Choices & Decisions Ch. 01

*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

Disclaimers: Yes I need an Editor; no, I do not want an editor. Yes, there's too many people to keep track of. Yes it jumps around too much. Yes it's in the wrong category. Yes it's too long. Yes it's too short. Yes this is stupid shit and yes, I am a horrible writer; barely legible, hardly literate.

For those of you that have not hit the backspace key, I hope you enjoy this tale.

*

Chapter 1

It had taken very little persuasion for Arville Brodt, the hotshot quarterback for the University of Louisiana at DeGarde's Storm to convince Helen Vanderkin to allow her blind son to work with Clayton Verdot, the student equipment manager for the three remaining home games for the Storm.

Arville and Courtney had gone on one date, only one date, but that was all it had taken for Courtney Vanderkin to assume that they were an exclusive item and that had full and total control of their relationship. A series of voice mails had prompted Arville Brodt to call Courtney and let her know that, while they could be classmates and friends, he had absolutely no interest in pursuing a relationship with her.

But Trevor would still assist the ULD Storm in the locker room.

Clayton told the young boy he'd be there at eleven o'clock that Saturday to pick him up; the eleven year old boy was up, dressed, and ready to go at seven o'clock.

His mother got up an hour later and saw her son sitting on the couch, waiting.

"Trevor William Vanderkin, what time did you get up?" she chided him gently.

"I don't know," he lied.

"Honey, he said he'd be here at eleven, it isn't even eight yet," she said. "Come on, I'll fix you breakfast.

He let her pull him into the kitchen and he took his seat.

"Courtney even up yet?" he asked.

"No, don't think so," his mother said as she rapidly scrambled him some eggs. "Want grits?"

"Yes ma'am," he agreed and she put a cup of water into the microwave.

She looked at his milky eyes as he stared unseeing at the blank wall.

"Honey, I know you don't like them, but don't you think you might want to put on the glasses?" she asked as she put runny eggs and grits on the table in front of him. "What about some toast?"

"Sure," Trevor agreed, already shoveling the food in.

Courtney did not get out of bed until nearly ten o'clock and Trevor was almost frantic by then.

"Honey, come on, calm down, it'll be all right," Helen soothed.

"But he'll be here at eleven, and it takes her all day get ready!" Trevor declared.

"Oh shut up, it does not," Courtney said, giving her long red hair a sniff to see if she needed to wash it, or if it could wait another twenty four hours. "Why I got to go anyway?"

"Needs some adult supervision but you're the closest thing we got," Helen smiled as Courtney decided on a bowl of Lucky Charms cereal for breakfast.

She was in her room, pulling on her red and white socks when there was a knock at the front door.

"Hey," Clay Verdot smiled when Helen Vanderkin opened the door. "I'm Clay Verdot; I'm the equipment manager for the Storm?"

"Well good morning; I hope you know what you got yourself in for," Helen smiled at the good looking young man.

Clay stood at nearly six feet tall, with sandy blonde hair, brown eyes, and square, strong face. He wasn't overly muscular, but Helen could tell that the young man did do some exercises, more than just lifting a twelve ounce can of beer to his lips. He had on his U.L.D. Storm uniform of long white slacks and bright red football jersey which had his name on the back of it.

"And, here is my helper's jersey," Clay smiled, holding out the folded jersey.

"Oh boy; I know he'll love that!" the woman smiled and gestured the man into her home.

The young man introduced himself to his 'helper' and explained what they'd be doing for the duration of the game.

"Well, will you look at that? It's even got your name on it!" Helen praised as Trevor slipped the quite large jersey on.

"It does? Cool!" Trevor whooped.

"Thank you, Mrs. Vanderkin," Clay said, shaking the woman's hand.

"We ready?" Courtney asked, coming out of her room

"Uh yeah, uh, hi, I'm Clay; you must be Courtney," Clay stammered, looking at the red headed beauty.

She stood at five feet, six inches, with long, slender legs, trim hips, compact backside, and slender waist. He couldn't help but stare for a brief moment at her thirty four double D chest, then at her cute freckled face and brown eyes.

"Turn around?" he asked.

"What, why?" Courtney asked but did so.

"Nothing, just wanted to see how long your hair is; how long you been growing it like that?" he asked.

"Hmm, last time she had it cut she was what, five? No, no, she was six, so twelve years," Helen said.

Courtney did smile, most boys did not look at anything but her chest.

"We ready?" Clayton asked and they trooped out to his car. "Now, from what I understand, I'm supposed to let you hold onto me, right?"

