The script called for us to fake a vicious, back-handed slap – and we usually did it so well the audience gasped. I got ready for Jackson to make his move.But he didn’t.Instead of bringing his right hand up to hit me, he leaned over and put his hands on my thighs so that his face was just inches from mine. My heart jumped into my throat. He kept saying his lines but all I could think about were his hands on my legs. The only thing separating him from me was a thin layer of cotton. I felt his warmth on my face, the heat of his hands on my lap. My cock started growing again in my shorts.I stared into his eyes, aroused and terrified. He must have known what was happening. He continued his lines intensely, staring right back at me, as my dick helplessly jumped and filled up. I could feel it pushing against my shorts, holding them up. And then I felt my pre-cum seep from my tip and absorb into the material. In a few seconds, Jackson would move away, leaving me sitting alone in a spotlight. Pa was already known as the strongest man in our end of the state and a dangerous one to rile. So when he capped off the trouble with the Bradleys by literally dragging Mister Bradley outside one handed, we became a local legend.With all the tales and rumors flying around, the old biddies were all set to do a real character assassination on Sam. Then when we four came to church and sat in our usual pew, all tongues stopped flapping. I even heard a few gasps and a couple of "ohs and ahs."The beautiful young lady with the almost too short bobbed hair who walked beside me looked like anything but the unruly tomboy who reportedly broke Ray Bradley's jaw and did the other hurtful things to him. She just looked too shy and demure and genteel to do anything so unladylike.My chest stuck out a little further than usual and I felt very proud to escort my cousin Sam to our regular pew. Ma and Pa smiled their greetings and nodded to other members of the church. Brother Moore started the services.
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