The third floor as ours at last. I drag John Boy into our bedroom, to the laughs of ‘Gator and his harem. Together at last.
Sitting on the bedroom, John Boy eyes me warily.
“That’s the plan – mad, crazy fucking,” I announce loudly.
“Shh. They’ll hear,” John Boy warns.
“Maybe they need a push of encouragement.”
“They ain’t doin’ it themselves?”
“If you believe ‘Gator.”
“We should give ‘em lessons,” John Boy giggles.
Conspiring together makes me feel romantic which is all the encouragement my boner needs. Grabbing him, I twirl us around, and tuck him into a tight hug. I pull his head to french him long and deep. He wraps his legs around my waist while I walk us to the bed. Falling together, I rotate our bodies so he falls on top of me instead of me crushing him. He’s crushing badly, while our dicks engorge to greet each other. I relax, letting go of any control as I feel his dick straining underneath the layers of clothing that separate us. I calmly undo his belt and unbutton the school trousers he wears. He is pulling my jeans down. Our frantic kissing betrays the impulsive need we have for the real action to come. I purposely refrain from the mad crazy need to take him, relaxing at his need to have me. My passive side loves to let him lead. He has my jeans pulled half-way down my thighs. He breaks off the kissing to pull his trousers and briefs down, exposing his perky butt. My dick is at full attention. Taking the drool the French kissing has stimulated, John Boy slathers my dick, smears his ass, and impales himself on my hard-on. I arch as he easily slides down the pole. Bouncing back up, he expels my straining dick for the briefest second before plunging it back inside as he sits on it. His butt checks press into my groin. The sensation is so great for him that he begins to shudder from the pleasure and pressure of my rigid dick. He continues to bounce rapidly with the least amount of up and down. His butt squeezes and releases me. We are staring intently in each other’s eyes. My breathing quickens and becomes ragged. I’m rapturously enjoying the ride when my dick does its slight turn inward at the tip. I’m about to climax less than a minute into our fucking. It feels too good to stop. I silently curse my passive reaction but can’t stop the explosion. Holding him firmly to my lap, I arch upward and ride the spasms my dick repeatedly cause with multiple orgasmic spurts that start below my balls to the depths of his stomach. He whimpers as the blasts recede and decline. I collapse into the bed, still deep inside him while he clings to me. His ass continues to throb and soon my spent dick is pushed out. I roll over and present my ass for his pleasure. When John Boy is slow to jump me, I wiggle my ass at him. Soon I’m impaled by my favorite garden hose. That sinking, giving-in feeling I relish takes over as we fuck doggy-style. Fully penetrated I look back at him, expecting to see John Boy lost into his fucking. Instead, he’s crying while barely going in and out of my ass.
I expel the garden hose and roll over, hugging his sobbing body.
“What’s wrong? It was great until I saw your tears,” I ask.
“You don’t love me anymore! What happened to mad crazy fucking? I’ve been yearning to have you inside me but you were done in less than a minute.”
All I could think is we were two hapless bottoms, unable to satisfy each other. I kiss him gently, but that was the opposite of what he wants. He reaches his arms around me, hugging me as tightly as he can. It’s a disaster. The tears run out. He’s soon sound asleep on my chest. My proudest quality, my dick, let us down. The old me would have fucked Jack until he begged me to finish. I need to call Dr. Kam for advice. Maybe that’s what’s wrong. I’m analyzed and incapable of being a teen-aged animal. I slap my dick and fall asleep locked in our embrace. I dream about bowling.
