Copyright© 2012 by Levi Charon
Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A young man is sentenced to forty hours of community service following a little run-in with the law. He and the sentencing judge become friends and more.
'Dumb-ass!' I say to myself. 'Dumb-ass! Dumb-ass! Dumb-ass!' I feel like the scarecrow in "The Wizard of Oz" singing "If I only had a brain".
Here I sit in the hallway of the county courthouse waiting to be called before Judge Hightower. Again! I've already resigned myself to being slapped down pretty hard on this one. Any halfway intelligent person would have accepted his fate and just taken the bust for having an open liquor container in the car. The most I'd have gotten would have been a little fine and a slap on the wrist. But no-o-o-o! There I am, happily celebrating my high school graduation with a friend and sipping from a pint of peach brandy when one of our town constables walks up and shines his million candlepower flashlight on us. Suddenly, it seems perfectly reasonable to hit the gas and peel rubber, momentarily spacing out on the fact that the cop knows me and I know him. I wonder why we don't just call booze 'stupid juice'?
Well, here goes. I straighten my tie and try to look my most civilized as I stand before the woman who is known far and wide for being singularly unimpressed by expressions of contrition. Her name is Rose Ann Hightower, an attractive woman in her early forties who has a rep for being as much an 'Iron Lady' as Margaret Thatcher. We've met before. She reads the charges and looks down at me, waiting for my response. For a moment, I have this absurd impulse to use some Flip Wilson humor for a defense and say, "The devil made me do it!" Thank the stars, I catch myself before my mouth leaps ahead of my brain again. This piece of granite peering over her glasses wouldn't have so much as cracked a smile.
Following my Dad's usually sage advice, I plead, "Your Honor, I have no excuse. I just panicked and did something stupid. I'm sorry."
"Yes, I imagine you are. Unfortunately, I can't offer a morning-after pill, Randall. I see here we met once before when one of your friends ratted you out for selling him a joint in the boy's restroom at school. Some friend, huh? I seem to recall that charge resulting in a suspended sentence. Now, these little infractions don't quite put you into the category of the hardened recidivist but you do seem to insist on testing the waters, don't you? Seems to me you need to do one of two things; either get over your errant ways or get a lot smarter. I hope you'll choose the former option because I seriously doubt your capacity to improve your IQ. I mean, really Randall, trying to outrun a cop? Do you have anything else to say?"
"No, Ma'am. Your Honor, I mean."
"Either is appropriate. Very well, Randall, I hope you have a bicycle because your driver's license is suspended for six months. Please surrender it to the clerk on the way out. I happen to be aware of your father's circumstances and I have no intention of putting an additional financial burden on his shoulders. Instead, you'll pay off your fine with community service. Next week is the countywide highway cleanup. Monday morning at 8AM sharp, you will report to Cindy Franklin at the county highway shops. You and the crew you're assigned to will spend eight hours each day for five days cleaning up trash off the highways. If you fail to show up, I'll issue a warrant for your arrest. If that happens, you can pretty much count on doing a few days in our lovely county facility. You're eighteen now, Randall. If you show up in front of me again, the court will not be inclined to mercy. Do you understand everything I've said?"
"Yes, Your Honor. County highway shops next Monday at eight. I'll be there."
"Have a nice day, Mr. McPeak."
When I walk in the door, Dad says, "I didn't hear the car pull up in the driveway."
"Yeah, um, that's because it's still parked at the courthouse. My license is suspended for six months. I'll ask Mr. Anders next door if he and Stevie can pick it up sometime today. The good news is that I didn't get a fine. I have forty hours of community service next week instead. I hand him back the signed check he gave me to pay the fine."
"That's better than I expected. I hope you thanked Judge Hightower for her consideration."
"Um, well, I guess I'll write her a thank-you note."
He wheels his chair around in front of me and takes hold of my arm in his iron grip. "See that you do, Randall. She could have made our lives difficult if she'd wanted to." I can tell he's struggling to hold the anger in because he never calls me Randall unless he's on the verge of disowning me.
"I know, Dad. I'm really sorry for messing up again."
He shakes his head and sighs, "I know you are Randy, but you do seem to have a talent for mixing poor judgment with bad luck." He decides against any further lecturing. "Why don't you go help your brother with his homework. Math is still giving him fits."
I find TJ at his desk making teeth marks in his #2 pencil. He's in summer school because he failed math. "Dad says your still bombing out in the numbers department. What's the problem?"
My fifteen-year-old sibling starts right in with the whining, "Mrs. Webster goes too fast for me, Randy. I can't keep up!"
"Lose the whimpering, kid! Be a mensch! Show me where you're missing it."
I change into khaki shorts and a T-shirt and pull up a chair. We spend the next hour pounding algebra into his brain before I have to cook supper.
Dad's peeling potatoes and already has the chicken thawed out. It just kills him that he's so limited in what he can do. He's forty-five years old and he's always prided himself on his self-sufficiency. A fall off a roof at a construction job last year broke his lower back and his pelvis and left him in a wheel chair. He was never one to let being the boss keep him away from the dangerous work. Within three months of his accident, Mom decided it was all too much for her and left for parts unknown in the middle of the night. Bitch!
Anyhow, the insurance benefits keep our heads above water but just barely. I actually think things are a lot more peaceful around the house since the harpy deserted us.
TJ and I clean up after supper and the three of us watch a baseball game on the tube. I've had better days.
Sleep eludes me because I'm lying in my bed feeling sorry for myself over losing my driver's license. In the dim moonlight across the room, I see TJ rise up on an elbow and look at me. I know what's coming.
"Randy?" he whispers.
"Um, can I?"
I know I shouldn't but the kid is so good at it. "OK, you little fag, but this is the last time!" TJ denies being gay but I know he is. Maybe he's too young to realize it yet. Anyhow, he loves giving blowjobs and I love getting them so I guess it works out for both of us. I don't know why he has the hots for my body but he does. Every time I tell him it's the last time but we both know I'm lying.
I lay there on my back with my hands behind my head as he creeps across the room and pulls the sheet down below my shorts. Of course, my dick is already hard in anticipation. He reaches through the fly of my boxers, taking it out and stroking it a few times before sucking about half of it into his mouth. He's going to make some guy a great lover someday. At the same time he's giving me some pretty amazing head, he's working over his five-incher. I know he'll ask sooner or later and he does:
"Would you put it in me, Randy?"
"No, TJ! You know this is as far as I go. You're gay and I'm not! I have no interest in sticking my dick up somebody's ass. You're just going to have to find yourself a gay boyfriend to do that."
He knew what I was going to say. I don't know why he keeps asking unless he thinks he'll catch me in a super-horny mood some night and I'll finally break. He keeps working on my dick and gets me off in about five minutes flat. When he's sure I've given him all I've got, he goes back to his bed and jerks off in his sock. I suppose letting him suck me off is wrong but it sure feels good and it makes it easier to get to sleep.