Date: Wed, 14 Jul 2004 20:18:23 -0300
From: Ruthless <ruthless@nbnet.nb.ca>
Subject: "Shiner"

	I had a PT instructor when I was in high school whose name was
Shiner. He was a big, good looking guy with thighs so large and muscular
that when he was wearing shorts, I would keep my eyes fixed on the middle
of his chest to avoid being caught staring wistfully. How old was Shiner?
I'm not sure. At that age, when I was fifteen, I used to figure all the
older guys were about thirty, twice my age. So I remember Shiner as being a
really fit thirty year old. He could actually have been ten years older or
younger.

	Shiner was a physical fitness nut and I was not. I hadn't been much
into sports since a couple of years earlier when I'd reluctantly had to
conclude I'd never be able to afford the equipment and rink fees to play
hockey. There was no money in my life for frills. I didn't get to play
sports much. Phys Ed at school was about the extent of it. The result was
that I was an unenthusiastic sleepy fifteen year old, into fitness enough
to appreciate Shiner's body but not into it enough to find time to build
any muscle myself.

	Well okay, I had some muscle. My after school job at the store took
care of that. Corner stores in Quebec where I grew up sell beer and the one
where I worked was a blind pig. So every afternoon I spent four hours
moving cases of beer from one stack to another with the occasional case of
canned food to unload to break the monotony. Beer is heavy. My torso was
developed okay for a fifteen-year-old.

	The boys at the high school I was going to were a rowdy lot. I had
PT for last period. When they weren't getting into scraps on the court and
breaking up whatever game we were supposed to be playing they were forever
slipping out of the gym doors so as to cut out of school early. Once while
Shiner was physically separating a couple of them, enough of the guys got
away so that we couldn't finish the game. We didn't have enough players.

	So poor old Shiner had his hands full keeping his kids in line. He
did pretty well considering that the principal wouldn't let him lock the
fire doors in the gym. Now, I'm going to add here that I wasn't one of the
kids who gave Shiner any trouble. I never cut class and I played without
starting any scraps, but I never played with any interest. I was a C
student in Phys Ed.  During Gung Ho pep talks I would stare sleepily at the
wall. I was just not a jock, I'm afraid. So I think the only thing Shiner
knew about me was that he figured I was an underage drinker.

	Bright and early one morning when Shiner was going into the gym at
seven am and school wasn't due to start for another hour and a half he
caught me lurking in the bushes behind the building. He called me out of
the bushes and since he was one of my teachers I came. I had a bag with me
and the bag was full of beer bottles.

	"What are you up to back there, McBain?"

	"I was just collecting bottles, Sir." I liked to throw a Sir in to
sweeten the old guys up back in those days. It generally got me a good
result.

	He looked over the bag half with a smile, half with a look of
contempt. "Did you empty all those yourself, McBain?"

	"No, Sir. This is where kids come to drink. It took a few guys to
empty these."

	He walked off to the gym, having decided my mischief was harmless
enough to let it ride.  "I'll bet you drained them single-handedly," was
his parting shot.

	Actually the beer bottles were my lunch. Not the beer, the
bottles. I could return them at the corner store and pick up something to
eat.

	But back to Shiner and the gym class. One afternoon half the class
came up from the lockers late on account of horsing around down there and
Shiner made us sit on the floor while he told us off. I forget what he said
in the lecture. I wasn't listening. It was the usual pull-up-your-socks-or-
else lecture that everybody in the world has heard half a million
times. But the last thing he said was, "Now if any of you morons would
rather not play, then why don't you get up and sit on the bench now? You
can sit the game out before it starts instead of making me send you to the
bench while we're trying to play."

	That sounded good to me. Dumb, right? I'd been up studying until I
don't know how late the night before so I was intolerably sleepy and
volleyball didn't do anything to turn my crank. I took his generous offer
literally and missed the sarcasm. I got up without a word and went and sat
on the bench.

	Shiner went ballistic, naturally. Suddenly there were thirty-four
boys trying hard to hold onto their sniggers and Shiner bellowing in rage
right into my face.

	"You little...! You want out of my class, do you? How dare you have
the guts to be disrespectful to me! You want to sit on the bench? Then you
can sit on the bench in the principal's office. I'll have you in detention
for two weeks!"

	"Uh... no, Sir." I said. I was still adjusting to the idea that I'd
put a foot wrong. Whoops! I was thinking. "I can't come for detention."