I’m awake early, to go milk the cows with ‘Gator. Jack is snuggled up next to me, as is his want. It feels nice to wake up in his embrace. Our failed sexscapade that night is now a dull memory. John Boy’s morning wood presses between my butt cheeks. Avoiding a repeat of the previous failure, I roll him away and position my hard-on against his anal lips. He shudders as I press slightly into the passage. Scooting down I stick my tongue into the inviting entrance. Lathering him with spit I lick my way past his anal ring. He moans with satisfaction as I roll my tongue into a piercing instrument. I rapidly invade his inner sanctum, then retracting as he squeezes my tongue. He slowly awakens to my invasion. I know he wants it rough, whereas I need him to accept my loving sex play. Once he realizes I’m ignoring his demands, he gives into my ministrations. He squirms as I pinch his pebble-hard nipples, jumping at the sharp stimulation. Rolling him over I nibble at first one and then the other nipple. Tentative bites keep him startled. I test his horniness by licking up his neck, approaching his quivering lips. I wonder if he’ll be revolted with a kiss. My lips grasp and gently squeezed his lower lip. He moans and grasps my upper lip with his upper one. I relax with a sigh, knowing he isn’t bothered about where my month has been. We continue the double lip lock, pulling away and reconnecting with passion. Our breathing becomes heavy and we’re moaning. I plunge my pointed tongue into his mouth. It’s greeted by its mate. A conversation of love and need is exchanged in spit, saliva and repeated moans. My hands massage up and down John Boy’s back as he rocks against me in rapturous embrace. His closed eyes snap open when I grab both his butt cheeks and rub my thumbs across the anal opening. His legs wrap around my waist, squeezing me in need of penetration. My previous reluctance to meet his need makes his eyes search wildly for my intention. He isn’t to be denied. My dick is straining to be inside him.
“Fuck me,” John Boy knows what he wants and I need. Crazy mad fucking.
The whole analysis burden slips off my shoulders. I jerk in wild involuntary animal humps deep inside of John Boy.
Each time my humping slow, he yells, “I love you. I love you.”
I go on forever with our love-fucking, crazy mad or sweet and sad. No stopping. His garden hose dick begins whipping back and forth across my stomach muscles. Streaks of pre-cum spread across my abs.
“We’re going to cum together,” I order.
“I’m ready,” he whispers.
“Now. I’m right on the edge.”
I pull one hand away from his butt and grab his tightening gonads, leaving the other hand holding his ass firmly pressed to my plunging dick. John Boy’s dick keeps whipping against my stomach. His scrotum tries to pull his balls up into his groin. I massage them to keep him from climaxing. He’s squealing from pain and frustration. Plunging as far as possible into his love canal, I hold still, feeling my dick make its upward turn in anticipation of the impending orgasm. I let his balls go as they snap against the base of his shaft. He explodes in a fountain of cascading spurts, flying over my head. I let loose a single powerful surge deep inside John Boy. I hold back as his belly is contracts with each subsequent spurt. I’m covered in sperm and cum – in my hair, on my face and across my chest and stomach. As his spasms slow, I let loose another jet of jism deep inside him. He shudders and cums a final mini-spurt. Knowing he’s done, I let loose my full orgasm, shooting five time before collapsing on top of him. I reach behind his head and pull his mouth to mine for more kissing. My dick remains deep inside, continuing to ride him until the stimulation makes me start shaking and shuddering.
“I love you so much,” John Boy whispers in an ear. My dick instantly gets the message and regains its full glory. With no preparation, I started fucking him again, with rapid in and out thrusts. Never slowing down, I reach climax quickly, holding still as my straining dick releases time and again. John Boy cums as well, with a minimal result expelling. He’s done. I keep fucking after our mutual orgasm until he shudders from the over-stimulation. His breathing is ragged and uneven. It slowly returns to normal until he falls sound asleep. I’m still inside him. As I finally pull out, a flood of semen drains from his ass and puddles on the sheets. I pull us away from the mess and go to sleep myself.
A quiet knock comes from the outside of our locked bedroom door.
“Andy,” ‘Gator whispers.
I pull on my briefs and let him in. He slyly grins at John Boy, spread-eagle on his back in the tossed sheets.
“Y’all woke everyone up,” he confides.
“Is that a surprise?” I counter.
“If’n yer a good Regis Catholic boy who thinks John Boy come here fer the bowlin.’”
“Oh. Ya thinks they heard us.”
“They was all gathered on the stairs. I tolds ‘em I has to work extree hard keeping two girls satisfied. They was shocked but John Boy’s secret is safe.”
