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 12
WOW! Wonderous Discoveries

“Just how big is your cock?”
“Frankly, I really don’t know! Every time I get a hard-on,
all the blood rushes from my head and I pass out!” 

Our sideline business, the “Bike Shop,” grew more than we anticipated thanks to Sketch’s art work and painting, and Buzz’s fabulous repair jobs! Hell, he could fix anything and make it like new! It was clear we were outgrowing our shop in Grandpa’s Thompson’s garage.

School started in the fall and I knew it wouldn’t be long until someone made some remarks to Johnny concerning his parentage and our relationship. I could only hope I could help relieve his pain if there was any.

 *******

As I mentioned before, it was a summer like no other since we were so busy, especially for Hardy and me. The most enjoyable part of it involved Johnny. All of us in our Sunday Club took time to take him fishing, swimming, or just have him with them. His work at “Uncle Lou’s” not only added dollars to his pocket, but also gave him exposure to people, especially boys and girls close to his age, adding to his feeling of self-worth. As an orphan, he needed it! Besides, as his big brother, I needed to be there for him.

The members of our Sunday Club decided Johnny needed a new bike; a bigger one which would fit him more comfortably and would be appropriate for his height. We set out trying to locate “the bike.” Moocher and Buzz found one, evidently abandoned because of a bent front wheel, but otherwise in pretty good shape. He had an older, smaller bike and pedaled all over Frenchtown without complaint. Of course, he complained very little anyway.

Buzz looked it over carefully, decided it was really in great shape. A new rim and tire, repainted by Sketch, and “It’ll be like a brand-new bike,” Buzz declared proudly.

It took a couple of weeks, when Johnny wasn’t around, but soon it was ready. Rather than calling him over to the garage, we waited until Sunday morning when Johnny was attending Mass with his grandparents. We put the bike on their porch so he’d see it when they came home. Sketch made a huge card with a pretty accurate pencil drawing of Johnny on a bicycle, along with a note announcing “For Johnny, our special member, from The Sunday Club,” and we all signed it.

We were hiding in the shop when they came home. We could hear him squeal and shout with joy! With that, we stepped out, and walked over to his house. Johnny couldn’t hug and thank us enough. I noticed his grandparents were both teared up seeing the gift and how we felt about him.

 His new (to him) twenty-six inch was “one of the bestest gifts” he’d “ever got,” he declared.  He was over the moon; loved it, he did! He thanked us profusely, almost every time he rode it. Didn’t mind telling folks, who came to eat at “Uncle Lou’s” how much he loved his new bike and where he got it!

Word of mouth seemed to grow our business along with Sketch’s well drawn and lettered posters we placed around the City. Sketch’s art work was so damned good (hence his nickname “Sketch”) it drew people in to look for a bike or get one repaired. We bought an air brush and compressor so he used it to do the finish work on each bike we rebuilt and refurbished.

Of course, giving away a few free bikes to those who couldn’t afford one helped as well. It also produced a large number of bikes given to us by the cops and other people to use for parts or fix to sell or give away. We were outgrowing our shop and needed more room. We also needed someone to do our bookwork since we had repair orders and orders for bikes.

Buzz, rather his surrogate grandfather, Mr. Williams, provided the solution for us.

 *******

Buzz, standing behind Mr. Williams seated on the four-legged stool in the shower, carefully and meticulously shampooed the older man’s hair. Both were naked, shower water currently off while Buzz worked and chatted. It was something Buzz did, willingly and with love, twice a week before assisting Mr. Williams into bed. Buzz was about nine or ten years old when Mr. Williams’ arthritis began causing him some mobility problems, especially getting into and out of the bath tub. There was no hesitation on Buzz’s part, after all, Edgar Williams was his “Grandpa Willy” and had been since Buzz could remember.

Edgar Williams, a single man, lived two doors from the Carlson home. It was a comfortable two-bedroom single story home situation on a rather large lot in Frenchtown. A single car garage, a large outbuilding, probably a carriage house in its day, was converted to a shop, and a very large garden space with two apple trees toward the back of the lot.

Williams purchased the home when he accepted employment as a maintenance man at one of the small, but stable, manufacturing facilities in the city proper. He kept pretty much to himself, “tinkering” as he once put it, in his shop in his off hours. He soon garnered a reputation as being able to fix almost anything.