	"Yes, you can, McBain! Keep arguing and it won't be two weeks,
it'll be a month!"

	"No." I shook my head and shrugged. "I work. I start work at
four. You can't have me for detention after school, Sir. I'm sorry."

	For a moment he froze on my words baffled. I wasn't trying to be
disrespectful or give him a hard time but it certainly must have felt like
I was to him.

	"Yes, I can, McBain!" he roared. "You'll come for detention and
work your guts out for me whether you like it or not! If I can't have you
after school, you'll come for me before school. Do you hear me?"

	"Yes Sir." I said quietly and glumly.

	"Six thirty in the morning at the gym for the entire month!  I'll
show you how to be enthusiastic. Do you hear me?"

	When you've been in trouble as bad as I'd been in before, you can't
really get too scared of one p.o'd gym teacher. The way he was yelling at
me, and he was standing ramrod straight while he did it, somehow it put me
in mind of a drill instructor in one of those basic training type
movies. So I answered him like a recruit.

	"Sir, yes, Sir!" And I stood at attention myself. Okay, I tried to
stand straight, but never having taken drill I probably did a crummy
job. You'd have thought that the mockery would have tilted him even farther
over the edge but it didn't. It wasn't all mockery and I think around now
Shiner caught onto the fact that I'd been naively taking him literally in
the first place.

	So he snarled, "Are you going to be here at six thirty?"

	"Sir, yes, Sir!"

	"Are you going to work your tail off for me?"

	"Sir, yes, Sir!"

	"You'd better, McBain or you are going to be one sorry little
fifteen-year-old!"

	I didn't get to sit on the bench in that class either. I had to
take the punishment for opting out of the class without even getting to opt
out. It felt like he spent the entire game right behind me with that
whistle yelling at me to run harder and move faster. None of his boys got
out of line that day either. They didn't want to be joining us at dawn.

	The next day when I showed up half awake and thick headed on the
track field behind the gym, Mr. Shiner was waiting for me. He was wearing
grey sweats, the same as most days and he was looking sleepy and
irritated. I think he looked surprised to see me too, but I can't be sure
because that expression was gone in a moment. I'm sure Shiner was
ex-military because he always stood so straight. I trotted up, came to
attention and saluted.

	"Are you going to work hard for me today?" He asked quietly.

	"Sir, yes, Sir!" I cried.

	That got a grin out of him briefly. "I'm going to tire you out,
McBain." He warned me.

	Then he started us running. He ran with me. First we ran once
around the field real easy.  I wasn't fool enough to think it was going to
be easy. That was just a beginning warm up. The real warm ups followed, the
stretching exercises and the jumping jacks. Then we ran around the field
again but this time harder and we kept going until I was staggering and
wheezing at his shoulder and he was jogging easily and smirking at me while
I gasped and tried to keep going.

	My break from running was push-ups. He stood over me and counted
them. "Twenty- one...Twenty-two... Getting tired, McBain? Twenty-three..."

	"Sir, yes, Sir." I squeaked.

	He didn't let up. "Twenty-eight...twenty-nine...Are you sorry
you're here?"

	"Sir, no, Sir."

	"Thirty-one. Why is that?"

	"Sir, I need to get physically fit, Sir." I panted.

	"You're going to get physically fit." he said
warningly."Thirty-four...thirty-five..."

	My arms burned, my head throbbed and the pit of my stomach felt
like I'd swallowed coals.  But I did push ups and didn't stop doing push
ups. The thing was, the idea of getting in shape wasn't a problem with
me. I'd been feeling kind of guilty about not being in better shape. So
that part of it I didn't mind. And I didn't mind Shiner standing over me
and crowding me either. I've got a bit of a masochistic streak. I'll tell
you more about that later. Anyway, the upshot was that I was determined to
go on doing push-ups or whatever he told me to do and not wus out.

	"You want to stop for a rest, McBain?" Shiner demanded.

	"Sir...no, sir." I was running out of breath.

	"Getting tired?"

	"Sir, yes, sir." I wheezed.

	"Forty-eight...Forty-nine... Just tell me when you can't hack it
any more, McBain. Ask me nicely and I might let you stop."

	"Eeeeh..." He was a sadist, was Shiner. He'd decided to see just
how much I could hack.  As it turns out it wasn't very much. Round about
the count of sixty, as I lay there supported on my trembling arms, I
puked. That knot of burning in my stomach suddenly headed upwards and I
gurped out a bunch of bile.

