Chapter 1

As the setting sun smeared brilliant oranges and purples across the hazy horizon, my battered pickup rumbled along the highway. Between endless rows of thinning trees, its tires thunka-thunka’ed over the road’s evenly spaced concrete slabs. In either direction, cars were now rare and, that late in the day, trucks even sparser. With the visor down, I shifted to squint through the dusty windscreen’s clean—mostly clean—wiper arches.

Had all that really happened?

At the soft murmur from beneath a colorful but worn blanket, I looked over at the shapely lump beside me. When the silhouette snorted, then softly snored in her sleep, a grin slid across my face.

Yeah, it had. And if not for Coach’s wife ... Well, my world would’ve been completely different.

It’s funny. Everything that happened that night is etched in my mind with such clarity. As if the hand of God had crammed it into my dumb ass memory.

It’d been a normal night. Another evening under brilliant stars as I trudged along Highway 46, heading back into Alabama. Each heavy footfall of my boots kicked up little clouds of dust in my wake. A guy as large as me didn’t step lightly. Ever. A warm gentle breeze wafted over me as the world blurred. A slight wobble sent me stumbling across the roadside gravel. Though the party was continuing, I never stayed up during the season. Despite trying, I was forced to leave my ride at the house amidst the plentiful beer, friendly girls, and ganja. And it had been excellent weed.

But.

Football was my ticket out of Burnham. I hoped. My momma hoped. Hell, all of us black kids in the South in the late ‘80s hoped. They said emancipation had happened, but what did that really mean? Well, we could vote, so there was that. But poor, educationally challenged, and black equaled a not so good life for any of us who remained. Sad, but true.

At least, I could claim a better-than-average chance.

People say when I shot from between my momma’s legs, my Pops gazed at her and called her a “cheatin’ ho.” Both were mahogany brown. That warm color of creamy milk chocolate. Also slim, if not downright skinny.

Not me. My fat ass came out like a bowling ball. One of the old-style orbs, not the fancy swirling pastel sparkly colored ones. Nope. Not me. I was coal black. And solid. I was not skinny. It wasn’t long before I also grew in height. Soon, I both towered over most folks, and, if anything, grew darker in the sunlight. Although momma taught me to—restrain myself—most people tended to move out of my way despite my easy smile.

Oh, and Pops? Turns out, he was the cheatin’ one. Never knew him, yet I kept his name: Hiram Thaddeus Boetticher. The third. Germanic, despite me being blacker than iron because of my great-grampa on my mother’s side. So much for that Aryan wonder-race crap.

Anyway, back to that first evening. While trying to clear my head of pungent smoke and a few too many beers, I noticed headlights approaching from behind. Although not unusual to see the occasional car, as it approached, my chest tightened. When the engine roared, I moved further from the cracked, dirt-strewn asphalt while glancing at a neighboring fallow field. No place to hide, but a roadside ditch would hinder any pursuers. As a young black man, walking along a lonely rural highway at night was not the safest thing. Not in that state.

Despite my mumbled prayers for it to glide past, the car slowed. In the light of its headlights, dust from its tires swirled around me. My heart raced. With my fingers curling ever tighter, I calculated the jump across the weed-choked gully. First, should I spin? See my attackers—my killers? With my heart hammering, I whirled to meet my fate.

As the car’s tires slowed, I forced a long exhale and plastered a grin on my face. Momma always said a smile would solve most things. Or at the very least, it could make you feel better. Right then, what actually made me feel better was the hood of the slow-rolling car emerging from a shadowy dust cloud. All the tension dropped from me. It was Coach Jenkins. Huge, chromed-out, and deep blue, his sedan crunched to a slow roll.

Though I could only see their shapes, his wife was talking to him as it slowed further. She gestured at me before returning to him. After the dust cloud glided past, their voices remained muffled as I shifted from foot to foot. Right when I was about to walk on, the car’s brakes released, and it rolled past. Once its thick white-wall tires munched from the dirt-covered roadway, it stopped on the rough grass verge. With a taut grin on his face, Coach waved from the window.

Well, my smile had gotten me a ride. I was such an idiot. Nah, that’s not fair. And not entirely true either. As I look back ... Well, okay, I’d no idea that my life was about to become something—different. More than different. More like it was going to fly off the rails. Or be driven off the rails. In the truest sense of the phrase.

Not that any of that was going through my head back then. As I jogged to the car; my head pounded. Though no longer high and not too woozy from the beers, running had been a bad idea. Dehydration sucked. That’d been my only thought.

“Get in, Hiram.”

As I ducked low to slide into the backseat, the car settled under my bulk. Even enormous cars like Coach’s kinda wrapped around me.

With the same slim smile, he gazed at me in the rearview mirror. Time sorta slowed as his eyebrows furled and his head cocked to one side. After glancing at his wife, she gave him a deliberate nod, pushed open the door, and stepped from the car. Perhaps she had to pee? Not that there were any bushes. In the ditch?

While he remained silent, Coach’s eyes tracked me in the mirror. My chest again tightened. Something was off. At the crunch of her footsteps, I looked up. Instead of moving away from it, she was walking around the vehicle. When the other rear door opened and she slipped inside, her face drawn, my heart stuttered and raced. As soon as she’d tugged the door closed and crossed her slender, shapely legs, Coach’s slim grin widened. Not by much, but still...

Although I’d no idea what was going on, I wasn’t getting murdered.

