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Subject: {MichaelD} "Orange County Babylon" Part 1 (mf, ff, teen, rom) (1/4)
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ORANGE COUNTY BABYLON
Disclaimer and Author's Note:
This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons is
unintentional and strictly coincidental. Although this story refers to many
real places and organizations, such mention should not be taken to imply
either a relationship or approval of any sort.
This work contains explicit descriptions of sexual activity with and between
minors, and anyone offended by such things should read no further. This story
describes certain activities that would be illegal in the real world, and it
is not the author's intention to condone such behavior or to inspire people
who cannot separate fantasy from reality. If reception of this work is
illegal due to your age or other repressive local regulations, liability for
downloading it is your problem, not mine. This work is intended solely for
the quiet and private enjoyment of adults who enjoy quality erotica, and any
other use is a violation of the copyright. Reposting and archiving is
permitted, except where a fee of any sort is required for access, provided
this disclaimer and note remain attached to the story. All other rights are
reserved.
This story, like my previous ones, is an attempt to go beyond the usual
stroke material. A few caveats are in order, however. Because this is a
novel-length work (over 110,000 words), I will be parceling it out in
sections, one every few days. Furthermore, although there is plenty of sex in
it, there are also long stretches of action where nothing remotely sexual
occurs. This is because the story is supposed to be a realistic depiction of
the protagonist's life, not simply a catalog of his sexual behavior. As in
the real world, sexual activity has certain consequences, and that is what I
have tried to accurately describe.
The reader will note fairly quickly that this story appears to fall into one
of the worst stereotypes of low-grade erotica: the football player and the
cheerleaders. To this appearance I freely confess-but there is a great deal
else going on in here. The above-mentioned football hero and cheerleaders are
not your usual stereotypes, and I have gone to great lengths to make them
three-dimensional and interesting. Proof, perhaps, that you can make a silk
purse out of a sow's ear given enough effort. Nevertheless, should you have a
congenital allergy to football, you may want to skip this, as there is plenty
of explicit sports to go with the explicit sex.
Those of you familiar with Orange County, California, will note that I have
taken certain liberties in my descriptions, particularly with the locations
and athletic programs of area high schools. I did this solely out of
laziness-I wasn't interested in researching the actual composition of the
local high school football conferences.
This work is, in many ways, a satire. The views expressed herein should not
be taken as serious commentary on either the County of Orange, the Roman
Catholic Church, or the United States Marine Corps. I make one exception to
that disclaimer, however. My descriptions of the Orange County foster care
system do not in any way resemble reality. The actual system is currently in
very dire straits, and few, if any, children who go through it have
experiences as easy and pleasant as the protagonist's. Sexual abuse of foster
children is unfortunately not uncommon, and in real life, the consequences are
far different from what I have described here.
If you missed a chapter, feel free to e-mail me, and I will be happy to
supply the missing pieces. Intelligent comments and criticisms will receive
appropriate responses. Flames and juvenile slobbering go straight to the
recycling bin.
I wake up horny and make myself come 400 times a
day.
-Ginger Lynn Allen, adult
film actress, from an
interview in Penthouse,
June 1986
"So, you're from Outer Space?"
"No, I'm from Iowa. I only work in Outer Space."
-Captain James T. Kirk,
clarifying his background
in "Star Trek IV, The
Journey Home"
You'd think that people would have had enough of
silly love songs.
I look around me, and I see it isn't so. Oh, no.
Some people want to fill the world with silly love
songs.
What's wrong with that?
-"Silly Love Songs," Paul
McCartney
To truly understand this place, you have to remember
that Orange
County was once part of Los Angeles. The secession
took place
before the turn of the century, probably before anyone
living here
now was even born, but ninety percent of the
population remains
consumed with the idea of proving to everyone else
that a) they
aren't L.A., b) they're better than L.A., and c) that
anyone with half
a brain would prefer living in Orange County. If you
talk to the
official county booster people, you'll see they have
an enormous
chip on their shoulder about this. The irony of it is
that nowadays,
if you consider all the elements that supposedly make
L.A. so bad-
the smog, the traffic, the crime, even the ethnic
tension-Orange
County is actually worse than L.A. was, say, in 1965.
We aren't all
that far apart anymore. The stereotype is that Orange
County is
filled with uptight, ultraconservative white people,
but the truth is
that if you scratch the surface, there's as much
decadence down
here as there is anywhere else.
-Fr. Steven Roberts, S.J.,
Headmaster, Academy of
the Sacred Heart
Nothing Else Comes Close
-Official marketing slogan for a
South Orange County
development community
PART ONE
I.
As it often is with momentous events, it could be traced to something
relatively trivial. Martin Luther nailed a single page of complaints to a
church door and started the Reformation. An apple hit Isaac Newton on the head
and inspired a scientific revolution whose tremors are still felt today.
Gavro Princip threw a bomb at Archduke Ferdinand and sparked a war that
destroyed two empires and jerked much of the world into the Twentieth Century.
So it also was, on a somewhat smaller scale, with a seventeen-year-old kid
named Jack O'Leary. The biggest change in Jack's life-and the lives of many
others he had not yet met-had its roots in the purchase of a cheap bottle of
whiskey.
Jack's first thought when the MAC airliner began its descent to El Toro
Marine Air Station was, This is definitely not Virginia. Whatever unseen
contrasts existed between the Norfolk-Newport News area and Southern
California-and he knew there were plenty-the change in color was enough.
Virginia had been mostly green, with some shades of gray. This place was
brown. Brown hills, brown plants, sand and sandstone-even the air was brown.
He didn't see much smog over El Toro, but north, toward Los Angeles (which was
about an hour up the freeway), everything was obscured by a brownish haze.
His mother patted his leg.
"It's much nicer than it looks, honey."
