Lean on Me
Copyright© 2025 by Danny January
Chapter 12
Romance Sex Story: Chapter 12 - The continuing chronicles of Jack Pierce. Autumn of 1982. The chronicles, in order are: 1. Feasting with a Silver Spoon 2. Summertime and the Livin' is Easy 3. Something Fishy Going On 4. Centerfield 5. Tourist Season 6. Lean on Me They are progressive and not meant to be stand-alone stories.
Caution: This Romance Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft Consensual Heterosexual Fiction
The next morning, I drove to Kim’s house early. I had a key and let myself in. Kim was sound asleep. I got undressed and climbed in bed next to her. She kept sleeping. Finally, she turned toward me in her sleep, felt me, then put her arm over me. Did she even realize I was there?
“Hey. What time is it?” she asked, waking up.
“Seven-thirty.”
“No, really.”
“Really. Seven-thirty.”
“You didn’t spend the night. What are you doing here?”
“What do you think I’m doing here?”
“Oh, my gosh, Jack. Okay, what do you want?”
“To wake up next to each other, every day, for the rest of our lives.”
That brought a smile. “I have dragon breath. Wait.”
She took a couple of minutes in the bathroom and then came and gave me exactly what I wanted. “Walk, trot, canter,” she said, straddling my legs.
“No gallop?”
“Let’s see how I do at a canter first.”
She did just fine. I barely made it past a trot. After we cooled and groomed each other, we went to the kitchen and made some omelets. I told her what the rest of my morning was going to entail, and she kicked me out. What a great way to start the day.
At ten, there were a dozen of us ready to fight. Jay, Allen, Dane, a surprise visit from Gizmo, and six other football players, most of whom I knew from classes. Billy Dillman was the smallest guy there, and I thought he was the kicker. There were a couple of linemen in the crowd, and I thought anyone stupid enough to pick a fight with them deserved what they got.
“Teach us, Aquaman,” Jay said. Everyone was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and most of them had a water bottle.
“I’ve been training first in boxing, then in Wing Chun kung fu for a couple of years. I’m not a ninja, but I’ve had a couple of really good teachers, so I can share what I’ve learned. I think we can progress from familiarity to proficiency, then mastery in any martial art. Mastery takes years or maybe decades to achieve. I’m nowhere near that. The good news is that almost anyone we might meet on the street isn’t either. I plan to teach you a few things today that you could use this afternoon, and we’ll see how far we get. Sound good?
“My boxing coach, Louis Pinkney, better known as Timex, since he takes a licking and keeps on ticking, taught me there are only two important rules in boxing or fighting. Rule number one is don’t get hit. Make a note,” I said, and they all laughed. “Rule number two is to hit. Timex was teaching boxing. The ring is eighteen to twenty feet with a canvas floor and a referee. Boxing works on the street, but there’s no referee, and if you fall, the ground is probably going to be harder.”
“So don’t get hit,” Gizmo said.
“Don’t get hit. Sifu Chen, my kung fu teacher, said that every potential assailant needs three things to do you harm. He needs opportunity, ability, and intent. If you can take away any of those, he won’t hurt you. Gizmo, punch me.” He started to walk toward me. “No, no. Punch me from there.” Gizmo flailed, and they all laughed. “He doesn’t have the opportunity. Distance removes the opportunity, just like locked doors. Take away his opportunity, and he can’t hurt you.”
“Run away?” one of the guys asked.
“Yes. Ronnie, my dad, told me not to let my ego make decisions for me. If you don’t run away, you might get your ass kicked or discover he has a knife, and that’s nasty business. So, yeah. Run away.”
“I don’t like that one,” Jay said, “What about the other two?”
“Take away his reason for fighting. That would be removing his intent. If he wants money, give him some. But if he wants your girlfriend, square up.” I told him the story about how I’d rescued some guy at a Halloween party by taking away the intent.
“I was there. I was at that party. You told Peanut he needed to go with you to the hospital.”
“That’s right. He was going to get his ass kicked. We created distance by leaving, and gave his assailant an opportunity to save face and seem like a good guy. It doesn’t always work, and that guy could have decided to kick my ass instead.”
“He would have, too. Crank is an asshole, but I’ve seen him fight. He goes berserk.”
“No matter how much you learn or train, there’s always someone out there who can kick your ass. Hit, don’t get hit, take away his opportunity, or change his intent. If none of that works, you can destroy his ability. A gun works really well. Pepper spray works on about ninety percent of the people.”
“But you’re going to teach us to destroy their ability with our hands,” Jay said.
