An adult stories – Quarterback in Transit by JimBob44,JimBob44 This story has been posted to Literotica.Com with the full knowledge of the original author, JimBob44. No part or whole of this story may be reprinted in any other format or on any other web site without the express written consent of the original author.
Author’s Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself, utilizing Microsoft Spell-Check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.
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Beau Armstrong walked out of his American History 310 class, broad smile on his handsome face. He knew he would have an easy ‘A’ on the mid-term exam; they were facing Bargen University on Saturday.
The Walchester Wolves were still smarting over the Bargen Bandits humiliating rout the previous year and the team was relying on Armstrong’s arm strength to lead the Wolves to victory. No professor would dare give Beau a failing grade.
“Hey, Armstrong,” Terrence Knudsen said, slapping the twenty one year old quarterback on his shoulder.
“Nude,” Beau agreed.
“Hey, what’s it called when you got two girls and you in bed?” Terrence asked.
“A typical Saturday night,” Beau shrugged.
He smiled as a bookish looking coed giggled, giving him a blushing smile. Terrence shook his head, smiling.
“Uh huh. It’s called a threesome. And, what’s it called when you got just you and one girl in bed?” Terrence went on.
“Unusual?” Beau supplied. “We’re waiting on her roommate?”
“A twosome. So, you and two girls is a threesome and you and one girl is called a twosome,” Terrence said as they exited Bowman Hall into a beautiful early autumn day. “Now do you understand why they call you handsome?”
With a shake of his dark curly hair, Beau let out a genuine laugh. He slapped Terrence on the shoulder as they trotted down the concrete steps to the sidewalk.
“Hey, Armstrong,” someone called out.
“Yeah?” Beau twisted to look at Conrad Putman, a scrawny little dork that had tutored him in Algebra 101 last year.
For taking the time to tutor him, Beau had given the dork the nickname ‘Connie.’ The more Connie protested, the more Beau delighted in taunting the slight young man with the hated nickname.
“You remember Pam? My girlfriend?” Connie now spat at Beau. “Pam Young?”
Beau remembered Pam Young very well. She was a very cute girl, or would be cute if she would lose the thick eyeglasses, do something with her drab brown hair and maybe lose ten, fifteen pounds.
The book report she’d done for him on Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter had earned Beau both an ‘A’ in Professor Davidson’s class and the fawning praise of Helen Davidson for his insightful interpretation of the literature.
And Pam herself had given Beau Armstrong one hell of a nut suck. Her tongue had been magical as she tongued one, then the other hairy ball. She’d even wormed her tongue up Beau’s rectum when he’d ordered her to eat his ass.
Beau unconsciously reached down to grip his slowly inflating cock as he thought about Pam’s squeals, protests, grunts and shrieks of orgasm when he’d managed to work his eight inches into her tight little turd cutter. Because he’d already creamed her tonsils with one load of spunk and pounded her surprisingly very hairy box and pumped another load of baby juice into her womb, he took a while to cream her colon. After blowing his load into her guts, Beau had used her hair to wipe his slimy cock clean and thanked her for the book report and the piece of ass.
“Yeah? What about her?” Beau said, smirking at Connie. “She wants some more?”
Connie didn’t answer; he pulled a nine millimeter from his windbreaker and pointed the handgun at Beau. Beau heard someone scream as he delivered a block against Connie that Terrence Knudsen or any other offensive lineman would have been proud to deliver.
“You were supposed to turn tail and run,” Beau heard a deep male voice announce.
“What?” Beau asked as he was blinded by the bright light all around them.
“You were supposed to turn tail and run when you saw the handgun in Conrad’s hand. “Your entire life, you’ve always taken the easy way out. You’ve always coasted along, content to let your good looks and your athletic abilities just carry you along,” the voice said reproachfully.
“Am, am I dead?” Beau asked, looking all around in the bright light.
“Yes. The one time, the one time you were supposed to react as you always do, you decide to be Superman and take on a nine millimeter bullet,” the voice said.
“Damn. So, so what happened with Bargen? Did we beat them?” Beau glumly asked.
“With a coach like Duane Percy? You are kidding, right?” the voice scoffed.
“So, what now?” Beau asked, still trying to locate the voice.
“Well, like I said, you weren’t supposed to die. You were supposed to turn tail and run. Terrence was supposed to die,” the voice said.
“So, I, if I’m not supposed to be here…” Beau said hopefully.
“…And you were supposed to wind up in a wheelchair, crippled from the neck down,” the voice continued.
“Oh,” Beau said.