"Yes, ma'am."
"I'm sure you'll make lots of friends."
Jack could see rows of F-18's, twin-rotored CH-47 helicopters, and C-130
transport planes on the blacktop below as they began the final approach. One
of those F-18's belonged to his father. If he was lucky, he would one day fly
one himself.
After the plane landed, it taxied around to the main terminal building.
Through the airplane window, Jack saw his father waiting for them. A pair of
enlisted men passed him, saluting. When his father returned the salute, Jack
thought he could see the new silver oak leaves his father wore. He had just
been promoted to Lt. Colonel, and this assignment to El Toro was part of his
promotion to squadron executive officer.
He followed his mother out of the plane and down to the tarmac. His father
came up to them, hugging his mother, then Jack.
"How was the flight, sport?"
"Fine, sir."
Jack resisted the urge to salute him, as he had once done as a child. He
had stopped when he was old enough to know it was improper-civilians, even
dependent civilians, didn't salute the military. Until he had earned the
right to wear the uniform his father now wore, he had to wait.
"I talked to the headmaster at your school this morning, Jack," his father
said. "His name is Father Roberts. He sounds like a good man. I was
impressed. I wanted to be sure he understood everything about your
application to the Naval Academy. He said he's looking forward to meeting
you."
"Yes, sir."
"Still not interested in football?"
"I don't think so, sir."
"Too bad. Father Roberts tried to talk me into it. He said they have a good
team this year, but they need all the size they can get. He was looking at
your wrestling records, and thought you might want to try out."
Jack's father was a big man, an inch or two over six feet, but over the last
year, Jack had gotten bigger. He was slightly taller, but thanks to three
years on the wrestling team, Jack probably weighed a good twenty pounds more.
"I just don't want to do anything to hurt my grades, sir."
"Well, small-school football isn't like it is at the larger schools. I don't
think it would take as much time away from your studies here. But it's your
decision."
"Yes, sir."
He helped his father with the bags, and followed him to a staff car outside
the terminal. They loaded the bags into the trunk, and his father drove them
to the married officer housing. They would be living there until his parents
found a house nearby.
"You ready to start going to school with girls again, sport?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'm still not completely happy about this, Richard," his mother said.
"Honey, he'll be fine. This is the closest church to the base, and it would
not help his grades to have him commuting forty-five minutes every morning to
that other school. I talked to Father Roberts about this, and he assured me
that the atmosphere at Sacred Heart is nothing to be concerned about. He was
quite emphatic about that."
Jack squirmed in the back seat, but said nothing. His parents had had this
discussion more than once, and it always made him very uncomfortable. He had
attended an all-male parochial school in Norfolk, and his mother had wanted
him to finish high school at a similar school here, but it was simply too far
away for him to do it.
She turned around in her seat to look at Jack.
"Honey, you know I trust you. This isn't about you. I just don't want
anything to distract you from your schoolwork."
"Yes, ma'am."
"You promise me you'll focus on your studies and not pay too much attention
to the girls?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Jack had no worries about keeping his promise. He had never known what to do
around girls, no matter if most of them seemed to find him attractive. He had
yet to go on a real date, and didn't think he was likely to until he got to
college.
"All right," his mother said. "I guess we're going to do this."
His parents spent much of that week looking at new homes in the developments
around El Toro. His mother complained incessantly about the high prices, even
though the agent assured them that things were even more expensive toward Los
Angeles. Jack had met no one his age, but figured he would when school
started in a couple of weeks.
That Friday, his parents went out to dinner, as they did most Fridays when
his father wasn't out of the country.
"We should be back about nine, sweetie."
"Yes, ma'am. Have fun."
Jack's mother kissed him on the cheek, and he watched her follow his father
out to the car. Jack would sometimes go out with his friends when his parents
went to dinner (home by midnight, of course), but right now, he didn't know
anyone to go out with.
Jack ate the dinner his mother had prepared, sitting quietly at the kitchen
table. When he was done, he cleaned up the table, wiped off the counters, and
put his dishes in the dishwasher. He spent half an hour studying his Bible
(the last half of Kings II), then decided it would be all right to watch some
television.
Midnight came and went without Jack's parents returning. After twelve, he
began to get worried, but he wasn't sure what to do. His parents were not
into staying out late unless they went to a movie, which they hadn't planned
to do that night. He thought of calling someone, but it was getting too late
for that. In any case, he didn't really know whom to call. He figured they
must have gone somewhere else after dinner and forgotten to call him. It
hadn't happened before, but he supposed there had to be a first time for
everything.
He wasn't used to staying up this late, even on a Friday, and he dozed off on
the couch. At one-thirty, a knock on the front door jerked him out of his
sleep. He looked out the living room window and saw a Marine staff car parked
out front.
He opened the door to find the base Catholic chaplain. He wore a very somber
look on his face that frightened Jack to his core.
"Jack? I'm Father Mitchell, we met earlier this week."
"Hello, sir."
"I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but your parents have been in a
very serious auto accident. They were struck by a drunk driver who ran a red
light."
"Are they dead?"
"No, but they're in the hospital in very critical condition. They sent me to
get you."
Jack followed Father Mitchell out to his car, heart pounding, and they drove
to Hoag Hospital in Newport Beach. When they got to the emergency room, Jack
ran up to the admitting desk.
"I'm Jack O'Leary, how are my parents?"
The nurse turned and called one of the doctors over. From the look on his
face, Jack knew what had happened before he said anything.
"Jack, I'm very sorry. Your parents both died about twenty minutes ago.
There was nothing we could do. They were too badly injured."
"No! Oh, God, no!"
Jack collapsed against Father Mitchell's shoulder.
For the first time in his life, he wanted to shout out obscenities against
God. And anyone else who would listen.
--
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