Buzz Carlson’s dad was a millwright at one of the larger factories nearby. They became acquainted with Mr. Williams on a more personal basis, other than “just neighbors” one day when one of the older Carlson boys (there were six altogether counting Bizz) slipped a chain on his bicycle and Mr. Williams repaired it. Maintenance man and millwright soon found they had much in common and a strong bond of friendship formed between Williams and the Carlson family.

Buzz was an “oops” baby, but dearly loved by his parents and Mr. Williams, who often would volunteer to take care of the very busy, precocious young boy, taking him for a walk or to the small park nearby, or to his shop as he worked on something to repair.

“He’s busy as a bee!” Williams confided to the boy’s parents one time. “It takes a great deal to occupy his time and expand his mind, but I love it.”

Hence the nickname “Buzz!”

Buzzy, on the other hand, insisted on calling Williams “Grandpa Willy,” and so it was! He became part of the Carson family, celebrating Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, and Sunday dinners, albeit, Sunday dinners only about once a month. He felt he really didn’t want to interfere with “family privacy,” something he felt was needed to bond and keep bonded family groups.

The older Carson boys, when they hunted or fished, shared some of their catch with him. A pheasant, quail, or rabbit, along with catfish, crappies, and bluegills, were welcome and enjoyed with relish and appreciation. In turn, Williams offered his substantial garden space for the Carlson family to use and they did! Bud plowed it and prepared it for planting; the boys, assisting their mother, planted, weeded, and harvested the bounty. Once harvested, they weren’t remiss in their duty to help their mother can it or otherwise preserve it for future use.

“Growing boys eat a great deal,” she once confessed to Williams as they sat in her kitchen enjoying a cup of coffee and a home-baked sweet roll.

Buzz enjoyed his snack as well, perched on Grandpa Willy’s lap!

Williams retired about the time Buzz started school. His arthritis was beginning to manifest itself, causing him some distress and limiting some of his movements. He was still able to drive, do most housework, and personal tasks such as dressing himself, cooking, and other tasks. His small pension and social security, and his personal savings were not a great deal, but sufficient for his wants and needs. His house was free and clear of any mortgages or other encumbrances, since he received legal possession through “the generosity of a dear friend who bequeathed it to me,” he noted to Bud Carlson at one time. What he didn’t mention, was his “dear friend” also bequeathed all of his other assets as well, including cash and investments.

Buzz could have cared less about wealth or security since now Grandpa Willy was home all the time. He could meet Buzz at the bus stop, take him home, and if Buzz’s mother was not home, to his own. Everyone seemed to benefit! It certainly pleased Williams to have the young lad around!

The situation changed somewhat when Buzz was around nine years old or so, when Moocher and he, both members now of Billy’s Sunday Club and enjoying each other’s company and peckers, walked over to William’s house after school, as was Buzz’s custom, before heading home.

“Grandpa Willy!” Buzz hollered, stepping into the living room when he noticed Williams wasn’t on the porch.

“In here!” came the reply from the bathroom.

Buzz, with Mooch closely on his heels, raced toward the bathroom! Williams was sitting in the bathtub, relief showing on his face.

“Grandpa Willy, what are you doing in there?” Buzz asked, anxiously, wide-eyed and concern for the welfare of his beloved Grandpa Willy.

“My arthritis was acting up and I thought a hot bath would relieve it. Once I got in the tub, I discovered I couldn’t get out as easily as I got in.”

“How long have you been in there?”

“About two hours, I should think,” Williams confessed.

“Oh, my god!” Buzz snorted. Waving at Mooch to give him a hand, they easily assisted the older gentlemen out of the tub. Once they had him on his feet, holding him secure so he wouldn’t tumble, Buzz told Mooch to go to the towel cabinet and retrieve a couple of bath towels and a hand towel.

Mooch, his eyes drifted south on the slightly built, older man, focusing on the almost walnut-sized gonads hanging pendulously in a loose, smooth, and long sack beneath a substantially sized, lengthy flaccid uncircumcised penis. Mooch’s own three-inch prepubescent cock jumped up and was hard as a nail inside his jeans.