“So now, there is the question of what to do with you,” the voice continued. “You’re not supposed to be here for another twelve years. And your sister would have been charged with negligence; you would weigh one hundred and two pounds, body septic from lack of hygiene. An infection in your colon would have been your fitting end. Do you see the irony? Beau Armstrong who delighted in abusing young ladies’ colons dying of an infection in his colon?”
“Darlene? Darlene would never…she loves me,” Beau protested.
“So, here’s your choices, Beau joseph Armstrong,” the voice said. “Go on to your just rewards and before you ask, you know exactly where you are going. How many times did your Granny tell you where your selfish, self-centered life was leading you?”
“I repent!” Beau cried out. “I call on the name of…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, they all want to repent when they come face to face with their judgement,” the voice said. “The time to do all of that is BEFORE, not AFTER. So, go on to your just rewards, or return and…”
“Return! I want to return. And I’ll make sure Darlene doesn’t…” Beau quickly said.
“Beau, you’re not going back as Beau Joseph Armstrong,” the voice chuckled drily.
“Then, who?” Beau asked.
“Irwin Gunther Adburge Junior, eighteen years of age, five foot eight inches in height, weighing approximately one hundred and seventy two pounds. Coke bottle eye glasses, already developing a receding hairline. Recognize the type?” the voice said.
“No, not really,” Beau said, trying to envision what his new reality would be.
“Sure you do, Beau. Irwin. IRWIN? Chubby little dork; the kind of boy you loved to torment. The kind of kid you would torture until they broke. Until you crushed their spirit and destroyed their hopes,” the voice said, hard edge to the words.
“I repent!” Beau again cried out.
“Oh shut up! A little late for that, don’t you think?” the voice said. “Now, Hell. But, it’s your choice. Hell, or Hell on Earth.”
Beau was silent for a long moment as he weighed his choices. Looking all around himself, hoping for something, anything that would give him a clue, all he could see was blinding whiteness. He prayed silently for rescue.
“I can hear you,” the voice said. “So, Beau, what will it be?”
“On earth,” Beau sighed. “At least then I can repent and live right.”
“You?” the voice scoffed. “Well, good luck with that plan.”
>.>.>.>.>
Irwin Gunther Adburge Junior stumbled over an invisible obstacle. Looking around, he did not recognize the surroundings. The back pack on his back was very heavy, too heavy for him to wear and walk comfortably.
“Toughen up, pussy,” Irwin taunted himself and continued marching.
Apparently, he was supposed to go to Stooker High School, the large red brick building directly in front of him. He saw other students walking toward the building and continued his lurching gait toward the building.
“Stook, aw Jesus! Stooker? As in fucking Stooker, Pennsylvania? Home of Bargen? That Stooker,” Irwin spat contemptuously as realization dawned on him.
“Irwin!” a tall, muscular young man taunted Irwin the moment he entered the building.
“Aw, God! Dude, you don’t have the sense to brush your teeth after you clean your shit off your Daddy’s cock?” Irwin said, waving his hand in front of his face as if to wave away the stench of the young man’s breath.
“What? Did, what the fuck did you just say?” Ryan Porter screamed, shoving Irwin, hard.
“Sucking dick makes you deaf,” Irwin said, righting himself with difficulty; his back pack was very heavy.
“Mr. Porter, there a problem?” a tall man called out.
“No sir, Mr. Feldman,” Ryan said, glaring with hatred at Irwin.
“Good, good. Would hate to see you get a detention on your first day of senior year,” the assistant Principal said. “Mr. Adburge, please get to your homeroom.”
“Uh, yeah, uh, where is my homeroom?” Irwin asked, not having any idea where any of his classes might be.
“Down the hall, Mr. Adburge. We’ve not moved Room one fifteen since last quarter,” Mr. Feldman said drily.
Finding the room, Irwin made a tactical error. He went to where Beau Armstrong would have taken a seat. Already, there were a group of larger boys and a gaggle of cute girls congregated in the rear of the room. Irwin nodded in greeting as conversation slowly died down.
“Uh, Adburge, uh, what the fuck, huh?” a young man asked, scowling at the interloper.
“Really!” a stunningly beautiful young blonde chirped, nose up in the air.
“My seat, bitch,” Ryan snarled angrily at Irwin.
“No, no, I believe your seat is the one with the giant dildo sticking up, right?” Irwin spat.
“What’s with the country twang, Adburge?” another young man asked.
Rather than attempting to explain his odd amnesia, Irwin got to his feet, lugging his heavy back pack to another seat. Once settled down, he located a sheet of paper with his class schedule. He smiled, seeing that he had Physical Education for his last class period. This meant he could go straight from gym to the football field after school.