	"Sixty-three... c'mon, sixty-four, you pansy... McBain, did you
just puke?" He noticed after a moment why I had stopped going.

	I went back to it, keeping a difficult half-inch out of the mess.
"Mmmffg..."

	"Sixty-six..." He said. "Hey, you did. You had enough yet?"

	"Sir, more... incentive," I panted. "Keep me going, not collapse in
that, Sir."

	But Shiner grabbed me by the back of the shirt and hauled me up. It
didn't end our session for that morning. He kept me on the field until
eight. But he got me doing flexibility exercises at that point and they
were relatively sedentary. At eight he called me to trot after him and ran
us to the gym and down to the lockers.

	Am I going to get to shower with Shiner? I wondered. It was that
usual thing. If you're like me you'll remember what it was like. I half
wanted to, to get a look at what he showed when he was stripped off and
half didn't want to just in case I got a hard on. Real mixed blessing, the
shower room. I'd always managed alright with the boys because boys weren't
the thing I liked. But Shiner was a man and yeah...

	But he threw a towel at me and ordered, "Go shower." so I knew I
was all on my own lonesome. It felt funny taking a shower in that big empty
place all alone like that. I'd never been down in the lockers alone. I
turned on the water and propped myself against the wall. God, I was tired!
But Shiner didn't seem too pissed off anymore and I had survived one day. I
figured if I could survive one day I could survive the rest of the month.

	The water was so warm and comfortable. I could almost have gone to
sleep right there under the jet. I did close my eyes. I thought of Shiner,
if he had been there with me, looking at what I had and wanting my skinny
fifteen-year-old ass. Up bobbed a boner, straight off. Back in those days
they sure showed up on short notice. I gave it a touch or two, nothing more
than that, thinking about him on the other side showering alone too.

	But there was always the very distant possibility that some early
class would arrive so I came to my senses, straightened up and finished
cleaning off hurriedly.

	I think first of all Shiner had decided to try to make me wus
out. He rode me damn hard.  The second morning was worse than the first. I
didn't puke this time but he made me run until I fell over and then he made
me get up and run some more and he made me do the push ups and the jumping
jacks until I was sprawled in the grass wheezing. "Give it up, McBain." He
told me. "You can't take anymore. Admit to me that you can't take any
more."

	"Eeeeeh. Sir, I'm getting up...Sir."

	"McBain." He told me. "You are without a doubt the stupidest kid I
ever coached. You couldn't run another lap. You are like a broken down
horse. Your lungs sound like a two-pack a day smoker. Are you a smoker,
McBain?"

	"Sir, no, Sir." I moaned. I made it up to my knees but my jelly
like legs were having trouble getting me any higher.

	"I bet you'd rather be sitting back of those bushes sucking a beer
with me than out here sucking air."

	"Sir, anywhere with you, Sir.." His words brought a smile to my
mouth. Yeah, I wanted to be with him in the bushes behind the gymnasium but
what I was thinking of sucking and what he was thinking of sucking were two
different items.

	He was smiling at me by now. He didn't get tired of my drill
Sergeant routine. He started to play along with it. "You call yourself a
recruit, McBain? You can't even stand up straight. That's it, Boy,
shoulders back. Stand tall when I tell you to stand at attention."

	I stood at attention and he walked around me, crisply
inspecting. "Chin up! Straighten that back!" He paused. "And while you're
at it you could lose the smirk on the corner of your mouth. In the army
recruits are expected to maintain a deadpan." He reached out and placed his
hand in the small of my back. "Here, Put your back against
that. Right. Tilt.." He pushed my chest, changing the angle of my
ribcage. "Makes you stand taller. Better posture."

	That day when we went down to the showers, he casually grabbed a
towel and went into the boys' shower with me. I peeked out of the corners
of my eyes. My chest was going up and down like a bouncing ball. Was he
going to? He was! Shiner was peeling off in front of me.

	I stripped my own clothes off, not looking at him, eyes fixed on
the grey painted concrete floor. When I was stripped we showered
together. He stood under the jet beside mine. I looked only at his chest to
keep my eyes from straying to his face, or worse yet, to below his
waist. Only his chest was magnificent. It was big and the hair on it, while
sparse, was the perfect counter point to the sculpted muscles. He wasn't a
weight lifter. In those days there weren't so many of them. He had a
natural barrel chest. He was a big guy. I like big guys. The sight of his
chest did nothing to keep my mind off of what it was supposed to.