"Oh, my God, how old is this thing?" Courtney asked, looking at his 1973 Chrysler New Yorker.

"It's a bus, huh?" Clayton laughed. "But, another sixty three payments and it'll be all paid for. Oh, and it gets great gas mileage! I get eight gallons to the mile ever since I did that tune up like President Obama suggested."

"Trevor, it's a nineteen seventy three Chrysler New Yorker," he explained to the boy. "My uncle gave it to me when his cataracts got too bad and he couldn't drive it anymore.

It's probably as long as your driveway; two of your sister's cars could fit into this car."

"At least!" Courtney agreed.

"But he took really excellent care of it," Clayton said, opening the door for her.

Courtney appreciated the fact that, since they were with the team, they could just walk out onto the field; she didn't have to pay for her ticket, or Trevor's ticket.

"Um, and here, you're seat's right there," Clayton pointed to a roped off section. "I um, I got you right up front, you know, in case Trevor needs you or anything."

"Thanks," Courtney said and walked up the aluminum steps.

"Now, where in the fuck..." Coach Schaeffer was bellowing in the locker room.

"Hey, hey, Coach!" one of the assistant coaches said, motioning to Trevor and Clay. "Kids, huh?"

"Oops," Coach said. "Hey, tell the kid take the sunglasses off; this ain't Hollywood."

"He's blind, Coach Schaeffer," Clay said as he handed Trevor a few boxes.

"Well, God damn, I mean darn it; I keep putting my foot in my mouth, don't I?" Coach Schaeffer said.

"Hey, Trevor, remember me?" Arville said, patting the boy on his shoulder. "Arville?"

"Yeah, used to be my sister's boyfriend; why you ain't her boyfriend no more?" Trevor asked.

"She and I just didn't get along," Arville said gently.

"Because one date and she turns into a total crazy bitch thought she fucking owned me," Arville muttered to himself after getting his shoulder pads and helmet from Clay and Trevor.

"Now, we need check the game balls," Clay instructed, turning on the air compressor.

"Hi, I'm Chip Stillman; I'm the quarterback," Chip Stillman boasted.

"No you're not; Arville Brodt is," Trevor corrected the brash young man.

"No, Trevor, Chip's the first string quarterback," Clay gently corrected Trevor.

"What? Why? Arville's a hundred times better," Trevor said, handing Chip the equipment Clay gave to him.

"From the mouth of babes," Chauncey laughed. "Hi, I'm Chauncey Dempest; how you doing, my man?"

"I know you!" Trevor said, struggling under the weight of Chauncey's equipment. "My sister says you're about as big as a house!"

"And about as tough as one, too," Clay smiled at the laughing Chauncey.

"Ola, I'm Pedro Ortega," Pedro smiled at the 'assistant' as Clay selected his pads.

"The kicker with the devilish good looks and boyish charm?" Trevor said. "I seen you on TV."

"Crazy! Brodt, you loco, you hear?" Pedro yelled at the laughing Arville Brodt.

"Aw, but I love you," Arville said, laughing.

"Faggot," Coach sneered as the two young men feinted punching each other.

"Whew, this is a lot of work!" Trevor said when the U.L.D. Storm finally ran out of the locker room to the cheers and screams of the few thousand fans the school had in attendance.

"Yeah, buddy, it is," Clay agreed. "And it ain't over yet; supposed to rain and we need to be ready with the towels when they come off the field and we got to hold their ponchos but don't worry, I got your poncho right here, all right?"

"Hey," Cortney screamed, waving at Clayton.

Clay parked Trevor on a bench and trotted over to where Courtney was now hanging over the side of the wall.

"Hey, how's he doing?" she asked, face tight with worry.

"Trevor? He's doing great," he smiled reassuringly at her and she sighed and returned his smile.

"Go Storm!" he yelled and several fans joined in the cheer.

Clay looked around and marveled at the number of fans that were there; after losing five straight games in a row, their home games fan base had dwindled down to nearly one third of the stadium's thirty five thousand capacity. But after two come from behind wins, one at home and one on the road, the stadium was just over half filled.

."Might rain later, you bring an umbrella or something?" he asked.

"Got this, oh shit! I didn't bring anything for Trevor!" Courtney said, holding out a small red and white poncho still inside its small clear plastic bag.

"He's covered, don't worry about him," Clay said, then ran back to the bench to keep an eye on Trevor and the equipment.

Myndee, Arkansas boasted a cotton field and Myndee University. The Myndee Blue Jays were known for big strapping young men that played a grueling, physical game. They won most games by simply wearing their opponents out.