“Two sixteen Calculus? Fuck me if I know shit about that,” Irwin said to himself.
“Advanced biology? Jesus, what? Am I some kind of Brainiac here?” Irwin continued, now studying his schedule more closely. “Um, heaven? Uh, a little help here?”
There was no reply, but Irwin had not really expected there to be one. A pleasant looking woman with a few extra pounds on her frame came into the room just as the first buzzer sounded. Looking at her ample rump, Irwin could imagine bending the pretty woman over her desk, spitting on her little pucker and jamming his fat dick into her wiggling bowels.
“God, you, you did leave me a big cock, right? Please tell me you left me with my cock,” Irwin suddenly thought, paling at the thought of suffering life in this misshapen body with a scrawny cock.
“Here,” he blurted out when the attractive woman called out for Irwin Adburge for the third time while looking directly at him.
With a shake of her head, Ms. Thompson continued to take attendance. She made a few announcements, including football tryouts would be on Thursday. The time to talk with Ms. Adams about college is now, not in April or May. There was still time to join Mr. Buckman’s band class…
“You’re fucking dead, Ass burger,” Ryan snarled as he stomped past Irwin’s desk.
Irwin’s foot shot out and Ryan tumbled heavily to the floor. Some people gasped, some people giggled, but the majority of students stood, gawking. Irwin calmly got to his feet and joined the procession pushing for the door of the classroom.
“Dude!” a very short boy goggled at Irwin.
“Dude,” Irwin agreed, looking around for the stairwell.
“He, he’s going to kill you, Dude,” the short kid said.
“Maybe. Or, maybe he’ll figure out, fuck with the bull, get the horns,” Irwin replied.
“Dude, what’s with the Blake Shelton voice?” the kid asked as he kept pace with Irwin.
“Whatever,” Irwin said and decided to push himself.
He hustled, double-time up the stairs. It was obvious to Irwin that Irwin Gunther Adburge did not do much physical exertion; he was huffing by the time he made it to the second floor. He found his classroom and collapsed into a seat.
This time he remembered who ‘Adburge, Irwin’ was and answered when his name was called. Then, as the teacher began lecturing, Irwin was stunned as answers began popping into his head. He scribbled notes in his notebook. Apparently, his parents were too poor to give him a laptop.
“And, English, English, oh! Room two twelve. Easy enough,” Irwin said when the buzzer sounded.
His new shadow followed him from their Calculus class to the English class. He learned that the short, scrawny kid’s name was Randy Straughter. And, like Irwin Adburge Jr, Randy Straughter was a geek, and had no friends.
After a dour faced woman of approximately early to mid-hundreds in age took attendance, she began boring the students with a dry, dry, dry lecture of the writings of Nathaniel Hawthorne. Irwin thought that there was a distinct possibility that Mrs. Fletcher may have been one of Hawthorne’s fuck buddies when she was younger.
“So, we could look at the plight of Hester…” Irwin supplied.
“Plight? When in the fuck have I ever used the word ‘plight’ before?” Irwin asked himself.
“…to the more recent ‘Cancel-Culture’ movement that has been allowed to infiltrate our social media?” Irwin concluded.
“Infiltrate? Do I even know what that word means?” Irwin asked himself.
He also stunned himself in his World History class. How did he know anything about Alexander the Great’s social engineering, his impact on much of Western Civilization? He knew Beau’s attitude was ‘these people are dead; who gives a fuck?’
At lunchtime, he found a packet of plastic tokens in his shirt pocket. Irwin chose a healthy lunch, opting for one protein and three vegetables and one fruit, rather than a tray full of carbohydrates and at least one of the desserts being offered. Again, his shadow was right behind him as they paid for the lunch and looked for a table.
“That’s what sucks about being in the Advance program; all of our classes are on the second floor,” Randy commiserated.
“Uh! Excuse YOU?” a snotty girl screeched when Irwin took a seat at the table.
“You are excused. You may leave now,” Irwin spat and began eating his lunch.
“Better move before her boyfriend kicks your ass,” another girl snarled.
“Really? Where is her boyfriend? If I was fortunate enough to have any of you as a girlfriend? I would be seated right next to you, rather than playing grab-ass with my buddies,” Irwin scoffed. “So, yeah, I’m not too worried about her boyfriend, or yours, or yours.”
The entire table goggled at the brazen Irwin G. Adburge. He methodically ate his lunch, ignoring the attractive girls around him. When he finished, he got to his feet and walked away.
“Dude, you, you are beyond dead,” Randy said when Irwin left the cafeteria.
