A Stitch in Time
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by Marshall Ian Key
Category: Erotica/Taboo Erotica
Description: Patrick Sterling, a shy fifteen-year-old in a tight-knit family, dreams of attending the University of Virginia and, maybe, of asking his sister's friend, Cammie, on a real date. But he's in far too much of a hurry. When he accidentally meets Santa Claus in the men's room of a mall, he wishes he could skip ahead three years, and avoid all the mess of high school. On Christmas morning, he gets his wish. He is now eighteen year old "Trick," a senior jock content to skip college and bed one babe after another. And he's horrified--his family is rapidly unraveling, his friends have deserted him, and the first time he sees Cammie, she flips him the bird. He has one semester left to stitch his family back together. And get A's in all of his courses to make it into college. And pitch his baseball team to victory. And understand Judaism. And get his sisters dates for the prom. Oh, and try to get Cammie to pull that pejorative finger back down?
eBook Publisher: Excessica Publishing,
eBookwise Release Date: December 2008
15 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [612 KB]
Reading time: 375-525 min.
Etiquette required that I continue staring at the wall in front of me, although etiquette also required that this new visitor use the right-hand urinal rather than the one in the center. Apparently he hadn't heard that. I could sense him stepping up next to me, leaving us separated only by the shoulder-to-knee metal divider.
"Ho-ho-ho," he said with a chuckle. "So what are you wishing for this Christmas, young man?"
I glanced over. This would be the mall Santa, on a break from posing for pictures with tiny tots with their eyes all aglow.
"Santa." I acknowledged him with a grin as I returned my eyes to the front. I had no idea his red suit had a zipper in the front.
"Well?" His booming voice reverberated inside the tiled room. "There must be something you want!"
"Can't think of anything." I was still grinning as I finished up and walked over to the sinks to wash my hands. Here was a guy who loved his work..
"So you've got everything you want in life already?" he asked, still with the loud voice. "Everything's perfect?"
"Well, no," I replied . "All right, you know what I'd like, Santa? Instead of just starting high school, what I'd really like is to be finishing it."
That way, I thought to myself as I looked in the mirror and tried to smooth my hair over to the side a little, I can avoid all the assholes, bullies, jocks, and bitches; all the sniping, teasing, gossiping, and backstabbing--instead of three and half more years of this crap, I'd be just about done.
John Marshall High School was not my idea of a good time. There was a core group made up of jocks (male and female), cheerleaders, and the generally cool. There were orbiting planets for band members, newspaper and yearbook types, comics, theatre freaks, and druggies. Then there were kids like me, whose orbits occasionally brought them uncomfortably close to the solar system but who generally preferred to stay out among the asteroid fields. I was currently on one of my forays to the center, where I seemed to have been appointed the target-of-the-month by the freshman and sophomore football players and their tart-tongued girlfriends. The juniors and seniors, thank God, thought me so far beneath them as to not even be worthy of attention.
It didn't help having an older brother who was one of those seniors. Dave was bound for Auburn University next year on a football scholarship. The gym coach was constantly expecting me to show even a fraction of my brother's athletic ability. The teachers were constantly expecting me to be as much a goof-off as he was. And the girls, even in my own ninth grade, were constantly comparing his six-foot-two, 220-pound frame to mine. At five-foot-seven and 140 pounds, I was constantly disappointing them.
"That's a pretty tall order, young man." Santa laughed as he joined me at the sinks. "So basically you just want to skip all this annoying adolescence and go straight on into adulthood, huh?"
Was Santa Claus mocking me? I looked at him in the mirror, but he still wore the same jolly expression, even on his break.
"I was more mature at six than most of the guys in my high school will be when they're thirty-six."
"Maybe so." He laughed again as I dried my hands and pulled open the door. "Have a Merry Christmas, young man!"
"Yeah, you too," I mumbled as I let the door close behind me.