Lean on Me
Copyright© 2025 by Danny January
Chapter 16
Romance Sex Story: Chapter 16 - 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
All day long, it seemed like everyone was just going through the motions until that night. Maybe I was the only one just going through the motions, and I was projecting. Who knows? The bottom line is that Kim and I were dressed and ready to go, when we walked out to the east parking lot for our ride. Mr. McClusky was there with Mr. Doolittle and a beautiful car. I’d never seen one like it.
Mr. Doolittle was beaming. “You like it? A couple as good-looking as you deserve the proper ride, don’t you think?”
“It’s beautiful. What is this?” I asked.
“This is a 1957 Buick Roadmaster convertible. I’m not quite finished, but pretty close. Just don’t look at the dashboard too closely.”
The car was black on top with a chrome accent running the length of the car. The chrome dipped to point at the rear wheel and continued to the back. Below the chrome, it was red. Whitewalls completed the look. It was pristine. “It’s beautiful, Mr. Doolittle.”
“It really is, isn’t it?” Mr. McClusky said. “You’ll follow the other three cars in through the east gate. Someone will be there shortly, and they’ll give you the cue to go. Miss Bentz tells me five miles per hour is the appropriate speed. You two get to ride in back. Don’t forget to wave.”
“Wave? I’ll smile. How’s that?” I asked. He ignored me.
“It’s really beautiful, Mr. Doolittle. The seats are leather, aren’t they. I’m going to take my shoes off. I don’t want to poke a hole in it with these.”
“The car is beautiful, Miss McTighe, but no one is going to notice it. You make a fine homecoming queen,” Mr. McClusky said. He wasn’t talking to me anymore. I wasn’t going to wave. “When you get to the fifty-yard line, Jack, you get out and help Kim down. Once there, your guide will keep you on track. Smile and have fun. Wave at someone, Jack. It doesn’t matter who.”
“Yes, sir.” Mr. McClusky left, and I turned my back on them to finish my wardrobe change.
“What the heck is that?” Kim asked, laughing.
“If I’m going to be king, I should look kingly. It’s a mustache. Susie Simpson got it for me.”
She laughed some more. “Is it the Magnum PI signature model?” I nodded, and we climbed in. “You’re such a dufus.”
“I’ll take it off if you want me to?” She laughed and shook her head.
“It actually looks pretty good. We need to get some pictures of us when you’re not wearing it, though.” That was reasonable.
Everything went flawlessly. It was almost as though they’d done this before. Mr. Doolittle started the car, and we enjoyed the deep rumble of the engine. “That’s a three hundred horsepower V8, in case you’re wondering.”
“Can you hold it to five miles per hour?” I asked.
“It will be a challenge. This thing will move.” We eased through the gate and onto the track. To make our entrance take longer, we circled the field before pulling in front of our sidelines. I noticed we were three touchdowns ahead and waved to the visiting fans. They booed, which I thought was terribly unsportsmanlike. Kim thought it was hilarious, and she joined me, waving and smiling.
“They don’t seem to like you on this side of the field. I’m going to drive over to the other side. If you get the same kind of reception, I’ll shoot through the gate and we’ll see how fast this old gal will go.”
“That sounds like a plan,” I said. Kim was smiling and laughing, and having a great time. “Queen for a day, huh, Baby?” She hugged me.
We pulled up to the thirty-yard line on our side of the field to a much warmer reception. We waited until the freshman, sophomore, and junior princesses got out and were escorted to the fifty-yard line. They were playing some sort of non-military sounding march music from the booth. When I got out, they switched to the beginning of the Magnum PI theme song, and everyone cheered. They liked my mustache. It was itchy.
I held Kim’s shoes so she could slide back into them, then held out my arm for her. “You look dashing,” she said. “I like the red bow tie. It matches my dress.” I hadn’t even thought of that.
“Thanks, Mr. Doolittle. Style, sir. Pure style.” He smiled and wished us a good time.
Walking twenty yards from the thirty to the fifty, with Kim on my arm, went by far too quickly. I saw Mom and Dane in the stands, right at the fifty. Kim’s parents were right next to them, beaming. Mom was changing film on her camera. When she finished, she caught my eye, put a finger across her upper lip like a mustache, and laughed. Kim and I thought it was fun. If anyone else did, that was great.
Mr. McClusky was our emcee for the night. He introduced each couple and each person, starting with the freshmen. I noticed all the other guys had boring suits on. I was the only guy with satin lapels and a fancy stripe down my pant leg. I was the only guy with a mustache. I was the only guy with Kim Frontier Woman McTighe on my arm, and that was the big deal.
Mr. McClusky introduced me as a swimming champion and straight-A student. He introduced Kim as captain of the finest cheerleader squad in South Carolina and a straight-A student. He introduced the woman who would be crowning Kim. “To crown your homecoming queen, it’s only fitting that a Porter-Gaud alumna and former homecoming queen do the honors. Cyclones, please welcome Mrs. Lisa Miller.”