“You know what, Randy? They can only kill you once,” Irwin said. “But you? You can kill yourself over and over and over if you let them push you around.”
After school ended, Irwin looked in his wallet for a clue of where to go. His Stooker High School ID told him his address was 1121 Trenton Lane. And, since he’d come to as he was walking to school, Irwin figured 1121 Trenton Lane, Stooker, Pennsylvania was nearby.
“And, let’s double-time,” Irwin said and began to jog, full back pack weighing him down.
It took him a while to find Trenton Lane. Finding 1121 Trenton Lane also took some trial and error. Looking at the dilapidated exterior, Irwin realized why they did not have the money for a laptop computer.
The wooden structure was among other wooden structures. And, like many of the homes in the neighborhood, 1121 Trenton Lane was in need of a good scraping, sanding, and repainting. The grass was a mixture of dying grass, crabgrass and far too healthy dandelions and other weeds.
“Hiya Sweetie,” an attractive, slightly chubby woman greeted him when he used his keys and entered the home.
“Hiya Good looking,” Irwin said, noticing how the threadbare jeans hugged her nicely rounded hips.
“Irwin!” the woman squealed with a delighted laugh. “I’m your mother for goodness sakes!”
“Oh. Okay, Hiya bad looking,” Irwin teased.
“Boy, I tell you,” she smirked. “SO, how was school? First day’s always a rough one, isn’t it?”
“School was fine. A little boring but fine,” Irwin shrugged.
His room was roughly the size of Beau’s closet. There was a twin sized bed, a tall dresser and a low dresser.
“Um, where am I supposed to do homework?” Irwin asked as he came into the kitchen.
“Same place you always do,” his mother said.
She turned and looked at him. Her glance toward the kitchen table answered the question before Irwin asked. She looked at him oddly when he chose one of the seats.
“What?” Irwin asked as he opened his Calculus textbook.
“Nothing. Nothing. I guess you can move when Natalie gets here. And, what’s with the Willie Nelson act?” his mother said.
“The who?” Irwin asked, quickly jotting down his answer to problem two.
“Willie Nelson,” his mother said, grossly exaggerating a nasally twanging drawl.
The door slammed. A moment later, an attractive young woman entered the kitchen. Unlike their mother, Natalie Adburge teetered on the verge of anorexia. After greeting their mother, the skinny brunette turned and glared with absolute hostility at her younger brother.
“Move it, ass wipe,” Natalie snarled.
“Fuck off toothpick,” Irwin said, closing his Computer Literacy workbook. “Are you needing this seat right this very minute? No? Then wobble away and go find a crack to slip in.”
“Irwin! We do not use that sort of language in this home,” their mother gasped, truly scandalized.
“Mother, I apologize to you for using that language in your home,” Irwin said. “You, skeleton. I do not apologize to you. Again, you do not need this seat right this minute. I do; it has the best lighting. So, go eat something and shut up.”
When Irwin Sr. came home, his look of contempt was readily apparent. Irwin was disappointed in his fat wife, his dysfunctional daughter, and his slovenly son. He cursed his own existence and saw no real future for himself. Irwin Adburge, Sr. only saw the same bleak future meshing seamlessly with his bleak past.
“Hey, um, it all right if I try out for football this year?” Irwin asked his family as they sat to eat an unhealthy meal.
“”Yeah, and why not while you’re at it try out for President of the United States?” his father snorted.
“Now, Irwin, you know you might get hurt if you try out,” Irwin’s mother counseled.
“Oh man! Wait ’til Jeremy hears this!” Natalie chortled, a malevolent sneer on her pretty face.
“Show of hands; all those at this table who care what Jeremy thinks?” Irwin sneered at his sister.
After finishing his dinner, Irwin went to his room and did a brisk workout. The slamming of a door and voices told him there was company. A moment later, Irwin’s door burst open and a gaunt man of mid to late twenties was in Irwin’s room, piggish sneer on his loutish face.
“Hey, faggot, hear you thinking of going out for football,” Jeremy taunted.
“Hey cocksucker, hear you’re going out for prison bitch,” Irwin said. “Leave my room; I did not give you permission to enter.”
“What? Bitch, listen up,” Jeremy snarled, grabbing Irwin’s shirt.
The first punch caused Jeremy to stagger backward. The second punch bloodied Jeremy’s already disfigured nose. The third punch caused Jeremy to double over, retching drily. Irwin shoved the gasping man from his room and again closed the door.
Natalie was the next one in Irwin’s room screaming about Irwin’s impending demise. Calmly, Irwin grabbed a handful of the scrawny woman’s hair and pulled her, clawing and scratching, from his room.