“Thanks, ‘Gate. Yer the perfect excuse.”
“Y’all wanna go milk some cows. Ya looks a mite peaked from the fucking.”
“A bit of tittie squeezin’ may be good fer me. John Boy’s tits is hard and small as a pebble.”
He punches me as we laugh. I get dressed and find ‘Gator on the second floor. All the Regis boys volunteer to learn milking. His supposed prowess with the twins make him an instant hero to repressed Catholic boys. I figure that the Ames comfort girls are in for it after the tournament. Regis may be distracted at bowling with their focus on a new main event.
The NY boys are awkward around farm equipment and animals. ‘Gator, his dad, and I each took one boy to show them the ropes. The fourth Regis boy stayed back at Hyland House, to ‘protect’ John Boy. My trainee is Seamus, fresh-faced and Irish-American. He practices on Bessie, who calmly accepts his initial fumbling with her teats. Irishmen come in two types: fishermen or farmers. Seamus quickly find his inner farm boy groove. Once he masters hooking up Bessie to the milking machine, we quickly work through our assigned cows. Another boy, Finn, encounters initial difficulty approaching his first cow. ‘Gator’s dad laughs as the boy gets kicked in the butt when he can’t attach the suction cups. More comfortable at fishing, he starts singing a sailor shanty
and the cows relax for him. All three boys are able to handle the milking by the time we’re due home for breakfast. Mrs. ‘Gator invites all of us in for breakfast. I declined, saying, “My mom will be disappointed if they miss her special weekend breakfast of blueberry pancakes.”
Driving home in the bed of ‘Gator’s pickup, I ask Seamus why the fourth boy needs to ‘protect’ Jack (as they called him).
“From the Baptists. We promised the Monseigneur we’d protect him.”
“Oh, those evil Baptists are from a hick town. We all sing in the local Baptist church choir. They love Jack.”
“I hear that he was attacked and almost died.”
“It’s sure nice y’all wants ta protect ‘im.”
“Monseigneur told us he’s gonna be a saint someday.”
I laugh, remembering how intensely he needed to be fucked that morning.
“You cahn laugh all you wahnt, but we came to protect him. Bowling’s not a real high school spoht, anyways.”
I laugh. “Y’all kin sandbag it taday, then.”
“Naw. We’ll show you country boys how it’s done,” he brags.
Mom outdoes herself with pancakes, eggs, bacon, and cinnamon rolls. By the time we are stuffed, no one believes we can bowl our best games. But it’s time for the Iowa High School State Championships. Ames Lanes is a beehive of activity. Their evening league organization is in charge of running the tournament. A long line of competitors snakes across the lobby to check-in. The Regis boys wear their blazers and ties and are carrying a banner that announces they are from New York City. A buzz is in the air about ‘foreigners’ invading Iowa. The more home-spun appearance of the country high schools’ teams adds to the disparity. Several out-of-town coaches objects to non-Iowans in the tournament. It is explained that Regis is ineligible to be Iowa Champion, but with bowling a new high school sport, they would compete with the Iowa winner for national bowling championship status. Lane assignments are made and posted for each pair of competitors. After checking in, most high schoolers go straight to the bake sale. Quickly the muffins and cookies from the Cheerleading squad are sold out. The French Club’s pattiseries are mostly overlooked until they are all that is left and are tentatively consumed by ravenous teenagers. The girls teach their customers to exclaim, ‘C’est magnifique.’
My personal concern is the appearance of a team from Harlan. I notice them looking and pointing at John Boy, who is oblivious as ever with his new teammates. I walk up to Seamus and point out the interest being paid John Boy by the Harlan team.
“They’s from where Jack was snake-bit,” I warn Seamus.