	When he half turned away from me to start soaping up his armpit my
eyes dropped. I couldn't resist checking him out. He had a great thick
cock, so big that it looked big even against those magnificent thighs. Even
with only the beginning of a hard on it looked to my admiring eyes like it
stuck out a whole yard.

	Speaking of sticking out, well, I was sticking out by then. No
mistaking the full-scale boner that I had. I turned away, resolutely
gritted my teeth and willed it to drop. Enough strength of will would do
it. I didn't let myself look at any part of him.

	Shiner let my hard on go without comment. At the time I really
figured he failed to notice it, or if he had, well teenaged boys get a hard
on over everything and nothing. I'd seen them in the showers before and
naturally enough so had he. He just didn't think it meant anything.

	In the middle of the second day I collapsed. I was in math class
and my tired out legs just refused to hold me. When the bell rang for the
change of period I couldn't get up. I had to just sit there. I had a hell
of a job dragging myself through the day. After doing a hundred push ups,
unloading the beer cases set my arms to trembling with muscle fatigue. I
don't know how I managed it.

	But I was out there the next morning again, even before Shiner,
lined up and almost eager for him to put me through the wringer. I was not
getting a runner's buzz from it. Let me make that plain. And I wasn't
spending the morning training session with a hard-on for Shiner in my
shorts.  Kid plus teacher does not equal wild sex. I knew that. But I was
enjoying his attention to me in a weird sort of way. It might feel like
hell but he wasn't dishing out more than I could take and his half amused,
half exasperated scrutiny made me feel good somehow. It nearly killed me
too, because I was a pansy and just didn't have the stamina for it. It
wasn't the actual PT sessions that did it. Somehow having Shiner there
demanding how soon I was going to give it up and beg him to let me off and
my own determination held me together during the mornings. It was the rest
of my life that started go to hell.

	"Are you tired, Private?" he demanded.

	"Sir, yes, sir!"

	"But we haven't even started yet. How can you be tired when we've
only run two laps?"

	"Sir, I stayed up late last night, Sir!"

	"That was dumb of you, then, wasn't it?"

	"Sir, no Sir!"

	"It wasn't dumb of you? But you're starting to pant already," He
pointed out. "What did you stay up late doing, McBain?"

	"Homework, Sir."

	The sweat ran down my body in itchy dirty trails. My aching muscles
became hard. He made me dribble a ball when I ran, or talk to him as I ran
to improve my wind. He made me do crunchies until I couldn't lift my
shoulders off the ground. He held my feet and made me stretch until I
thought I would rip, but there's one thing he never ever did. He never
touched me indecently or spoke to me indecently.

	I had fantasies about it all the same.

	"Getting kinda hot aren't you, McBain?"

	"Sir, yes sir!"

	"Then strip those clothes off, McBain. Let's see you do the next
few laps in the buff..."  No such luck though. It stayed a fantasy.

	Running behind him, looking at his hard round ass in his shorts I
would wonder. Is it possible he knows I'm watching him? After we showered
he would put his baggy grey sweats on again and spent the rest of the day,
the hotter part of the day in sweat pants instead of shorts.  Did he, just
maybe, wear the shorts because he was hoping I was looking would see how
tightly the held the cheeks of his ass and how firm the muscle was?

	It was a nice fantasy. I usually put it in the shower.

	"Whoops. I dropped the soap, McBain. Pick it up."

	He never looked at me when he showered. But all the same he
showered with me, a few steps away but with me. And when he showered,
sometimes he had an erection and most of the time so did I. We just never
said anything about it. Not in real life.

	"Sir, May I say something personal, Sir?"

	"Go ahead, McBain," This in a growl.

	"Sir, that's a really gorgeous cock you have there, Sir."

	"You like my cock, McBain? Only a faggot who likes to suck cock
would say something like that. You want to suck my cock,McBain?"

	It was no better when he turned his back to me when he showered
because then of course I saw his backside, with the hollow in the gluteal
muscles and the strength and definition in his back.  He had a powerful
back. I wanted to run my hand down his back. If I ran my hand down his
back, right down to the cheeks of his ass, I wondered, would he turn around
and slug me?

	We didn't even share a bar of soap, much less touch, when we were
in the shower together.  Afterwards when his hair was standing up from
being tousled dry, there was something about that, seeing his face under
the short, spiky wet hair that made me want to bring my mouth somewhere in
close proximity to his mouth.

	"You are without a doubt the stupidest kid I have ever coached." he
had said. If I made a move on him, I was sure that his opinion would be
confirmed and he would use other words in place of stupidest. Like most
revolting. Or like nastiest.