“Mooch!” Buzz repeated, irritated, “now, not later!”

“Ought to call him Grandpa Whopper,” thought Mooch as he scooted to complete his mission.

“Put one bath towel on the toilet seat cover and hand me the other two,” Buzz instructed.

“Now, Grandpa Willy,” Buzz said softly, “I’m going to get you nice and dry and then put your jammies and robe on you. You’ll catch your death of cold or something if you don’t get warmed up.”

“Bet I look like a shriveled prune!” Williams mused.

“Not quite,” laughed Buzz, “but all that cold water can’t have done you any good.”

Mooch didn’t think Williams’ “prune” was a bit wrinkled, in fact it remained smooth, hanging, wobbling from to and fro as he, with one arm around William’s naked body and Buzz around the other side of him, helped Buzz maneuver the gentleman to the towel covered toilet seat. With every step he took, Mooch felt his cock twitch.

Seated, Williams patiently and willingly, sat while Buzz carefully patted dry his head, ran a towel across his back, his arms, sides, mid-rift, and his lower legs and thighs.

“Okay,” Buzz announced, “Mooch, help me stand while I finish.”

Mooch watched, not all of Mr. Williams, just his cock and balls as Buzz dried the older man’s buttocks and back of his thighs. Mooch almost had a dry orgasm when Buzz took the hand towel, lifted Williams’ balls and dried them before doing the same to Williams’ cock.

“Hold him up, Mooch, while I get his jammies and robe.”

In Buzz’s absence, Mooch couldn’t take his eyes off of the whopper hanging from the older gentleman’s crotch.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Williams commented with a smile.

“What?” sputtered an embarrassed Mooch.

“My cock and balls!”

“Never seen one quite that big!” gulped Mooch.

“I know what is going through your mind!” Williams stated matter-of-factly, “but, alas, as delicate, beautiful, and desirous you might be, my preferences are not young lads, but males of my age, and, since the death of my own beloved, I’m not seeking another.”

Mooch just nodded his understanding. It didn’t, however, remove his eyes from ogling that big piece of man-meat!

Buzz helped Williams into his pajamas and robe, walked him to his easy chair in the living room, draped a blanket across his lap, and announced they had to leave but he’d be back later to check on him and bring him supper.

Two days later, Bud Carlson installed grab bars strategically located above the bathtub so Williams could secure himself and a stand, built much like a sawhorse to place outside of the tub so Williams could steady himself while climbing in or out of the tub. Two years later, Bud installed a walk-in shower.

Buzz was explaining, while he rinsed Williams’ hair with a handheld shower wand, “So, Grandpa Willy, we’re running out of room. Our bike business has outgrown our space at Billy’s and we need some help with the bookwork. Billy’s Grandpa and Grandma have been keeping track of our expenses, revenues, and repair work, but it takes them away from other things they have to do!”

Showered and in the processing of drying off, Williams made an interesting proposal.

“Why don’t you boys use my shop? It’s big, well-equipped, heated, and a good place for you boys to work while enjoying each other’s company. There’s room for a table and chairs, pop machine, you name it. Since I’m retired and really need something to do, I’ll keep the books, entering and tagging bikes needed repairs, send out bills and notification of repairs done, or whatever. Hell, I’m here every day.”

It didn’t take long for Billy’s Sunday Club members to accept the offer and make the move. Hence, The Bike Shop was in a more permanent, newer location. In fact, it became Buzz’s sole occupation and successful business in later years.

******* 

There was no doubt in my mind when school started some older boy or girl in one of the upper grades in our elementary school would make some remark disparaging Johnny’s parentage. Maybe those remarks would be made in the hallways, on the playground, or wherever. It was going to happen sooner or later. Perhaps the remarks would be made through spite, jealousy, or just plain dumb ignorance, but they would be made.

Johnny made numerous friends his own age during the summer and working at “Uncle Lou’s.” Yet, there still would be those, regardless of the fact he was an orphan and really had less material wealth than others, who are jealous of someone’s happiness and Johnny was generally a happy boy, considering his circumstances.

The third week of school, on a Thursday as I remember it, Johnny didn’t stop at the house after school as he usually did and wait for me to come home from high school. I feared something wasn’t right or he’d have been bouncing about, eager to tell me of his day at school!