He goes immediately on military-alert. Regis has a large high school ROTC corps. The French Club girls are recruited as protectors. A Harlan boy casually walks by, hissing, “Devil’s spawn,” and “Satan worshipper.” The Regis boys surround him, causing the rest of the Harlan team to rush to his defense. It takes Coach Ball and several other coaches several minutes to separate the combatants. The Harlan coach refuses to discipline the boy who made the remarks, citing free speech. The tournament director decides to play the national anthem, signaling the start of the competition. The Regis boys, including John Boy, snap to attention and salute the American flag draped at the end of the lanes. After the recording ends, the Harlan coach goes to the announcer and insisted on reciting the Lord’s Prayer. The Regis boys kneel and recite their Catholic version while most of the Iowan teams raise their eyes and wave their hands toward Heaven. A détente is established. John Boy is startled that he caused such a raucous, while his protectors and fag hags surround him as guards.
The initial pairings are announced and competition is confined to the lanes. A large scoreboard is next to the announcer’s table. There are twelve high schools competing, each with five mixed pairs. All twenty lanes are in use. It takes three rounds of three games for each team to complete the competition. As each game finishes, the scores are posted and a running total kept on each school’s score. Ames decides to save our best bowlers for the last round. Surprisingly, we remain in the running after the first two rounds. Some schools have only one team in the final round. We are among those that have two pairs. As they are our best bowlers, the local fans are getting excited about our chances to win. The Regis team adopts John Boy’s etiquette rules. Along with the French Club girls, they praise their opponents with ‘ooh la la’s’ and ‘bonne chance.’ They win new friends with each round. Although scored separately from the Iowan teams, everyone keeps a close watch at their scores as they are posted. After two rounds, because they had already posted four of their five teams, Regis is far ahead. Ames, with two teams in the final round, seems out of contention. It’s ‘Gator and Amy plus Angie and me in the final round. ‘Gator’s intense competitiveness is infectious. If he rolls a strike, Amy somehow follows with another. Angie and I are in the next lane. Soon we are matching them ball for ball. John Boy and his partner, Ellen but now going by Eloise, were next to Angie and me. They catch the spirit of competition as well. Strike after strike is rolled. From being unable to break 100 in the Fall, I suddenly bowl a personal best 165 in my first game, Angie tops me with a 167, Amy was 180 and ‘Gator rolled a 187. Ames moves up in the rankings, leading all the schools who had two teams in the final round. If we keep it up, we’ll be the Iowa State Champs. All the cheerleaders and French Club girls are cheering us on. After two games, Ames has moved into first place on the board. The only team ahead of Ames is Regis. In disparagement of Harlan, all the local high schools are cheering for us against the ‘foreigners.’ Harlan crowds behind John Boy and Eloise, screaming invective and hatred at them. John Boy rises to the challenge and is bowling beyond his normal average. As the final game progresses, the score board is updated on every frame. Ames is posting four scores each frame to Regis’s two. Their lead steadily diminishes. It all comes down to the tenth frame. A strike in the tenth gives the bowler two more balls to be added to their final score. Amy and ‘Gator roll strikes. Angie and I followed with strikes. John Boy also has a strike but Eloise gets a 7-10 split on her first ball. She has to ‘pick-up’ the spare in order to get a final ball. The twins roll together in perfect synch. Their balls hit right in the pocket – strikes. John Boy rolls a strike. We all had two more balls except Eloise has to make her spare to get a final roll at all ten-pins.
John Boy huddles with Eloise, pumping her up for the crucial roll.
“Croissant,” he yells at the bake sale table. “Porte un croissant a ma Eloise.”
The fag hags push through the gathered crowd with the French super food. As she munches on her croissant, John Boy coaches her on the only way to make a spare with single pins in opposite sides of the lane – send the ball teetering on the edge of the gutter so it nudges the number ten pin sideways, sliding across and taking out the seven pin on the other side of the lane.
“Eloise, Eloise, cut the cheese, cut the cheese,” an impromptu cheer is cried out and picked up by all the Iowans. She smiles and raises her hands to still the crowd. The Harlan boys are hissing and hurling insults at John Boy. The ball rolls slowly down the right side of the lane keeping a straight line above the gutter. The ten pin skitters across the lane but misses the remaining pin. She immediately rolls again, taking down the seven pin but she was through. “Merde,” cries the French Club.