	He could have sidled into the subject of sex if he had wanted
to. We did a lot of talking.  He made me talk to him while we ran laps.

	"What do you do when you're not working, McBain?"

	"Sir, homework, Sir."

	"No, what do you do when you're not doing work, when you're trying
to have some fun?"

	"Sir, This recruit writes stories, Sir!"

	"Whadya mean, stories?" Shiner enquired. He made me tell him my
stories. I just told him synopsis, short versions because I couldn't
remember all the dialogue I put in them. At that age I was going through my
spy thriller phase and my stories were about guys on daring missions behind
the iron curtain. Shiner used to bust his guts laughing at my stories. I
didn't see why. They were deadly serious. They were also full of
fistfights. Every other scene involved some guy getting beaten up. They got
shot and thrown out of airplanes too. They were exciting, grim stories. I
think Shiner enjoyed them, even if sometimes he laughed when I made
terrible things happen in them, because he started asking me regularly if I
had written a new story I could tell him.

	"What else do you do with your free time, McBain?"

	"Sir, I don't have any free time, Sir!"

	"What would you do if you had any free time?"

	"Sleep." I forgot my sirs that time.

	"No, I mean what do you do for a social life?"

	Shiner never had any trouble carrying on a conversation while
pounding around the track, no matter how many laps we did and as the month
wore on I started to be able to hold up my end, at least until we'd done
thirty laps or so. But at that point, early in the month I was able to
think about the question while pretending I didn't have the breath yet to
get the words out.

	"Sir, I like to date, Sir!"

	Well, what other answer was I going to give him? I couldn't tell
him what I really liked to do. I liked to go to dances.

	The Gay and Lesbian Students Association at McGill used to hold gay
dances four times a year. They started at ten, cost two dollars to get in
and of course didn't admit anyone under the age of eighteen. The two
dollars I could raise. The id was another matter. I had a ball at these
dances.  When I'd first started slipping in the back door of them, three
years earlier, all I'd done was dance my heart out. I wasn't that
precocious. I knew where I belonged, that was all. Now, at fifteen, I
didn't just dance.

	"Sir, I like to go out with a girl, Sir!" I told Shiner.

	You know what I liked to do? I liked to find guys, slightly drunk
guys were best, and see if I couldn't lure them into the stairwell or
outside into the dark of the campus. I didn't get into anything too heavy,
but I did like to worship cock. My age was a bit of a problem though. A lot
of guys were real nervous about letting me entice them away somewhere
dark. I'd keep after them, coaxing and bullying at the same time. I didn't
want to take no for an answer. Funny, huh? All I did was hand and mouth
stuff. A lot of the time I kept my own pants zipped. I don't know now to
say if I was savvy or naive. I guess my age then says it all.

	So I never told Shiner what I really liked to do and he never asked
the kind of questions that might have uncovered what I wanted to do.

	I wanted Shiner to order me to suck his cock.

	"Alright, McBain, That's it! Get down on your knees. It'll be
another hundred laps for you if you don't do a good job on this!"

	In the middle of the playing field seemed a slightly improbable
place to situate the fantasy.  A lot of them took place down in the locker
room. I pictured him grabbing me in the steam-filled tiled room. "Suck my
cock, McBain!" His strong hands would force me lower, his chest and belly
rising before my hypnotized eyes as I buckled before him.

	Perhaps a casual conversation as we towelled off after our showers
companionably. "Oh, by the way, McBain, do you happen to enjoy performing
fellatio?" I had quite the fantasy life with Shiner. I knew it could never
be. I was not going to start hitting on one of my teachers at school and
since he had not tried to hit on me in nearly three weeks of opportunities,
I knew it wasn't likely he'd start.

	The thing was, Shiner wasn't cruel. He made me run my guts out. He
called me a moron.  But anytime I'd told him I had enough he would have
stopped. He ran me right to my limits, never over my limits. He held
back. He had a fine touch. He never crossed the line. And my fantasy life
was so rich, of course, that I was imagining the little things, the
significance of the singlet and tight shorts that he wore, which made him
look so damn strong and sexy. Or his eyes that never fell on my cock, never
mentioned the way it was aiming for my navel, and the bit of the smile that
he wore while he wasn't looking at it.

	Even if he had been interested, he would have had to have had some
reason to think I was interested in him. Our relationship went no farther
than coach and player, teacher and student, drill sergeant and make believe
recruit.