“And feet, elbows, knees, palms, and a bunch of other weapons.” With that, we started to get our hands dirty. I showed off a little, using Jay for a Guinea pig, I illustrated possible weapons and targets. I didn’t touch him, but when I threw a kick near his groin, everyone groaned. Once they saw the possible attacks they might face, I showed them how to stand and keep their guard up to protect themselves. They’d seen what could happen if they didn’t. I didn’t need to convince them anymore.
I showed them how to slip and duck a punch, how to block a kick, and how to parry a strike. Then I taught them different ways they could use their hands. They each got a chance to practice on the heavy bag and learned they never wanted to get hit with an elbow.
We stayed busy until one, and everyone was gassed. “What do you think?” I asked, having come to a natural break point.
“I think I could use some of this stuff this afternoon,” Gizmo said, strangely serious.
“Let’s hope you don’t have to. Franklin and I had learned a bunch of stuff and thought we were ninjas or something. One night, Sifu Chen said we would go to a bar on Remount and pick some fights to see how good we were. He was so serious. He was joking, but he kept a straight face. Don’t do that.”
Just as we were wrapping up, Kim pulled into the driveway with her trailer in tow. She stopped before she got close to us. We all looked as she got out of her truck. “Hey, Cowboy. I thought you’d be done by now. No hurry.”
“Dude, I wouldn’t keep my girlfriend waiting,” Billy said. That got a few laughs.
I saw Jay whisper to him, “Fiancée,” and Billy blinked a couple of times and looked back and forth between us.
“Are these guys all badasses now?” she asked, approaching the group.
“To a man,” I said, and a couple of the guys laughed.
“We’re all going to some bar on Remount tonight and pick some fights,” Allen told her.
“Oh, good. I’d hate to see the lesson go untested,” Kim said.
“Has he taught you any of this stuff, Kim?” Jay asked.
“I’m his backup. If sweet talk and roundhouse kicks don’t dissuade the guy, I shoot ‘em.”
“Sweet talk. Sweet talk. Are you pretty good at sweet talk, Aquaman?” Jay asked.
Kim tilted her head, and everyone got it. If I landed Kim, I must be pretty good at sweet talk.
“What’s in the trailer?” Allen asked.
“That would be Maveric and Diva. When you guys are finished, I thought we might go for a ride.”
“Thanks, Jack. Going to do this again?” Dane asked.
“If they want me to,” I answered, and they all said they wanted me to. The guys drifted over to the trailer to take a look inside. Maveric and Diva were both half asleep until the guys got to the front windows.
Kim motioned to me, and I got it. I went inside to change. Mom already knew what was going on and was making a picnic lunch for Kim and me. A couple of minutes later, I was dressed and ready to ride. Mom handed me an insulated lunch box and told me to be careful, and asked where we were going. I told her we’d probably go to the land or back out to Francis Marion.
When I got back outside, a couple of guys had gone, but four or five were standing around, admiring Diva. Kim had backed her out of the trailer, and she was talking to them about her, horses in general and riding. I thought they just wanted to be near Kim. Who cares about a horse?
“Do you know where you want to ride? I’ll let my mom know.”
“Property. I have some ideas.” I went back inside and told Mom. She admonished me not to leave any horse poops on the driveway.
“Mom packed us a lunch,” I said, holding up the soft blue bag. “I don’t know what’s in it, but it’s heavy.”
“We’ll need it.” Oh-oh.
Kim loaded Diva into the trailer while Billy wiped the drool off his chin. He was in awe. I didn’t blame him at all. He left, checking over his shoulder a couple of times, undoubtedly checking to see if Kim was still beautiful. She was.
We made the short drive over to our property on Fort Johnson Road. I’d been wondering about what her ideas might be, but when we turned in, I saw another car already there, and I was out of ideas. I recognized the car, but I couldn’t quite figure out who it belonged to. It was empty and I didn’t see anyone. Kim drove over to our covered run-in and parked next to the mystery car.
“Any idea who this belongs to?” I asked. We got out, and she pointed back to a shady area we’d passed.
Cherry and Mei stood next to an easel, talking. Kim and I greeted them and walked over. It had been a busy morning, and my tiny little brain was trying to catch up. I knew what was going on, except that I couldn’t put it all together.
“I hope this is right,” Mei said, and it dawned on me. We walked around to the front of the easel and looked at the picture Mei had painted. “I can change it.”
It was perfect. It was a painting of the landscape in front of us. But the painting had a white house with a wraparound porch and a red metal roof. In front of the house and to the right of it, from our perspective, was a large pond. It was surrounded by native plants that you frequently found around water. We could see a barn behind and to the right of the house, and there was a white three-rail fence, sometimes hidden by trees.
