Jupiter Read online

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  About the Author

  By Rhett Heath

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  Jupiter

  By Rhett Heath

  For fourteen-year-old Jacob Thomas, a Christian and the smartest kid in class, Bobby Versailles is completely out of reach. Jacob wishes a girl named Allie loved him because he still doesn’t get that he’s gay, but he always keeps his eyes peeled at school, hoping to catch a glimpse of Bobby.

  It’s Bobby Versailles’s senior year. Captain of his high school football team, he’s bound to win Homecoming King and hopefully a state championship, but he’s been miserable for years. His fear of somebody finding out he’s gay has brought isolation and loneliness. He has hidden that he’s gay by going on dates with girls now and then, and also by working out and excelling at football—which has also helped teachers look past his learning difficulties. When he first eyes Jacob, it’s possibly love at first sight. Bobby becomes a little obsessed. Jacob has got to be gay, and when Bobby makes a move, both of their worlds turn upside down!

  It’s 1982, and while the Nebraska Cornhuskers are barreling toward a possible NCAA National Football Championship, everyone in a small town two hours away hopes Bobby can lead them to a state championship. Can two teens with vastly different lives find love amidst the fervor of Nebraska football?

  States of Love: Stories of romance that span every corner of the United States.

  To my high school football line coach.

  Author’s Note

  THIS STORY is based on actual events.

  Chapter One

  Jacob

  “STAR LIGHT. Star bright.

  First star I’ve seen tonight.

  I wish I may. I wish I might.

  Get the wish I wish tonight.

  I wish that Allie loved me.”

  Staring at a star in the western sky, I recited this children’s rhyme, just like I had each evening for several weeks as I crossed the football field, returning to my high school locker room. I was an equipment manager/water boy for my high school football team and had just turned off the field lights. Practice had just ended.

  I didn’t really get that I was gay, so I was wishing that a girl loved me. Allie and I had starred as love interests in a few children’s theatre productions organized by some community mothers, and I really did like her a lot; she was the only girl I could have ever seen myself dating. But even as I was making the wish, Allie was the last thing on my mind; I was spazzing out because of him. I don’t know when puberty hits most boys, but I know when it hit me. September 22, 1982.

  I got to the equipment room, pretty fast, hoping I wasn’t too late. I quickly situated myself to easily hand out towels to the players who would be taking a shower. It was a good thing us managers were all small guys, because the space we were in was more of a cramped closet; all the football equipment you’d ever need sat on shelves around us and we were elbow to elbow in the space leftover. Two doors offered escape routes: one to the weight room, the other, up three steps and out to the football field.

  Two of the other managers, Trevor and Danny, both eighth graders, were putting some things away, while Jon, a seventh grader was working to fix a pair of shoulder pads as a half-dozen or so players came for their towels. One of the assistant coaches came and got Danny to go help him with something.

  “I can’t get this unlatched. Do one of you guys know where the red-handled pliers went?” Jon asked, sitting on the floor in our equipment closet.

  “Oh,” Trevor replied, reaching in a toolbox. “I had them outside, they’re—”

  “Great! They were right here.”

  “Look in that other one,” I suggested.

  Jon did, even as he told us he was sure they were in the first one. “Nope!”

  “Go out and find them. Use that flashlight up there.” I pointed to one of the shelves behind the other door. I was the oldest of the four, so I was sort of “in charge.”

  Trevor grabbed the flashlight, turned it on to see if it worked. It did.

  I had situated myself on the steps, so I had to scooch over. Trevor opened the door, and he and Jon finagled past me, spilling my stack of towels.

  “Sorry,” mumbled Jon, pulling the door closed behind him.

  I quickly put the towels back in a stack, and glanced up just as he came around the corner from the locker room on the far side of the weight room. Instantly my heart began pounding in my ears.

  BOBBY VERSAILLES had made it a habit, unlike most of the players, to come and get his towel from me by walking across the weight room completely naked. All the other players wore their football pants, or shorts, or even just a jockstrap. But Bobby Versailles?

  Buck naked. No jockstrap. No T-shirt. Not even socks.

  Bobby Versailles (nobody ever called him just Bobby; he was the kind of guy who, when people spoke about him, used his first and last name) was one of the team captains. A running back, he was seventeen years old and arguably the strongest player on the team. His last name was French, but pronounced vur-sa-liss instead of the French vur-sah-ee, and he was the hottest player on the team. He had a perfect face, with piercing, bright brown, liquid eyes, a strong, square jawline and an amazing smile; he had to be the hottest student in the entire school. Oh my heck, and his lips! Those lips lured me to kiss them.

  It was difficult not to stare; he was like the statue of David, but flesh and blood—ripped, toned, and tanned. And the reason I always sat where I did was to get the best possible full-frontal view of his junk as I could.

  Dang it! I thought, I am a good Christian boy. Why can I not look away? Stop it!

  We had never spoken. I would just hand him his towel and try to avoid gawking at his soft, perfect five inches and his perfectly hanging ball sac that neared my face each evening. But this night, none of the other managers were in the equipment room, there were no other players there getting a towel. Bobby Versailles entered the room, realized that we were alone, gently grabbed himself, and asked quietly in a deep whisper, “Do you want this?”

