Author’s note…I cheated. Burt and Lacy, as you will see, are my tribute to Robert Lindsay and Zoe Wannamaker’s portrayals of the parents Harper in the British comedy, “My Family“. My daughters introduced me to the show, and these two are a riot. I admit, the smoke colour joke is direct from the show.
However…this is the start of a spin-off. A continuation of my “Have Some Class” series as teacher, Graham Stone, got his university class laid…and the beginning of “Jock and His Bevy of Puck Bunnies”, my attempt to bring an erotic edge to the world of professional hockey…I just hope this fucker works.
So, I would love it if you would all join me over here in this dimly lit room…I promise, I won’t bite…just turn the red light on…but press play first…
“Burt, I need help.”
“Really, Lacy? You finally figured this out?” He glanced away from the sports section in his hands just long enough to check his watch.
“I need you to taste this.” She stood over the boiling pot with a wooden spoon awaiting his lips. “I’m not trying to poison you.”
His gray eyes flicked up to the stream rising from the put. “What color is the smoke? Last time it was that color, I ended up I’m a hospital bed for a week.”
Lacy rolled her green eyes. “No you didn’t.”
“Maybe it induced the nightmare where I dreamed I was in a hospital bed for a week. Either way, not sure this would be in my best interest.”
Jock walked into the room to find his parents, as usual, in mid bicker.
“Oh, Johnny. Come taste this and tell me what you think.” She pushed the spoon his direction. Though his name was Jock, Lacy always insisted on calling him Johnny after her father.
Ten paces away, Jock stopped. “Ummmm…I’m going out for dinner, but thanks.”
Pushing his glasses down his nose, Burt looked over them at his son. “You’ll make her happy, son. Probably keep me from the hospital as well.”
It had always felt as though Jock had been born into a Britcom. He was born here, in Toronto, but his parents had immigrated from England when Lacy got “accidentally” pregnant. Even now, almost twenty-five years later, they argued like a married couple from London should…yet they had never married. Some political statement about beating the proverbial man at his own game. Jock never figured that bit out and, although he could listen through their accents, he could never bring company home.
“Thanks, dad, but think you enjoy the hospital more than I would.” He walked past and patted Burt on the receding hairline of his dyed brown hair. Moving his mother’s dyed blonde hair and kissed her cheek. “Catch’ya later, mum.”
Watching Jock squeak his sneakers on the linoleum floor, pick up his hockey equipment and slip from the apartment with the hollow wooden door shutting, Burt smiled. “Lacy, my darling…you know what this means?”
A quick grin and the wooden spoon dropped into the pot. “Yes, I think I do.” Her hands flew across the knobs to turn off the stove.
Pulling his cell from the holster with impressive speed, he hit speed dial. “Get undressed, I’ll order the pizza.”
Jock stepped into the cold Port Credit night. The night before New Years 2012, and it was damned cold with just a touch of snow falling. A week, he had, to complete the homework that he had been assigned in his literature course.
Being Gillian, his girlfriend, was gone home to Kansas City for the holidays to see her family…he had no idea how he could possibly get laid and then write about it. He had considered phone sex but, with how conservative Gill’s family was, that seemed extremely unlikely.
Port Credit was a section of Mississauga…the city that bordered Toronto on the west as Lake Ontario took a slight turn south. Specifically, Port Credit was the lake shore area just west of Hurontario Street…the center vein running through the entire city of Mississauga. There were boutique shops, seafood restaurants and apartments along the north side of Lake Shore Drive.
Walking along the street heading west, he turned north on Stavebank and made his way to Port Credit Memorial Arena. It was a place he had played hockey as a child…gliding his ten-year old frame across the ice, skating circles around all of his colleagues and opponents. Of course, this was why he had been drafted by the newest NHL expansion team, the Grand Rapids Guardians that would begin play in the upcoming fall. They had called him the next Bobby Orr…or Randy Gregg, considering he was working on a degree in medicine on the side.
Similar to Randy Gregg, the hockey had been secondary when he began school. Now, however, it was hard to avoid. Jock would be an old rookie, but he would be a hockey rookie with a PhD. His speed was what got the comparisons to Orr…and his scoring from the blue line. At six-foot nine, however, Jock towered over both of those he had been compared to when he had met them the year prior at the NHL draft.
Jock walked into the barn-like arena and, upon sight, his near rock-star status took over.
The teens in the front lobby, almost screamed seeing him walk in. Without asking, one of the older arena officials took his bag and put it in a private locker room…just for Jock. He was ushered into the arena, without payment, to see two teen teams playing shinny on the ice pad.
Word of mouth and mobiles quickly spread and the arena that would normally hold about twenty to forty parents of the players on the rink, filled to its capacity of 250.
As the final buzzer for the game went, Jock found himself pushed on to the ice, stick in hand, and playing with the children. He even, jokingly, play-fought one young roughian as the crowd egged them on.
With a big smile, the referee put him in the penalty box for a five-minute fighting major.
Jock stepped off the ice into the box, listening to the crowd’s screams. His bigger surprise, however, was finding a young brunette waiting for him there. Her curls and brown eyes memorized him as he sat and closed the door.
Without a word, she went to work on him…digging into his hockey pants until she found what she desired…his erection.
Jock, eyes wide, kept watch and realized that no one else was watching as his penis was warmed by her mouth and the penalty clock ticked down…well, except the referee who skated past with a wink.
The brunette’s mouth was heavenly…warm…wet…and so inviting. She worked hard as the penalty was only five minutes…and she wanted cum.
Jock did…with about twenty seconds to go in the penalty…then quickly did all up before he skated back out on the ice only to be hip checked to the ground by an eager twelve-year-old.
I laughed so hard, that I almost could not get back up to my skates.
Graham sat quietly and listened to the silence of the class with his mouth catching flies.
Jock turned to look at him.
Sitting up and wiping his hand down his bearded chin, Graham finally found words. “You’re that Jock Steele?”
The young man chuckled and nodded.
Graham turned to the class. “Ladies and gentlemen, it seems we have a rock-star among us.”
They all gasped in amazement.
“So you are finishing your degree this year?”
Again, Jock nodded. “Yes, sir. One might say I already have and that this course is one of the two electives I had to finish before next season.”
“So you’ll be defense and team doctor?”
“Any comments?” Graham asked the class.
One hand shot up.
Graham nodded. “Mister Zorn. Your comment?”
Trevor Zorn turned his blue eyes on Jock. “That story was complete fabrication, wasn’t it? I mean the meat of the story, as it were, with the brunette in the penalty box.”
His eye brows raised. “Yes, it was. The rest was true…but have you ever tried to have sex with hockey pants on?”
Zorn smiled. “My point exactly. I love the description of your parents, though.”
“Well done, Mr. Zorn,” Graham encouraged. “Fuck the hat…how about a little afternoon delight? you’re next.”
The colour drained from Zorn’s already pale face.