"Thirteen R Out!" Coach Schaeffer ordered and Chip shrugged his shoulders and called play number thirteen R Out.

"A running play? On first down? Against this defense?" Arville asked one of the assistant coaches. "Why does he like this damned play so much?"

"Because he really believes a team wins on its running strength," the assistant coach shrugged as Jack lost three yards on the play.

"Twenty eight Delta!" Coach ordered and Chip stared at him in disbelief, then called the play.

"Another running play?" Arville asked no one in particular.

At fourth and sixteen, they had no choice but to send out Ray Curry to punt.

Chip was sacked twice in the next series; the first time he got to shaky legs. The second time, he wisely stayed down.

Coach Schaeffer ground his teeth in frustration but sent out Arville Brodt. Even he couldn't help but hear the roar of approval that went up from the fans as they watched number ten put his helmet on.

"Okay, this is our last huddle," Arville told the now smiling players. Ten F Sweep, twenty one R nineteen, twenty three F Slant, and then twenty eight Delta while they're on their heels. Then we go from there; got it?"

"Yeah," they nodded in agreement.

"Thirteen R Out!" Coach screamed at them.

Arville called the audible for thirteen, noticing the smiling faces of the defense; they knew thirteen R Out was a running play and they knew how to counter a running play.

Monroe gained forty yards on Arville's pass before a fleet footed free safety could catch him.

The Storm lined up and the Blue Jays' coach had to burn a time out because too many of his players were on the field, unsure of what to do.

At the one yard line, the defense put most of their players in the end zone; knowing that Arville would throw it

Again. They looked in disbelief as Arville did hand the ball off to Jack Trenton and the boy scampered into the end zone.

"Brodt, you get over here, God damn it, get over here!" Coach Schaeffer yelled as he tried to catch his elusive quarterback. "When I tell you to run the ball, you run the fucking ball, God damn it, get back here!"

At the end of the first quarter, the score was fourteen to twenty one, at the end of the second quarter, the Storm was ahead thirty one to fourteen and the Blue Jays coach had burned all of his time outs. He was unable to stop the clock as the Storm now ran running play after running play to burn the clock. With two seconds left, the coach called a time out and gestured to Pedro to go out for a field goal.

"Fifty six yards?" Trevor asked Clay. "But his longest is forty nine yards."

"Pedro, I know you can do this; it's nothing but a chip shot for you," Arville said, patting the nervous man on his shoulder.

"A cheep shot? You loco, you know that?" Pedro couldn't help but laugh.

The ball barely cleared the upright, but it did clear it. Pedro screamed his protests as Arville picked him up, put him over his shoulder, and ran with him to the locker room.

"Put me down, loco gringo, man why you peek on me, huh? What I do to you?" Pedro complained.

"Can't help it, Pedro, you're too cute," Arville said. "I mean, really, look at you! You're all of what? Four feet tall?"

"I am five fit, seeks eenches tall," Pedro declared, puffing himself up and glaring at the much taller Arville Brodt.

"And one hell of a kicker," Ray Curry praised, slapping the man's shoulder pads.

"Damned right!" Monroe said, also slapping the small man's shoulder pads.

"Hermano, you're the star of the Storm," Arville praised Pedro.

"Hermano, eh?" Pedro laughed. "Yeah, yeah, you and me? We brothers."

It sickened Coach Schaeffer, thinking of the two young men being lovers, so he looked at anyone else but the two young men.

They were not lovers, Jack Trenton had simply told Coach Schaeffer that Arville and Pedro were lovers as a gag.

"Great game guys; y'all keep it up," Trevor said as the team trotted out of the locker room to start the second half.

"Aw yeah, my man, you got it," Chauncey laughed, patting the small boy on his head.

Arville mixed running plays, slightly mollifying Coach Schaeffer and passing plays, keeping the Blue Jays completely off balance. The no-huddle offense and the rapid fire defense of the Storm were doing to the Blue Jays exactly what the Blue Jays did to their opponents; wearing them out.

Eight minutes into the third quarter, the coach for the Blue Jays burned his last time out rather than take another penalty for too many players on the field.

So, in the fourth quarter, when the Myndee's coach was sure the Storm had not made it to the first down marker on a fourth and inches, he couldn't even challenge.

"Fifty five to fourteen!" Clay whooped as he and Trevor gathered up all the equipment. "That's the first time in thirty nine years the Blue Jays have lost by more than twenty one points!"

"Man, it's raining!" Trevor complained. "Why we got to be out here?"