	"Suck my cock, McBain" I could picture those words in my head. I
imagined hearing them hundreds of times. He was never fool enough to say
them.

	So I directed my sexual energies to another goal, to the dance that
was coming up one Thursday night at the McGill Student Union. Thursday
nights I worked until midnight. That was no problem. I was glad to stay
there as long as they wanted me. It was twelve thirty before old Nascimento
told me I should go home. I took my jacket and went out. I didn't go home.

	Remember the joy of being cut loose? Remember how it felt to be
young and with nothing ahead of you but joy? No fears, responsibilities or
constraints? I must have been pretty close to bouncing when I hit the
sidewalk. The whole night with all the delight of the dance was ahead of
me.

	Needless to say I didn't have anybody's permission to go to the
dance. If I went home I'd only have problems getting out again. I was going
to break curfew and come home with the cows.  The first thing I had to do
was hang about until it was even later than twelve thirty. There wasn't
much use turning up at the dance before one. If I turned up too early,
they'd only notice I was there and I'd get escorted to the exit
unceremoniously. A little after one a.m. I set up a watch by the fire doors
at the back of the Student Union. When someone came out I went in.

	The noise is the thing I remember. How I loved the noise. Remember
the music back them?  Abba doing "Knowing me, Knowing you." "You, you make
me feel brand new." by the Supremes.  The DJ had the volume cranked and it
was purely deafening. The noise made me high. The music from those days
probably makes you snicker now.  It's a cliche how music takes you back.

	This was just a few years before leather jackets took over in the
gay crowd in Montreal, but it would have been too warm for jackets in the
building. The first thing I did was dance. Guess what? All those PT
exercises had done wonders for my cardio-vascular endurance. I didn't get
winded at all.

	Nobody had ever taught me how to dance, so I didn't disco. I just
danced any old way.  Actually there was a lot of ballet in it. I'm a
faggot, remember? But ballet was the type of dance I got introduced to
first of all. I had a foster mother put me into ballet once. Either way I
jumped and kicked and spun dazzled and delighted and without a bit of
self-consciousness about me. I was home. I was among kin.

	So when I'd worked a bit of joy out and the majority of the guys
there were mellowed down to beery smiles and wondering if they'd manage a
pick up tonight, I gave up the dancing and started prowling instead.

	Prey. Someone cute and drunk and helpless. A guy with a lonely look
who doesn't automatically look through me when I pass under his
eyes. Someone vulnerable, someone I can haul into the stairwell and grope.

	Some dances I used to do very well and other dances I didn't. I
wasn't sure which this was going to be yet. So I made the circuit, checking
out what the meat market had to offer that night.  There were a few guys
who noticed me when I walked under their gazes, and I always gave them a
warm flicker from my eyes in return.

	None of them was exactly what I was looking for, but there was
enough handsome humanity crowded into the Student Union, that the thought
of my quest had a bulge straining to get out of my jeans and pulling the
material tight as I checked out the guys.

	Then I saw a great big guy with his back to me. He had shoulders
like Atlas, short bristly hair and an ass perfectly defined in the green
combat pants he wore. The sight of him made me stop short. He looks exactly
like Shiner! I thought. And then I stayed frozen because, glory be to God,
it was Shiner!

	My heart turned itself inside out with a tearing sensation inside
my chest. I wanted him so bad, and he was here. He's one of us, oh God. My
groin gave an explosive throb. Shiner! My Shiner...

	But I didn't walk up to him. Believe me, I wanted to. But he was my
teacher. Remember when teachers and policemen could make your life hell and
nothing you could do about it? Now, nobody there probably really believed I
was eighteen, but HE knew I had three years yet to go before I was legal.

	What if he turned around and his face went cold and he snapped at
me and he had me thrown out? I was a wus. I truly didn't have the guts to
prance up to him and present myself. How was I to be sure his reaction
would be delight?

	It wasn't just the idea of being hauled home by the cops at three
in the morning and another item going on record in my permanent file. There
was more at stake than the chance I'd get my caseworker pissed off at
me. There was my heart and the crush I had on Shiner to consider, so I was
an utter wus and I did nothing at all.

	I lingered. I stood in the doorway where I wasn't visible and I
stared at him like a lonely puppy. He was in a group of guys, men his age,
and they all seemed to be talking seriously. He was wearing an army green
t-shirt and those combat pants. He was genuine military for sure, I
thought.  His back was always to me. I didn't cruise. I didn't look at
other guys. I just stood there and yearned for him and had a hard on in my
pants just for him and dared to do not a thing. I couldn't even approach
close enough to eavesdrop because he might see me.