Coach Miller’s wife came forward with Kim’s crown. Kim got a tiara. I didn’t get anything, but I still had a mustache and Kim. With her crown on, Mr. McClusky asked if Kim wanted to say anything. Kim talked about how fortunate she was to attend a great school and have such good friends. She said she would continue to try to represent Porter-Gaud well.
I don’t know what I was thinking about, but when Mr. McClusky asked for comments from me, I was caught completely off guard. However, I’d just read Kierkegaard’s book Fear and Trembling, discussing the necessity for full commitment to pursue an exceptional mission and life, and had been thoroughly enjoying his existentialist ideas. With that in mind, I looked up in the stands and said, “Hi, Mom.” I am without guile, after all.
She and everyone else laughed, and Mr. McClusky thanked me for my insightful remark. He reminded everyone that there was a dance immediately after the game, and that the alumni dinner would be Saturday night at seven with a social hour starting at five. Mr. McClusky quietly told us we were done and should enjoy the game if we wanted to, but would be expected at the dance. We thanked him and waved to Mr. Doolittle. What a beautiful car.
Half-time festivities over, we walked across the track to our parents. We posed and they took pictures. I was told that my Magnum PI mustache was very handsome. I was also told they never wanted to see it again. It made Kim and me smile, so it was good enough for me.
“Kim, you look like a million dollars,” Mom said.
“More than that,” I said.
“Did you notice the photographer from the Post and Courier?” Dane asked.
“Noooo.”
“Yup. The good news for you is that all you have to do is shave your mustache and no one will recognize you.”
“That was my plan all along. You’re pulling my leg, right?”
“Nope. Someone will write a blurb about the game, and your pictures might or might not be in it. Local sports section every Saturday,” he said.
“No one notices me when I’m with Kim, anyway. The guys are all looking at her, wishing they were me, and the girls are all shooting daggers because they don’t look that good.”
“You always say the nicest things,” Kim said.
“Like ‘Hi, Mom’? Did Art catch you napping?” Mom asked.
The teams were back out, getting ready to start the second half. Kim and I didn’t really want to watch the game. We walked over to the gym to see how preparation for the dance was going. A couple of teachers and quite a few parents were working on last-minute decorations. The DJ had set up on stage and we talked to him for a few minutes. Mom had dropped off the record we wanted for the first dance. He held it up, looking at it like it was music from another planet. ‘Yes, we were sure that’s what we wanted.’ He told us we could pick the next couple of songs if we wanted to, so we did.
Mrs. Augustine said we should leave before the game ended. She explained that people should be filling the gym and waiting for the music to start when they introduced us. ‘Like a wedding,’ she said. Mrs. Wetzel put together a plate of hors d’oeuvres for us and sent us to the drama room to wait.
“Hey, these are pretty good,” I said, biting into a cream cheese thingy.
“Hi, Mom? Really?”
“Acknowledging your mother in a public setting is a longstanding tradition, deep with social and cultural significance. Kierkegaard said that.”
“Really. What else did Kierkegaard say?”
“He said you should always share your shrimp dip with a friend. That looks good. Scoop some of that for me, please.”
“You’re a mess.”
“Thanks. Like my tuxedo?”
“I do. It’s very fashionable. It’s very Cary Grant.”
“Ooh. And you are very Cheryl Ladd.”
“I know the name. Who is that?”
“Charlie’s Angels.”
“Uh-huh. I already know that your favorite actress is the one on the opening credits of Magnum PI. She’s the one with her butt sticking out of the water while he tries to teach her to swim.”
“Debbie Bonfiglio. Very talented.”
“How would you even know that? All you ever see is her butt.”
“She was a stunt double. Very talented, like I said.”
One of the moms came down from the gym to let us know the game was over. She said the gym was filling up, and we could go down whenever we wanted. Kim and I practiced our dance steps a bit, tossed our empty plate out, and walked down to the gym. Mrs. Augustine pointed us toward the doors on the east end, and we walked that way.
“Having fun?” I asked before we went in.
“Yessss. Let’s dance.”
We walked in, and all eyes were immediately on Kim. We got to the middle of the gym, also known as a dance floor, and I said, “Hit it.” The music began, and none of the kids knew what it was. We danced East Coast Swing to Glenn Miller’s In the Mood. I saw Mom smiling. Then, I saw Mel and Bobby. They knew how to dance to this. Everyone else simply watched something they’d never seen on Soul Train.
Kim and I held hands at arm’s length, matching our foot maneuvers. I pulled her to me, spun her, and pushed her away again. We showed off the basics. She did an underarm turn, then I did one. We did a she, he turn, and a throwout, a tuck and turn, and a spinout. The song was almost over, so I pulled Kim into a sweetheart step and we finished with that. Everyone loved what we were doing, but didn’t know how to do it.