  Time slowed. Space warped.

  I looked him in the eye, he stared back. I looked back at his cock. I swallowed the lump in my throat, and he gave a little laugh. I reached out to hand him his towel, floored at what I thought I’d just heard.

  “Go ahead,” he whispered. “You want to, don’t you?”

  I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

  “Thanks,” he said, as he took the towel. Stunned, and unable to let go, he pulled it close enough that my fingers and the back of my hand rubbed against his cock.

  It moved just a bit in response, or maybe he did that. Then, he quickly turned and left. I was left sitting there staring at his perfectly perfect hairy ass as he walked away.

  Then I came.

  It was the first time in my life that I had come. I had heard my older brother talk to his friends about it, but I never could have imagined. I sat, dazed.

  Then I freaked.

  BOBBY VERSAILLES was the hottest guy I’d ever seen, and I had nearly stroked his penis. Okay, I’m using that word very loosely. I had barely touched it, but I had just come, and the smell quickly saturated the equipment room. A flood of emotions rushed through me. My body was frozen to that spot.

  What had just happened? Holy Crap! I was dead if I got caught.

  Ha! I remembered I was sitting next to stacks of towels. Quickly rising, I closed and locked the doors. After taking off my shoes, pants, and underwear,
I rolled up my underwear, making sure the spunk was buried in the middle. I found an empty pouch of Gatorade powder from the garbage, and shoved my underwear inside, then threw the pouch back in the trash.

  I grabbed one of the towels, wiped myself off with it, then wadded it up and buried it under some other dirty towels. I redressed, unlocked and opened the door, then sat back down on the step. In no more than thirty seconds—it couldn’t have been more—I sat commando, more or less appearing as though nothing had just happened. A couple of players came to get their towels. Danny returned.

  I was still shaken—and shaking—to say the least and was relieved when the managers were allowed to go home. I raced home on my Schwinn—a mess the whole ride home.

  So that’s what it’s like to come. What was the big deal? The cum was slimy like snot, and when it actually came out, it didn’t feel that great—like I’d heard my brother’s friends brag about.

  Maybe this instance wasn’t typical. I had never masturbated. I hadn’t even had a wet dream, yet. Being gay was a sin. I can’t be gay. Brother Sherman had taught all of us boys about wet dreams and how they weren’t a sin, but masturbation was; I hadn’t masturbated, so had I committed a sin? Did I care?

  No.

  Am I going to hell for not caring? I didn’t care. If Bobby Versailles and I were in hell together, it’d be heaven!

  Making it home safely, I spent the rest of the evening trying not to wig out.

  God, don’t have Mom ask me to say grace.

  My dad wasn’t home, or he would have called on somebody. He was out helping some members of our congregation. He spent a lot of time serving other families, not so much with his own. Moreover, Mom insisted we sit for dinner as a family and read a Bible chapter each night before going to bed. Of course, my brother and I couldn’t be there on game days for football, and my younger sister had a church youth group for girls every Tuesday, so there was that. My dad was gone the most. Does Bobby Versailles’s family eat together?

  We sat. “Dear Lord,” my mom began, speaking in her weird “prayer” voice as we all bowed our heads, “we are so grateful for this day and for the food of which we’re about to partake….”

  I was bowing my head, but my mind began reeling. Don’t think about him, just keep acting normal. When she’s done praying, she’ll ask how our days went. Just say “good” like you always do.

  I concentrated on keeping my breathing regular, feeling I might hyperventilate at any moment.

  “Amen,” we all recited as Mom ended her prayer.

  “How was school today?”

  “So much fun,” my little sister quickly started, saving the day.

  Chrissy was nine years old and loved to talk. I could be done eating and ask to be excused if she was in one of her super enthusiastic moods, and it looked like tonight she was.

  Thank you, Lord.

  How could I be gay? I was sitting there, still commando, because I had— What had I done? Besides coming, which wasn’t my fault, what had I really done? Touched his penis because he dragged the back of my hand across it. Did me coming finally prove that I was gay? Going to hell did not sound fun, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how hot Bobby Versailles was. He was my ideal.

  I hadn’t tasted any of the meal my mom had prepared, but I’d cleaned my plate.

  “May I be excused, I have a ton of homework.”

  My brother grunted, a who does homework? sound.

  “You may. We’ll read at eight thirty.”

  “Got it,” I stammered as I rose to leave, taking my dishes to the kitchen sink.

  Having been versed in the Bible, I could just imagine that my dad would choose to read Paul’s letter to the Romans condemning homosexuality, that night. The KJV said it was “unseemly.”

  I had looked up synonyms for “unseemly” in a library dictionary and I liked to believe that Paul meant it as “inconsistent with established standards.” Just because having gay feelings and thoughts were unseemly didn’t mean having those feelings were wrong or evil. Columbus’s idea that the world was round was inconsistent with established standards and people probably told him he was crazy and would rot in hell.