The twins finish out their tenth frames. The scoreboard shows Ames behind Regis by 20 pins. If ‘Gator and I fail to strike or spare to close out the tenth frame, all John Boy needs is a single pin to win it for Regis. If we both threw strikes, there is nothing John Boy can do to catch us. ‘Gator is first up. The cheer, ‘strike out, strike out,’ exhorts him. He has never struck out in anything. Without a distracting thought, he throws two perfect strikes. The score is tied. ‘Gator has struck out. The twins run up and hug him simultaneously.
“You can do this, Andy,” ‘Gator comes up and pats me on the butt, “Get on the alley and knock ’em all down.” The butt pat is my acceptance as a true jock. I throw a good ball but the head pin fails to go down. I bowl out with a spare.
John Boy goes to the line. He turns to the screaming crowd and bows. The Harlan team is in a frenzy, shouting religious curses and prayers for him to fail, several girls are rolling on the floor and cursing in tongues. The Regis boys form a phalanx to guard their boy, unfurling their school banner – ‘Regis Knights.’ John Boy is nonplussed by the commotion. I walk over to him, whispering, “I want you to beat me, These hicks are arseholes,” in my best Julian Lennon impersonation. Then, I kiss him. The cheering stops, except for the Harlan team, which is silent from apoplexy, all writhing on the ground.
It’s too much for the boy. A strike would have won it; he gets another seven-ten split. If he must make both pins, or else, Regis will lose. The crowd is still. One of his fag hags runs through the crowd with a croissant. John Boy raises it and exclaims, “Ah, la gloire.”
He pulls his ball from the return rack, walks to the line and measures the spot to start his roll. He is determined to make the split. Bowing to the crowd, he turns, takes a breath, and launches his ball after a three-step approach. Instead of careful finesse, his ball flies with maximum force down the edge of the gutter. The ten pin spins wildly toward the seven. All the crowd holds their breath. The pin spins around the standing seven pin, barely nudging it. It teeters but fails to go down. A huge cheer roars as the crowd jumps up and down. Ames has won by one pin. The whole building is rocking. John Boy hang his head. He has failed. Then, one of the fag hags screams, “Voyez, voyez. Look,” pointing at the end of John Boy’s alley. The building’s shaking has the lane vibrating. The seven pin moves, slowly edging toward the left gutter. Someone scream, “Stop,” but it’s too late. The seven pin tumbles into the gutter. The score is tied.
Coaches rush to the scorer’s table. Coach Ball argues that the pin had been influenced by the crowd’s cheering, not John Boy’s bowling. The Regis team threatens to sue if it isn’t allowed. Their argument is delayed when the entire Harlan team, including the girls, mass to attack John Boy. The Regis Knights are right there to defend him. The French Club girls attack the Harlan girls, resulting in a scrum of hair pulling and screeching girls rolling on the floor. All the other Iowa teams are egging on the girls, enjoying a cat fight, as boys always do. Their girl teammates watch in disgust. The Ames crowd quickly lines up to defend John Boy, still a local in their minds. The announcer comes on the PA.
“The results of the first ever Iowa State High School Bowling Championships are now final.”
He stops until everyone was listening. “With a score of 2730 pins, Ames High School is Iowa State Champions.”
A subdued cheer goes up. The Iowa title is not in dispute.
“For the putative United States National High School Championship,” the announcer pauses for effect, “we have co-champions, the Regis High School Knights from New York City, and our local heroes, Ames High School Cyclones. We aim high.”
A big cheer breaks out from the Regis boys and all the local fans and team members, who stood up to defend John Boy. All the other Iowa teams look dispirited, plus the Harlan team goes back to their holy rolling and speaking in tongues in disgust at the outcome.
“After the awarding of team trophies and individual medals, everyone, winners and losers, is invited to the local Pizza Pit for a celebration. Ames High has planned a rock n roll surprise, so wear yer dancin’ shoes.”
I run over to hug John Boy.
“We both won. How ‘bout that?” I yell.
He opens his mouth but can’t speak. His eyes grow wide and tears start to fall.