He didn’t show up until after supper. I heard him come in the house, walk down the hallway toward my bedroom where I was doing my homework, and he stopped. I took a quick peek and noticed he was standing carefully looking at the picture of me hanging on the wall when I was his age. He sorted of nodded, as if he came to a conclusion of some sort. I dashed back into my room and waited, anxiously!

Now he knew the truth of the matter! Sometimes truth can bring relief, joy, lift one’s spirit or bring resentment, dismay, disappointment, and unhappiness. There are times truth brings anger! The anger can be diverted in a positive or a negative direction. Either way, anger has to be channeled, contained, or, perhaps, redirected!

I wasn’t all that certain how Johnny was going to react, although I had a pretty good idea.

He appeared in my bedroom doorway, standing there, waiting; waiting for some signal from me all was well with the world. I opened my arms and he bolted from the doorway into them! Hugging him closely, I felt him emit a small sob. I then felt one of his small hands reach up, pat my face, and heard him say,

“You’re my really, really, really brother!”

He didn’t ask if it was true. He knew it was! Johnny saw the picture in the hallway (although he’d walked by it so many times in the past) and it was confirmation of what I assumed he’d recently heard at home.

Johnny repeated himself several times before finally pulling his head back and, grinning, clasped my face with both hands and proclaimed, “I’m so happy you are!”

“And I am too,” I responded with another hug and a kiss on his forehead. Adding, “Why don’t we walk back to your house and visit with your grandmother and grandfather?”

I figured they’d be nervous waiting to see how he’d reacted and my response.

Entering their living room where they sat, before I could say a word, Johnny shouted with glee, “He’s my really, really brother!” and scampered across the room where he gave first his grandfather and then his grandmother, big hugs and kisses, reassuring them of his love and he always would.

As we sat and visited, the story unfolded. Apparently, at recess or sometime during the day, it wasn’t entirely clear, a couple of the older boys, for whatever reason, proceeded to call Johnny a “bastard!” Now, he’s not unfamiliar with the word and the meaning since he’s heard it from us and from some of the men in Uncle Lou’s Sunday Club. But this time it was directed toward him. Johnny responded he was an orphan. One thing led to another, and the boys proceeded to inform him, in terms not to be used around grandparents and others, his mother never married, his father fucked her and abandoned her. The same as the asshole did to my mom.

Johnny’s anger turned to very suppressed happiness, knowing we were brothers, so rather than make any verbal reply, he merely turned and walked away. Not before giving the boys the finger!

At home, he asked his grandparents and they confirmed it in much nicer terms, expressing how much he was loved by his mom, his grandparents, and his aunts, uncles, and cousins.

Oh, and yes, I was his big brother and loved him as well and they wanted him to know that!

I told Uncle Lou what happened and by whom, he passed it on to The Piano Man (Walt Phillips- the school custodian), and he had a few words of warning for the offending little pricks. All he said was Johnny was special to Uncle Lou since he worked there, he was Billy Thompson’s little brother, and Billy and his friends were most displeased and might seek some sort of retribution should it occur again.

The incident and the reality of our relationship brought Johnny and me closer together. There were times he’d announce he “wanted to spend the night with my big brother,” and he would. Happy as a tick on a fat dog’s back! If his grandparents would be gone in an evening or overnight and Johnny was unable to go along, he’d be at our house. I loved it, Hardy loved it, and so did Johnny.

There were several embarrassing moments however. The first and most memorable, in my mind and the look of horror on Hardy’s face, was priceless.

Hardy was spending the night after we worked a Fish Fry Friday. We didn’t work every Friday after school started, maybe a couple per month, and the rest were worked by high schoolers or college students.

Anyway, it was early on a Saturday morning and Hardy, awake, was under the cover, his head between my legs, his mouth (ah, those sweet, warm lips and so active tongue wrapped around my hard, throbbing cock, was enjoying the blowjob and so was I.

Before I could warn Hardy, Johnny popped in through the bedroom door and made a bee-line to my bed. He hesitated a moment, before lifting the covers, spotted Hardy, and with a giggle and smile, remarked quizzically,

“Having a bit of a suck, Hardy?”

To be continued...

Posted: 06/03/2022