It was over quickly. Like Dad told me to do, I put him down hard and fast and very, very painfully. He grabbed for me, so I took his wrist and twisted it up and around, breaking it in several places, and then as he screamed in pain, flipped him up and over, and dropped him on his shoulder, wrenching his arm up and backwards and dislocating it brutally, shredding the joint. Jerry was going to the hospital, and he was not going to the NCAA. He lay there screaming and crying, and I stepped away. I wasn't all that hungry anymore, although I did pocket an apple for later. Jerry ended up in the hospital, and I ended up in the Principal's office, waiting for Dad to come over. By now, there was more than enough evidence, with two suspensions, a string of detentions, and countless witnesses to the attack, that got me out of any punishment. Jerry was expelled.
Mom was less than amused. I heard her and Dad arguing about it that night, and hid out in my room.
Tessa made good on her promise to pass the word about me to some of the girls, and the results were interesting, if a little schizophrenic. A number of girls looked towards me as somebody who would protect them, so I was a 'safe' boyfriend. Other girls heard that I wasn't interested in 'nice' girls, but 'not nice' girls, which was a wholly different demographic. I made it a point to thank Tessa, which she laughingly accepted. A couple of girls even tried to use me in the protective role, to make their boyfriends jealous, but it wasn't like I was some dumb teenager; I saw through those tricks immediately and told the boyfriends they were welcome to the trouble.
The net effect was that I had several different girlfriends that year, although opportunities to be alone with them were extremely limited. I didn't have a car or a license (I was only 15) and you really can't get too frisky in the back seat when Mom or Dad is driving you anywhere. Whatever mischief we could get into occurred at parties where we could sneak away, or bike rides around Loch Raven Reservoir, or maybe after school at her house, if she didn't have family around.
The first was Jenny Smith, she of the St. Paul's Canoeing Hall of Fame, who proved that canoes weren't the only thing she went down on. She wouldn't go all the way, and was very nervous when I pulled her pants off and returned the favor, but once she understood I would play by her rules, was very enthusiastic when I ate her out. I think I was the first guy to ever do this to her. I would have to admit that while it's not my favorite activity in the bedroom I had certainly done it before, back on my first time around, and it's definitely a favorite of the ladies. If my counterparts weren't going to take advantage of the opportunity, I was more than happy to make up for them.
Jenny and I didn't become an item, but were more like occasional friends with benefits. On the other hand, girls talk, even more than guys do, and probably more honestly. When Shelley, Tammy, and Jenny began telling the girls about my oral expertise, I became even more popular than when Tessa told them I was a hero. Heroes are good; heroes who eat pussy are even better! I am not going to say the phones were ringing off the hook and girls were battering down my door, but if I didn't want to be lonely, I didn't have to be.
Once the weather got warmer, and especially in the summer, when school was out, there was nothing quite like taking a bike ride with a girl up to Loch Raven. A picnic lunch, a ground cloth, and a blanket ... keep it simple. You couldn't go swimming or boating in the reservoir, but there were any number of places to take your bikes up into the trees and out of sight, and then settle in for some al fresco and au naturel dining. For the girls it was an exciting and liberating experience. Ride our bikes up to the reservoir, slip into the trees, spread out the ground cloth and cover it with a blanket, and then have lunch. After lunch, time for a little nap and seduction. The breeze on their naked skin was at once both nerve-wracking and exciting, and almost always very stimulating.
I got my working papers and got a job as a stockboy at Hutzlers during the Christmas rush. My first job - and my first layoff! I was let go after the first of the year. Oh, well. Later that year, when summer rolled around, I got a job up at Pot Springs Pizza. It was minimum wage, but all the pizza you could eat! I had worked there before, the first time, and it was a pretty good job. I worked my way up to a night manager, and learned how to make pizza, a very useful skill. I made sure that this time around I memorized the recipes.
I also started memorizing Mom's recipes, and writing them down. Both my folks were very good cooks, and over the years, I became one as well. This became immensely handy when I got married, because Marilyn was one of the worst cooks on the planet. If you visited our house on a night we were both home, I was the one cooking. She could burn water.
Hamilton became increasingly hostile to me through the tenth grade and the summer after. I was really at a loss for what to do about him. Mom wouldn't hear that there was any problem whatsoever, and Dad wasn't about to get into it with her, but it was really wearing on me. This was a lot worse than the first time through.
I have heard many sermons and paeans to brotherly love. Supposedly we would always be able to make up our differences and eventually come together, but it was never that way with us. He was always too self-centered and too stubborn to ever compromise on anything. On my first time through he would get so annoying that I would end up hitting him, but this never solved anything. Now I would just walk away from him. No matter what I did to him or what threat was made or what my parents ordered him to do, if he didn't want to do it, he wouldn't. Most people learn through pain - the stove burns, so don't touch it. He refused to learn. Was he a psychopath? A sociopath? Psychotic? Whatever was going on, I couldn't fix it, and Mom wouldn't consider that the 'good' son might have problems.
I was the 'bad' son, since I wouldn't live my life the way she wanted it. Even when Dad got sick with the Alzheimer's' and some other problems, she would call me up from 300 miles away and make me come home, just so I could see him and she could complain about how far away I was and how I didn't care enough. Christ, Mom, why the hell do you think I moved 300 miles away!? Marilyn and I used to joke that whenever we had a problem raising the kids, we would always imagine what my parents would do - and then do the exact opposite! (Of course, Parker told us that he and Janine did the same thing, and he had such a poker face we couldn't tell if he was kidding us or not.)
He always thought he was smarter (okay, he was) and that made him immune to normal people and civilized behavior. I can remember one Thanksgiving, in the 2010s, when we were driving home from Suzie's house. I hadn't lived in Maryland in forty years, and needed directions. He and Mom were driving with us, and he refused to give me directions, instead trying to tease and make fun. For the love of God, we were in our mid-fifties and he was acting like a four year old. I finally ended up yelling at him, in front of our mother, to "Knock your shit off and give me the fucking directions!" Even then he refused until Mom, now in her eighties had to order him to behave.
Now, he was even worse. It seemed that the more successful I became, and the faster I went through school, the more he hated me. He had always tried to pry before, but now I could see that he was actively trying to break into my locked foot locker, and was vandalizing my possessions. Needless to say, when confronted, he would lie and deny. Sometime this worked, and sometime it didn't. When he squirted ink on my ties, he managed to get some on his hands, and that was pretty irrefutable. I measured my closet and mail ordered a metal cabinet and put that inside my closet. Hamilton was furious, as was my mother, but Dad let me. I got another padlock and wore that key around my neck as well.