“Ain’t no thing,” I tell him. “We’ll celebrate like it’s 1999.
Ya don’ts needs ta speak, jist smile.” I push his lips into an idiot grin. Doomed to the sounds of silence.
In a panic, I drag John Boy into the Mens, locking a stall door behind us. I pull his trousers down and proceeded to suck his hard dick. I kneel before him as he stands while I suck him off.
“Like that?” I try to get him to respond.
He leans forward and opens his mouth, yet no words come out. I stand and pull out my hard-on. He greedily sucks it into his mouth and surrounds it with his lips and tongue. I notice Jace kneeling below me, continuing the blow job on John Boy.
“Is he refusing to speak? Or, is he traumatized by the Harlan kids as well as the pressure of the bowling tournament?” I ask Jace.
“He’s trying to speak. It won’t work. I think he’s missing you already. He returns to the City tomorrow.”
“That sucks. Doesn’t he want to sing with the band at the Pizza Pit party today?”
I wait as Jace gets John Boy’s answer to my question.
“He’d forgotten about the party. He says he can still play guitar. Leaving you is all he can think about. He loves that everyone defended him from the Harlan witch hunters.”
“He needs to stay, then. This is more his home than the Dakota.”
“He knows that Mommy won’t relent once she learns he’s lost his speech again. She’ll blame Ames.”
“Let me try my way to cure him.”
I sit him on the john and throw his legs over my shoulders as I kneel down again. My tongue begins slathering his ass with spit while my thumbs massage his butt cheeks. He starts moaning, as well as ragged, rapid breathing. At least he can moan.
My tongue invades his ass, darting in and out. His dick s leaking pre-cum as his anal lips squeeze my invading tongue. I can feel his prostrate calling for me (not really).
“What do you want?” I challenge him to tell me.
He mumbles and moans, unable to fully express his need to be fucked. Straightening up on my knees, my dick teases his anal opening, spreading pre-cum across the lips. I need to be inside him.
“What do you want? Tell me you need me inside.”
His mumbling becomes urgent but still incoherent. I can’t wait any longer, plunging deep into his ass, plowing the fertile fields with firm thrusts in and halfway out. His knees wrap around me. I lift him from the john, standing up and holding him against the stall walls. I rut into him like an animal. He squeals in high-pitched moans. Jace turns his head and is Frenching him to stop the squealing. On and on I rut into him. His garden hose goes off, spraying in different directions as it whips back and forth. Even as my dick turns upward in preparation of cumming, I can’t stop rutting into him. I go off as soon as he stops cumming. We’re done.
“Like that?” I demand.
He nods but still is speechless. I kind of like him that way. But I fail to cure him. I start to regret that he won’t sing when the band plays that afternoon.
“Ready for pizza?”
He nods. We straighten our clothes and march out of the bathroom. ‘Gator winks and the girls looked embarrassed. Not many spectators and competitors don’t know what happened in there. Details are not requested.
“He’s still not talking,” I confess. John Boy shrugs and looks embarrassed.
“Kin ya still play guitar?” ‘Gator ask him directly, but John Boy merely nods.
“Then yer good to go,” ‘Gator s excited. It’s his musical debut. “It’s off to the Pit.”
We had pre-positioned our equipment. My manager, Tom, is excited there will be music in his restaurant. He probably envisions the Pit as a dinner club with live mood music. The tables are arranged to clear a decent space for the crowd. A buffet of various pizza pies is laid out. The bake sale is a huge success. It will be unlimited pizza for all the bowlers and their supporters. Tom promises to keep the buffet well stocked. The twins request veggies.
“Ya means veggie pizzas?” Tom isn’t sure of the concept.
“How about salad ingredients and dressings for a salad buffet.”
“We kin call it a salad bar,” Tom enthuses. “They does that up there in Wisconsin.”
It takes about a New York minute for the Pit to fill up and everyone to get their first slice. We are in no rush, except for ‘Gator who’s revved up as tight as a drum, ready to play drums for the first time in public.