	I hope you're laughing at what a pathetic little dummy I was. I was
paralysed but it didn't last long. After fifteen minutes, Shiner and his
friends sat down at a long table that stretched the length of the side
wall, and they went on with their conversation over a few bottles of beer.

	Shiner wasn't looking at the doorway and perhaps I hoped he would,
but I drifted into the dance hall and stood in the shadows by the wall and
stared some more. If Shiner had looked hard to his left and peered into the
dark he'd have seen me but he didn't. Presently I thought of something.

	At one of the first dances I'd crashed, there had been a guy going
under the table and working his way from willy to willy, doing the job on
every guy that would let him. As soon as I remembered that cock hungry
character I crawled under the table myself.

	I didn't pass completely unnoticed. I got bumped by knees and I
crawled over people's feet and a couple of times I heard voices exclaim,
"Hey! There's a guy under here!" Or else they laughed or kicked a bit. But
when I was under the table I was invisible. I could come as closely as I
was longing to. No one looked underneath. I was hidden by the
tablecloth. So I kept crawling steadily down until I was in the group,
right under the conversation that Shiner was having with his friends.

	I stroked a knee, groping. They didn't mind. The knees parted. I
gave another stroke and a squeeze and moved on. I was looking for something
that wasn't on that pair of pants: pockets.

	Shiner was the only guy there in combat pants. His combat pants
were loaded with pockets.  When I found him, I knew it was him by the
pockets, although I truthfully think I would have known it was him by the
powerful, hard muscled thighs. I couldn't see anything down there, but I
could tell I'd finally got to put my hands where I wanted to.

	Shiner had had a few beer by then. His voice was thick. When he
felt my hands move up the inside of his thigh he broke off. He didn't
move. I let my fingers walk up and down the coarse material. He sat
perfectly still. I ran my hands up and down exploring his impressive legs
before I closed my hand about his cock.

	He was hung huge. The bulge was thick in his army pants. I
kneaded. The bulge felt like it was made for my fingers. It was as
comfortable as playing with my own. But I was careful all the same. At
first I only kneaded and squeezed his cock through the tough khaki
material. Then he let me push his knees open with my shoulders and I put my
mouth on his fly.

	I breathed. I blew a steady warm stream of air into the cloth,
creating a small blaze of heat inside. My lips nuzzled the fabric. I smelt
the distantly familiar fug of his savoury sweat, his crotch odour,
compellingly salty. I took the bulge, cloth and all, between my lips and
shook my head side to side like I was a dog worrying at a bone. He must
have heard me panting. I kept breathing on his cock, while both my hands
kneaded and worked at those fantastic thighs, and worked underneath where
the material was stretched taut above his swelling balls. I heard Shiner
breathing hard. His hand came down and pushed my face off of his crotch.

	For a moment I froze. His knees didn't close. His hand was gone. I
moved my face forward again and found that his zipper gaped. I reached
inside. How hot his skin was! His cock had a soft head, like velvet. I
marvelled at his cock. I breathed in that heady scent. He must have felt my
head rolling against his thigh.

	I had never, never thought I could even touch it and now Shiner had
turned out to be gay and his cock was my toy! I got my hand inside that
tightly stretched fabric somehow, and his balls overflowed my palm as I
kept my hands moving.

	When his hand came down again, I knew he wasn't trying to push me
off. I heard his voice, husky, demanding and intense as he tried to point
the head of his prick towards me. His words were the words of my
fantasy. "Suck my cock," he said.

	I gasped because I wanted to so badly. My fantasy. My waking wet
dream. "Sir, yes, Sir!"  I breathed and opened my mouth.

	He gave a sudden great jerk. His cock was huge for my mouth. His
flavour was sweet and raunchy at once. I took it into my throat. I put
everything I had into loving that cock and I got it deeper into my throat
than I had ever taken cock before. It was the biggest cock I'd ever had in
my mouth.

	Up and down and wet, tonguing, tasting, right to the back of my
throat, pulling my lips in tight, feeling his belly heaving against my
forehead as he panted. Shiner had the most gorgeous cock of any man ever
born. That night under the table I tasted it thoroughly. I blew him with
the soft drape of the tablecloth on the top of my head and his giant legs
tensing tighter and tighter around me like an embrace.