"Because Arville's throwing balls to people," Clay said. "And we got to wait for the remaining balls.

"Why?" Trevor said petulantly.

"Oh, and who's got one of them balls at home, huh?" Courtney reminded her brother.

"Hi," Arville smiled at her.

"Hi, great game," Courtney said.

"Thanks; glad you were here," Arville smiled, dug another foam rubber ball out of the cardboard box and tossed it to a girl.

Arville couldn't help but think it was a real shame Courtney had turned into such a bitch to him; she really was an attractive young woman, even half hidden under the red and white poncho.

Then the rain really began to intensify and the few remaining fans decided they could live without a red and white University of Louisiana at DeGarde football.

"Here," Arville said, grabbing one side of the box.

Clay and Arville ran with the box, while Courtney and Trevor followed, Courtney holding Trevor's hand tightly.

"Okay, you cannot, absolutely cannot come in here," Clay told Courtney outside of the locker room.

"Ew, like I would want to?" she asked, face scrunched up. "I can smell it from here!"

Pedro yelped out loud when Arville playfully slapped his bare bottom as the kicker, fresh from a shower, bent to pick up his blue jeans.

Chauncey, Monroe, and Jack decided it would be funny to bury Trevor under a mountain of soggy towels and before Clay could stop them, they gathered all the wet towels and buried the boy.

"You ass holes," Clay couldn't help but laugh as he dug the boy out of the pile.

(That afternoon, as Trevor went on and on telling his mother about his adventures as an Equipment Boy, that was the highlight. A group of college men did not let his blindness stand in the way of them treating him like they would any other boy. They buried him just like they would have buried his best friend Doug, or his cousin Ben.)

"So, uh, you uh, you got any plans tonight?" Clay asked Courtney after they had finally finished locking everything up.

"No, not really," Courtney shrugged.

"Well, probably sit around the apartment, my roommate's an unbelievable cook and then afterward, probably play some Scrabble or Monopoly; rainy day like this is perfect for Monopoly," Clay said, blushing hotly.

"Hmm," Courtney said, uninterested as she watched the rain beat on the windshield.

"So um, you um, you maybe want to come on over?" Clay asked.

"Monopoly?" Courtney said scornfully.

"Courtney!" Helen Vanderkin snapped when Trevor told her of the conversation he'd overheard in the car.

"What?" Courtney asked.

"Really? You'd rather sit at home on a Saturday night, with me? And your little brother? Than spend some time with a really cute boy?" Helen asked.

She waved at the kitchen.

"And he said his roommate's a great cook but you'd rather eat my cooking?" Helen went on. "And suppose his roommate's even cuter?"

"Oh God no! And hadn't even thought of..." Courtney admitted.

Fortunately, Mrs. Vanderkin had Clay's cell phone number; she had insisted on having it before she would let her son leave with the unknown young man.

At his apartment, Clay looked at his cell phone. It was an unknown phone number but he answered it; he did not know all the players' and assistant coaches' phone numbers.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Hey, it's um, it's me, um, listen, I must have had a brain freeze or something, you still want to get together and do something?" Courtney said.

"Uh, yeah, I uh, I guess," Clay stammered.

"I mean, if you already got other plans," Courtney said, dejectedly.

Her history with men was less than stellar. In high school, she'd suffered from incredibly low self-esteem and the one boyfriend she'd had had walked all over her, treated her terribly and made her think she deserved it. It had taken a few sessions with an avid feminist counselor for Courtney to see that her boyfriend had manipulated and used her; that there was nothing wrong with her. Courtney had walked into college believing that the only way to have a relationship was to be the one in charge.

Courtney drove away one boy , Arville, by being a nearly psychotic bitch, and now it looked as if she'd lost another one by being thoughtless, aloof.

"So uh, who is this?" Clay finally had the courage to ask.

"It's Courtney, God how many other cute red heads you spend all day with?" Courtney asked.

"Well, only one, sorry," Clay laughed nervously. "Just didn't recognize your voice, didn't know if you might have like the wrong number or something, that's all."

Chapter 2

Clay offered to pick Courtney up; it was still raining quite hard, but Courtney declined. Yes, she had spent all day with him, but she didn't know him that well, and she wanted her own car, just in case she decided to leave. He gave her directions to the apartment complex

"Oh, yeah, yeah, I know that one, got that long pool right in the middle," Courtney said

"Yeah, and we're in four C, we face the pool, on the back side," Clay agreed.

"So who was that?" Ashley Melancon, Clay's roommate asked.