“Calm down, Gate. Have a slice and revel in being a national champion.”
His eyes light up. “Hell, we’s State Champs in football. Now I’s a national champ. Cain’t git much better than that.” He has a slice in each hand. Tom promises unlimited pizza. He may come to regret that. Once we have our fill of pizza, we gather to set-up the guitars, basses and drums.
“How’s it gonna go, Captain?” ‘Gator is antsy to start his first show.
“We gots ta git ‘em dancing.’” I explain our strategy. “Let’s do the Jacksons’ ‘ABC.’”
“Cain’t we do a Osmonds song?” He complains.
“These boys will git up and say, ‘Look at me, the honky. I’m a’gonna do the Chicken to Deep Purple.’”
The twins burst out laughing while John Boy mugs he’s about to vomit.
“We’ll do the Jacksons,” I decide. ‘Gator does his own mugging.
“Welcome bowlers and hangers-on. Welcome to the Pit. Part of bowlin’ is pizza afterwards. Ol’ Tom has promised to keep the slices a’comin,’ so we need y’all dancin’ to maintain yer slender physiques. No need to be lookin’ like linemen.” as I wink at ‘Gator. “Give a hand for Tom and the Pizza Pit.”
“Here’s a catchy tune by the Jackson 5,” I shout over the cheers for Tom. “Let’s get all the bowlin’ partners up here fer dancing.’”
“Now, that’s the tune we first played way back in 11th grade. John Boy and his Regis Knights didn’t come all this way to hear 60’s pop. Here’s the song about our days in Miami, ‘Sneakin’ Around.”
‘ Sneaking around
Never been caught
All over town
Better than not.
Thrill’s in the chase
No time to waste
Folks on my case
All is in haste.
Waiting’s the worst
You were my first
I need you now
We’re on the prowl.
Back of an alley
Sprawled in the dirt
No time to dally
Who will cum first.
shaka shaka love?
shaka shaka love shaka shaka
Shaka shaka love shaka shaka.’
That one word, cum, gets everyone’s attention, but the dancers never stop moving. The coaches look startled, but no one is ready to shut us down yet.
I pull John Boy over. “Ya ready ta sing yet?”
He opens his mouth but nothing comes out.
“Well, then, we’ll do the monkeyshines and see if’n y’all can grunt like a monkey.”
“This here song always gets us in and outta trouble when Southern boys are ready to attack and cause trouble after we’s done.
Makes a stand
To take his joy
Going hand to hand
Flying out free
Branch to branch
Through the trees
“Free to be
A monkey like me
Ha ha ha
He he he
Haw haw haw
Chee chee chee
John Boy is off and swinging, up onto tables, mocking boys in front of their girlfriends, shimmying with the girls, and escaping from their boyfriends who tend to give chase after being disrespected. He tries singing the monkey words, but ends up grunting and scratching himself like a monkey. In the back of the Pit, the Harlan team huddles, unsure of what they are seeing. Once John Boy notices them, he can’t help himself from openly mocking them. He finds his voice, “Ha ha ha, He he he, Haw haw haw, Chee chee chee.” He is proving Darwin’s Theory of De-evolution, right in their faces. The girls drop to the floor, holy rolling and speaking tongues. John Boy flops down with the girls, going into spasms and convulsions in a dance he later names ‘the Snake.’ It’s too much for the Harlan boys, and they attack. The Regis Knights are right there to defend their boy. A serious brawl breaks out in the back, with real punches thrown and woe to anyone who goes down; kicks and punches hail all around.
Tom has a meltdown seeing his Pizza Pit damaged by a brawl. He dials 911 and the Ames PD are quickly summoned. Knowing that the approaching sirens will blame us, we quickly take down our amps and drums, watching from outside as the cops make quick work of separating the brawlers. Police brutality isn’t required to restore the peace. Justice is meted out with wrist slaps, telling the Regis boys they weren’t welcome in Iowa if they act like gangsters and the Harlan hicks to keep their religious intolerance back home in the sticks. ‘Gator is pissed as he hasn’t had enough free pizza.