sundays became my day as well – a time with “the boys” as Uncle Lou would say. There’d be the most scrumptious, tongue-tantalizing, delicious morsels to eat, even during the War and post-war when rationing was still in effect.

The men would gather, drink some coffee, have some breakfast, always making certain I had a hot chocolate, and at some point, sit down for a game or two of cards. At least one of the men would help me through the breakfast line, filling my plate, and helping me find my “favorite spot,” a prime chair where I could see the river, near the fire, and watch the card game.

“Don’t want the little shit to get cold!” at least one would observe, making certain I was comfortable.

I’d munch my breakfast and watch the game unfold; high stakes, penny ante, and learned a great deal listening to their banter. I learned four of a kind beat two of a kind, a full house beat two pair, and some games started with one-eyed jacks were wild.  Now, there’s one-eyed Jacks and there’s another “one eye” that has nothing to do with cards.  I was introduced to that particular meaning when Pete (Dinky) Peterson took me to the restroom and stood beside me when we pissed! I looked over at his large male todger hanging out of his britches and then down at my small one. Curiosity got the best of me!

“Why do they call you Dinky? Your wiener looks pretty big to me!”

“That’s a fact, Young Billy,” he responded. “They mean it as a joke, you know, just the opposite like they’d call a tall guy Shorty. The only guy with a bigger cock (new word) than mine is your Uncle Lou.”

I looked again, asking, “Will mine grow more?”

“Don’t worry, Billy, old one eye will grow some day and more than one person will notice how handsome you are with such a prodigious prick (two new words) and ready to take them around the world.”

I didn’t understand totally what he meant but as I grew older and more experienced, I found out.

I also learned a number of other new words, the kind of words you never use around Momma or Grandma Thompson.

“They’ll be pretty damned quick with the soap for your mouth,” Walter cautioned after I repeated the big nasty word, after Carl bellowed, “that fucker won another hand,” when Neil pulled in the pot.

The men enjoyed a beer or two or three as they wiled away a winter day, enjoying cards, each other’s company, and the ambiance of “Uncle Lou’s” and the fellowship it represented. They were not beyond sharing a beverage with me as well.

Someone would say, “Young Willy needs a sip,” and put a small amount of beer in my own special mug! It had my name on it and with the beer always came the stern admonition to never tell “your Momma or your Grandmother Thompson. They may not take kindly to us letting you have just a small sip.”

Invariably, I’d tire and one of the men would pick me up and set me on his lap, and I’d snooze while the card game continued. Not once, did any of the men make any attempt to “sex me up” or stick me up the butt as one might say. Sitting on their laps, I felt stiff appendages inside their pants rub up against my butt and I knew very well what they were thinking and would like to do, but they never did! By God, that takes willpower!

I learned a great deal sitting at the card table; a number of other facts concerning the male of our species and in particular those particular parts determining them as male. My own observations of the adult men in the Sunday Club brought me to the conclusion human cocks come in different sizes in terms of length, girth, thicknesses, appearances of some parts such as the shaft either heavily veined or not, the head, you know the end of the cock where the pee comes out. Some were broad strawberry shaped, maybe pink or light flesh colored, and direction they either protruded, hung, or pointed to mention just a few of many variations. Among the men and boys I had regular contact with, all of their cocks were hooded, uncircumcised, the head peeking out when skinned back or as stiff as Maggie’s broomstick, in the natural state, as I was.

One thing I did learn, much later in my life, is the generosity of the men of the Sunday Club. At the close of the card games, at day’s end, anyone with more than one dollar in winnings put the extra aside in a large jar, emptied when full, and the money collected was put toward for my post-high school education.

Uncle Lou, bless his heart, also discovered, as happy as I was being with the men of the Sunday Club and him, I was much happier when Hardy was with me.

To be continued...

Posted: 03/25/2022