“Oh, Mei, it’s picture perfect. This is what I want, Jack. This is it exactly.” Mei smiled.
“I am so glad you like it. You described it very well. There are no horses. I don’t think I can paint them very well.”
“I don’t think we need much of an imagination to put horses in this picture, Mei. It’s amazing.”
Cherry beamed. I didn’t think I knew anyone who could paint. I knew Mei, and she obviously could paint. I guess I did. She was the only one I knew of.
“Thank you so much, Mei. This is something I could never do. I have a hard time imagining what something will look like. This is perfect,” I said.
“It’s perfect, Mei. This is something we can show to builders.”
“We’ll make this happen, Baby.”
“We are going downtown to buy tickets to see the Pat Metheney Group,” Cherry said.
“I don’t know what that is,” I said and looked to Kim. She shrugged.
“Jazz fusion,” Mei replied. “If you don’t already know them, you probably wouldn’t like them.”
“I believe you,” I said, and she laughed. We thanked them again, and they were gone, leaving us to admire Mei’s artwork.
Kim unloaded the horses, tying them off in the run-in. She dragged some hay out for them. While she was doing that, I inflated the air mattress and set it in front of our painting. I grabbed our lunch and we sat down to eat. Neither of us said a word. We didn’t need to.
We didn’t bother with saddles. Kim wanted a short walk in the woods. I suspected it was a ploy to get me out to the property and surprise me with Mei’s picture. Nope. She had other ideas.
“Could we put lights out here?” she asked when we got to the trailhead.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, could we put a string of lights along one of our trails? It wouldn’t need to be fancy. Just some lights so we could walk or ride at night every now and then. We’d only turn them on if we were going to ride at night.”
“I don’t see why not. Would you want lights over the arena?”
“Of course.”
“I knew that. I don’t see why not. They’d have to be all-weather lights, and I’m not sure how strong they’d have to be, but I think so. There might be a limit on how many you could string on one line. Franklin might know. If he doesn’t, I’m sure he’d know someone who would.”
“It’s not like we have thirty miles of trail or anything, and we’ll get used to them pretty quickly. Twenty acres is a lot for us city kids, but we probably covered hundreds of acres when we went riding at Francis Marion. I don’t think we’d need floodlights or anything.”
We continued to ride, and I tried to think how long of a string of light we’d need. Long. “I think, if we’re really clever, we can create three miles of trails without thinning the trees too much. We’ll have to be really clever to do that. Three miles of lighting is a lot.”
“Yeah, I guess I didn’t think of that.”
“That’s one hundred and fifty long extension cords. That’s not how we’d do it, but you can think of using that many one-hundred-foot extension cords, and you get the idea. If we used just one light bulb every twenty feet, that would be eight hundred light bulbs.”
“Dang, Jack. Is there even a way to do it? Maybe we should just light the arena.”
“I think that’s a good start. Franklin or Dane might have a better idea, but I’m stumped. Here’s another thing. You know how the Dentons are always replacing lights in their indoor arena? Multiply that by three miles of lights. You’d have to do a lot of night riding to make it worth your while.”
“Oh, well. It was just a thought.” We continued with a very casual ride. I noted a few more places that I needed to trim and saw a couple of trail possibilities.
“Do you know what we completely forgot? Doris Johnson owns twenty-three acres that your dad said we could probably cut trails on. We have twenty-one, but close to four of those are going to be occupied by the house, barn, arena, and pond. Her twenty-three won’t have any of that. We could put a lot of trails on it.”
“Dang, Jack, I’d forgotten all about that.”
“Oh, and did you notice there’s an aspen tree on the eastern trail?”
“I wouldn’t know an aspen from a birch.”
“We should call that the Killiecrankie Trail.”
“Aspen wood,” she said, remembering she had some ancestor famous for fighting in the Battle of Killiecrankie, and Killiecrankie meant aspen wood.
We got back to the trailer and dismounted. It was unseasonably warm, and we didn’t want to overheat them. Since we didn’t have to remove saddles, pads, and all that, it was pretty quick.
“We need a trough,” I said.
“Is that a spigot? Did you put in a well?”
“Two weeks ago. And the electricity is connected. That’s been connected for almost six weeks. I got my first utility bill.”
She laughed. “How much?”
“Four dollars.”
“Ah, the cost of being a land baron.”
“We have water, but we still need a septic tank. The well was a couple grand. I think we’ll put in at least one more by the barn.”
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.