	And oh, the shape of it! The small tracing of the soft bulging
veins running up the rigid shaft, the proud fluted head of his corona, the
soft curve of the end of it. I gloated over every part of his cock. I
sucked him greedily. I sucked him like I was starved. I swarmed on his
crotch so hungrily that he didn't last long. I felt him jerk. I heard him
groan weakly. His prick trembled. The cum flooded into my mouth, salty
nectar. I caught every drip and held it carefully, backing up and
swallowing as the gasping man closed his knees back together and fumbled
for his zip.

	"Me." A voice above me said. "Me... Wanna suck mine?" They knew
what Shiner had been getting, of course. But I was sated. My boner was so
swollen that it was aching. I was so happy that I wanted to curl up in a
corner and die, before I floated down from the languid overload of smug
bliss.

	I crawled off out of there, and when I reached the end of the
table, there was no fear of Shiner seeing me as I crawled out. He was
already gone. I didn't suck any more cock again that night. His monster
cock plunging into my throat had contented me and I only wanted to go home
and finish myself.

	So I went away home through the deserted twilight blue streets. I
exhaled as I walked, so that I could smell his cum on my breath. Shiner was
one of us and I'd heard the words I waited so long to hear. "Suck my cock,
McBain!" I floated home.

	Friday morning, with two hours of sleep. I couldn't wait to get
into the shower with him and show him how I adored his cock again. I was
grinning, down at the track field behind the high school, and Shiner was
there as always in those oh, so tight shorts and the same friendly, neutral
expression on his face.

	"Morning, McBain." he said crisply. You'd never have thought he'd
been up all the night.

	"Sir, Good morning, Sir!" I returned.

	He started us into our routine. During the warm ups he held my foot
almost against his crotch while I stretched until my tendons creaked. My
eyes rested happily and greedily upon him the whole time. But how was I
going to say it to him? I thought about just blurting out what I'd found
out last night. Shiner was a bit withdrawn. His eyes wandered away where
mine fixed on him. Perhaps he was tired.

	"Sir, I know where YOU went last night, Sir...!"

	I didn't say it. He might take it as a triumphant crow. Before I
could explain, he might think I was jeering, a snotty kid who'd dug out a
secret of his and meant to turn derisive screws on him. I couldn't find the
words to bring it into the open. We started to run our laps. He was
abstract. His words were just a touch mechanical. He made the effort.

	"Okay, McBain. What have you been writing lately?"

	"I've got a new story, Sir." I said. "It's a bit different."

	"Tell it to me." he ordered.

	"It's about a boy," I said. "This boy is kind of a bad boy, a dirty
boy. He's not like other boys, you know. He's JD sometimes. In my story he
goes out at night to this dance and he sneaks into it because he's underage
and they wouldn't let him in, because he doesn't have a fake id.'

	"So there he is, boogieing his butt off and he sees someone he
knows, someone he really likes and he goes under the table."

	Shiner listened to my entire story with not a word. We reached the
end of the lap and he stopped. He stood listening. I went on telling it. I
couldn't stop because I'd begun telling it, but his face got blanker and
blanker. There was an expression buried behind his non-expression and it
was something close to horror. I talked slower and slower. Ever word I said
made it worse.

	"But this kid really likes the man. He knows who it is by his
pockets. He knows it's his PT instructor." I said. "And the boy's been
waiting for him to say, 'Suck my cock.' He wants to do that, so he
does...and...."

	Shiner's face was a terrible thing to see. His voice was as empty
as a wasteland. His eyes were looking at something too horrible for him to
tear away his gaze.

	"Don't tell me any more stories like that." He said. "That's a
terrible story. Don't tell anyone stories like that."

	Then he jerked himself around again and started running, so I ran
down the track after him, although my chest was hurting now, so badly that
I couldn't breath.

	We ran two more laps. Then Shiner stopped again and he said
roughly, "Go take your shower in the boys' locker room." He sent me running
into the building. He didn't come with me. I guess you could say he never
really looked at me again.

	I got over it. Kids always do. I probably got over it faster than
Shiner. It was his own fault, not my fault, that he let someone blow him
unseen under the table and it turned out to be me. I suppose he was afraid
it would come out. If it had, he could have been charged and he would
certainly have been suspended.

	I passed PT with an A- that year. That's one thing about Shiner. No
matter what he felt afterwards, he was fair about it, and even generous. I
don't suppose it could have turned out any other way. But I hope that by
now when Shiner remembers it, that the memory makes him smile.

	End of story