Maybe she was simply more comfortable in the back seat? While I couldn’t help but glance at her—a risk in those days—I kept my scan brief. The vibe was strange. At the shimmer of a tiny red minidress painted on the petite blonde’s lean body, I swallowed. In a swift flare, heat raced up my cheeks at glimpsing most of a black stocking-covered leg and toned shoulders. After returning to Coach, I gulped again. Loudly.

The soft jazz playing on the car stereo should’ve been calming. It wasn’t.

Yeah, weird vibe.

Before I could speak, or for that matter, form a decent question, the car lurched onto the road and rumbled into the darkness. Although I stared forward, splitting my view between Coach’s face in the mirror and the reddish dust-covered asphalt in the headlights, my peripheral sight caught every one of Mrs. Jenkins’ motions. The steady rise and fall of that incredible, curve-hugging dress. The glimmer of her lips in the reflected light. Long, thin fingers twirling in her glimmering blonde tresses. Oh, and her gaze—fixed on me.

“Hiram. You know I, uh, know your, um,...” At Coach’s low voice, his wife’s image blurred, and I locked onto his face. As if he was making a tough play call, he narrowed his eyes, before adding, “ ... your mommy, right?”

The way he’d chuckled after saying “mommy” was—unusual. Back then, I was clueless. A lot of folks seemed to know my momma ‘round those parts.

“Yes, Coach.” Even as I spoke, his wife’s abrupt nervous giggle had me glancing at her.

“And you’re a good kid, Hiram.”

“Thanks, Coach.”

“I can trust you, right?” His voice was clipped, like during game reviews. Oh, okay. That was it. Maybe he wanted to go over plays for the upcoming game. He didn’t usually reveal them this early. Some kids blabbed.

“Sure, Coach. What’s up?”

“Well, Hiram.” His eyes flicked to Mrs. Jenkins, who was chewing on her glossy red lips. “My wife is ... Well, she’s, um, kinda, uh ... She’s sorta turned on right now.”

“Uh, huh,” I mumbled.

As I nodded like a moron, the car wobbled and time sorta slowed. Wait. What? For several seconds, closer to ten, my brain also wobbled. What had he just admitted? With adrenaline flooding my system, tremors sped through me. After a loud gulp, I pried my shaking lips apart to ask him something—anything. But he shifted the car into a higher gear before looking at me again in the mirror.

“We were gonna meet someone tonight, but they, uh ... Look, they bailed and my poor wife...” For the first time, a cloud passed over his eyes as he glanced at Mrs. Jenkins. “Well, she’s been waiting over a month for this.”

“What do, um...?” My brain had no clue what to ask. So she’s—aroused? What’s that got to do with me? A month? For what? And what would “someone” do for her? “What are you talking about, Coach?”

“My wife...” A bead of sweat trickled from his receding gray-black hair down his forehead to slide along a crinkled eyebrow. “Cindy ... Well, Cindy. My, uh, wife. She, um, has, uh, cravings. And, um ... Damn it. Hiram, would you fuck my wife?”

“Wha—” Even as the query morphed into all the air in my lungs hissing from my lips, I eased my gaze to her.

While she sat silent, her bright white teeth sinking deep into the corner of her lower lip, I let my eyes roam over her. Long, wavy blonde tresses, those not intertwined with her twirling fingers, covered her toned shoulders. Focused on me like glinting lasers, her brilliant green eyes were unblinking. Beneath the skintight red satin, with no sign of a bra, her full boobs jutted upwards, topped by thick protruding nipples. As she flashed a smile, she twisted her long, crossed legs. After sitting, she hadn’t adjusted her skirt. It remained high—very high—on her hips. Most of her muscled thighs were visible below the taut hem.

“Did you hear me, Hiram?”

“Huh? Uh, what, Coach?” I muttered before ripping my gaze from his wife.

“He said, sweetie, that I want you to rape me.” At her voice, I whipped back to Mrs. Jenkins.

“R—Rape?” I whispered.

Although a soft gasp escaped Coach, she flashed a raised eyebrow expression at him. He said nothing. I also had no more words. Really? Rape? Not simply fuck? Although, what the hell? Fuck—her? Why? Why me? Except for her patient visage, the world flip-flopped into a blur. Under my silent gaze, all the muscles in her red-wrapped frame were so tense she vibrated.

At that point, whatever my reply might’ve been, it was caught in a swirling mass of adrenaline. “Fight-or-flight” didn’t know what to do. Every type of alarm bell was clanging in my skull. Bright lights. Flashing. So many questions fought for answers. Although my lips kept opening to form words, each time they surrendered to the chaos in my mind. Oh, and the whole damned car kept doing that flipping around and wobbling thing.

Like a funhouse mirror.

Or Mindy LeBlanc’s bouncing titties. Incapable of processing anything more, my screaming mind fled to those memories.

While not much to it, she’d been my only previous experience. Late one night, the team had been rumbling home on a bus after making the playoffs. Everyone was celebrating. There was laughing, singing and dancing up front while in the back, there was drinking, joking, and Mindy, one of the finer cheerleaders. Buck naked. In a swirl of matted auburn hair, she was getting passed from lap to lap. While gulping from a bottle of tequila in her clawed hand, she’d bounce. To clarify, it wasn’t long before zippers dropped. And as she was impaled in laps, her gulps became ever louder moans.

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