  My head was spinning out of control while I attempted my homework. What will Mom and Dad think if they find out I’m gay? Mom will go into prayer mode. Dad will get me into therapy. Maybe therapy could help change me to be straight. I didn’t really believe it could, but it would make my life a lot easier.

  My dad still wasn’t home at 8:30 p.m., but my mom gathered us to read anyway. I paid little attention as she read, but knew we’d get grilled after, so I found a verse I could say that I liked.

  “So what did you get from the chapter, Jacob?”

  “Umm,” I started, “I liked it, but especially liked verse nine.”

  I read, “Have I not commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid neither be thou dismayed: for the LORD thy God is with thee withersoever thou goest.”

  “I guess it helps me know that wherever I go and whatever I do, the Lord is with me.”

  “That’s right. And what about you, Chrissy?”

  I was off the hook. When we had finished, I faked a yawn. “Oh my gosh, I’m so tired.”

  “Well, brush your teeth and get to bed. Have a good night.”

  “Goodnight.” I got up, set my Bible on the bookcase, and left the room.

  Though I don’t know how I got to sleep that night, I eventually did. Only to have my first-ever wet dream.

  I dreamed that I was on the team bus. We had just won an out-of-town game. Everybody on the bus was asleep as we rode home. I had to chance it. I left the safety of the first few rows of bus seats (where the other managers and the cheerleaders sat, safely away from deviant football players).

  “Where are you going?” Danny asked.

  “Never mind,” I whispered. “Go back to sleep. You snore, and I can’t sleep.”

  Then I crept back to the back of the team bus, where I was hoping Bobby Versailles was only pretending to sleep.

  He was awake and made room for me as I crawled under his blanket, unbuttoned his fly, and pulled out his junk—which looked exactly as it did in real life—and started sucking.

  I awoke, coming. What? I didn’t even—

  What was wrong with me? I didn’t even get to enjoy it! He was so hot and—ew, I’m all sticky and messy.

  Disgusted, I tiptoed to the bathroom to clean myself up, considering all that was happening. A wet dream is not a sin. Is a gay, wet dream a sin? Reconciling being gay with my Christian beliefs was kicking my butt. Is thinking about Bobby Versailles’s being naked a sin?

  Where was he now? Are you parked somewhere outside wondering if I’m asleep?

  I flushed the wiped-up spunk down the toilet and crept to a front window. The bright moon let me down, shining on quiet streets and yards. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. I decided to write Bobby Versailles a letter.

  After grabbing some paper and a pen, I felt weird going back to my bedroom for some reason, so I snuck to the basement, to huddle near our wood-burning stove.

  It took over an hour to decide what to do and what to write, but I finished a note to Bobby, just as it was time for me to get up and start my day.

  Chapter Two

  Bobby Versailles

  “WHAT A douchebag,” my cousin Clay whined, as he spat some sunflower seed shells out the half-open window across from me.

  I was driving us home after practice—a half-hour drive—freaking out and in no mood to listen to him tonight. My cousins didn’t like to ride the activities bus; I couldn’t blame them, but sometimes I didn’t like taxiing them to and from school in my truck.

  “The only reason you’re pissed at Dusty,” Clay’s little brother Danny said, sitting between us, “is that he always beats you off the line and you hate yourself because you’re slow and pudgy.”

  I smirked, wondering how he had the balls to mouth off to his older brother.

&n
bsp; “Shut it, ’tard,” snapped Clay.

  “Make me! I ain’t scared of you!”

  My cousins started arguing. Clay gripped Dusty in a headlock and started giving him a noogie with his knuckles, Dusty elbowing him ferociously in the ribs. I drove, only slightly aware of their fighting. Completely distracted because of what I had done I was able to zone them out.

  What was I thinking? The kid is only fourteen! Could I be arrested? I’m only seventeen, and he’ll turn fifteen in a few weeks, but if anybody finds out? Why didn’t I just ask him on a date? Because that’d be weird. He’s a freshman. Having him touch me isn’t weird? Moron! What if he’s not gay and he’s telling people right now! What have I done! How did I even have the balls to grab his hand? What if he calls the police, and they pick me up before I even get home?

  My cousins kept arguing, and I was about to pull over and tell them to get out, but I was their way home. We lived across the street from one another, and they hated riding the activities bus. Usually the drive was fine, but I was barely tolerating them tonight. It wasn’t until I started having real feelings for Jacob Thomas that I had started getting more and more annoyed with them—well, and straight people in general.

  To be honest, I kind of liked Danny better than Clay. At least he never bullshitted. What Danny said—to anyone—was generally true. But because I had finally made a move to let Jacob know that I liked him tonight, I was going crazy.

  What am I supposed to do now? What am I supposed to say? Am I going to have to wait until he brings it up? Will he bring it up? I’m a fucking moron. Why did I not plan something out better? What if I get in trouble?

  Surely he won’t say anything to anybody.

  I just wanted to be home. In my room.

  “Bobby!” Clay shouted.

  “Huh?” I asked, having apparently zoned way out.

  “You just missed the turnoff. Dude, what is going on with you?”