Our DJ played String of Pearls. Mom and Dane, and Mel and Bobby joined us on the dance floor, then Kim’s folks joined us. I hadn’t seen Mrs. McTighe dance since her hip replacement. She hadn’t forgotten how. Mom and Dane were great together. Mr. McTighe was really good, but I thought he was taking it easy on Mrs. McTighe. They still looked good.
Everyone was enjoying the show, but they wanted to dance, too. The next song was Start Me Up, by the Rolling Stones, and the dance floor got crowded. Shake it Up by the Cars and Betty Davis Eyes by Kim Carnes followed, and by then the dance floor was packed. Our work was done. We found our way to the side and relaxed.
A bunch of kids came over in ones and twos to ask us about our dancing. We gave them the short version and explained that we learned from the old folks and had been learning for a few months. Kim asked me if learning kung fu helped with dancing. I told her, ‘No,’ and that it was completely different. She thought I’d improved, and that was good enough for me. We grabbed some more finger food and retreated to the side again.
“What are our parents doing here?” I asked, realizing for the first time that they were, in fact, at our homecoming dance.
“They’re chaperones.”
‘Oh. I had no idea.”
We munched through our finger food pretty quickly. It was tasty. Dane came over to us and asked, “Have you heard the caterers talking? What language is that? I’ve never heard anything like it.” That was mystifying.
I walked over to the hors d’oeuvres table and listened. Then I laughed and walked back to Dane and Kim. “Why ya cain’t un’erstand dem? It real clear tuh me,” I said with the heaviest accent I could manage.
“Oh. It’s English, sort of,” he said.
“De folks in Hollywood an Adams Run speak Gullah, but some folks call it Geechee. Dey givin’ local grub an’ we want di best. Dey got di best, y’know. Ain’t no good food like dis up in Yankee land.”
“That’s crazy. What is it? It’s English, but it’s messed up.”
“It’s Gullah. It’s a mix of English and Creole, with a bit of the Caribbean and some West Africa influence. You’ll find it along the coast here and in parts of Georgia.”
“Oh. That’s the same as the wicker baskets downtown.”
“Not wicker,” Kim said. “Sweetgrass. Let’s get with the program.” We all laughed, and he went back to Mom.
“Do you want to dance anymore?”
“Are you done?” Kim asked.
“I could be. Do we need to do anything else?” Kim didn’t know. We walked over to Mr. McClusky and asked him.
We stepped outside so we could hear each other better. “You don’t need to do anything else. It would be nice if you showed up for the alumni dinner tomorrow night. We continue to get financial support from alumni, and they like to rub shoulders with the current crop of students. I don’t know if I should tell you or not...” We waited. “To be honest, the two of you have been model students this year, and it’s been good for the school.”
“Weren’t we supposed to be?” I asked, wondering.
“It’s nice, but I thought your early engagement might be...”
“You thought that we might be loose cannons,” Kim said.
“Never had an engaged couple before. I didn’t know what to expect. You’re doing great. If you showed up tomorrow night, at least for the social hour, meet a few people, maybe make a contact or two. You never know.”
“That’s here?” I asked.
“Oh, heavens no. It’s at the Dunes West Yacht Club.”
“Sounds like some good hors d’oeuvres,” I said.
“You can count on that. That’s it. I know several of our regulars would love to meet you.”
“We can do that,” Kim said. “This was fun.”
“Oh, and that first dance. Christie teach you how to do that? I doubt if anyone has done that at a homecoming dance in thirty years. We might need some music tomorrow night. Nice casual, by the way.”
We went back inside and talked to Mom. I told her we were ready to leave. She suggested we make the rounds and thank people for their support. “Thank the parents and teachers for being here. You are sort of speaking for all the students.”
That’s what we did. We went around the room, thanking people. We met back at the east door and slid outdoors. “What now?” I asked.
I drove us back to my house; we changed into much more comfortable clothing and drove to the beach. I turned left at the end of Folly Beach Road, and we drove until we found a secluded walkway across to the beach. I pulled a couple of blankets, bottled water, a towel, and flashlight out of the trunk. We found a drift that we could use for a backrest, and I spread out the blanket.
The sound of little waves lapping at the shore was a nice change from the loud dance hall our gym had become. Wispy cirrus clouds drifted past overhead, giving us glimpses of a big harvest moon. We could see a container ship coming into the harbor and the lights of a few boats a mile or so out. There was a light breeze, strong enough to keep gnats and mosquitoes away, but not strong enough to stir up stinging sand. It was, in a word, perfect.
“This is pretty nice, Aquaman.”
“It is pretty nice. Good day. You looked so good tonight. Really good.”
“Thanks. It was a pretty nice dress. You looked good, too, all spiffed up in your tux. You think you might ditch the mustache anytime soon?”
I started to pull it off, but it was stuck. “This thing is really on there. I’ll have to ask Susie how to take it off.”
“You didn’t think to ask that before putting it on?”
“I didn’t think it would stick that good.”
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