Date: Tue, 2 Oct 2001 06:25:24 -0700 (PDT)
From: KD
Subject: The Deflowering of Bryant

This story is a work of gay male fiction.  It contains three parts.  This
first is intended to be erotic from a particular point of view, but it is
not intended to describe anyone's real- life experience.  It contains
graphic descriptions of sex between teen-age boys, some of which is not
exactly consensual.  This is a fantasy world, guys!  But it does express
some real attitudes, thoughts, and feelings, and it could serve as a
warning to some young dude not to believe too easily that dreams come true.
The non-consensual section has been edited, as you will see, to fit the
requirements of this site. In no way does the author ever condone or
suggest one person forcing himself sexually upon another--yet it does
happen, and this is a relatively mild instance.  It should be remembered
that in real life, rape is not sexy or entertaining, and it is often
deadly, to the spirit if not the body. If this subject matter is illegal to
portray where you are, or if you are underage in your jurisdiction, or if
you think you may be offended by it, please do not read it.  Parts 2 and 3,
by the way, will be strictly consensual.

THE DEFLOWERING OF BRYANT

	In the little southern burg I grew up in, there were exactly six
traffic lights, counting flashing yellows, and no gays to my knowledge,
flashing or otherwise.  Oh, I heard occasionally about some old guy, maybe
even in his thirties or older, who "acted queer" or was "such a sissy;" but
there was no model for gay adolescence, and absolutely no one to talk to
about my feelings and desires.  I knew I had these feelings and desires.  I
also knew that they must always, at all costs, be kept to myself.  So I
became very closed up inside, never trusting myself to confide in anyone
about anything real or personal.

	I also became, of all things, the kicking specialist for our little
high school football team.  Not that I had a great interest in rough-neck
sports. That explains the kicker part: I liked the idea that other players
got penalized if they hit me, and that I had to be careful not to get hurt
by playing other positions.  But I chose the football team because: a)
everybody who was anybody in our school played sports, and I wanted to be
somebody, b) it seemed like a great disguise: who would ever think to look
for queers on the football team, and c) the boy-watching was fantastic.  I
got to see every one of my teammates naked in the locker room every day of
the season. They came in all shapes and sizes, mostly not too impressive
really. Not all football players are very presentable in the shower, if you
know what I mean.  But nearly every guy has a few of his own personal best
years in the physique department around high school age, and some of them
were really hot hunks, especially the backs and the ends.  (It turned out
to be a great move for my own physique, which developed beautifully during
that time; I had particularly great legs, but the upper body filled out
nicely, too.)  In the big open locker room and even more in the square
tiled group shower where I spent as much time as was reasonably
justifiable, I got in as much ogling time as I surreptitiously could
manage.

	My favorite subject was our starting quarterback, Allen, who was
incredibly gifted in the physique department.  He was the golden boy of the
team, over six feet tall, blonde, tanned, and strong.  If he even walked
through the weight room, new muscles popped out all over him.  A senior my
sophomore year, he was my idol.  I hardly spoke to him, so great was my awe
for him.  But whenever he went to the shower, so did I.  Over a period of
several months I was able to study the various parts of him so that I was
gradually able to put together a mental picture of his naked body in all
its glorious detail.  I could enjoy that image at any time, especially in
my bed flogging my log, imagining him near me, touching me.  I could call
up the memory of his smooth tanned chest, his long muscular legs, his broad
shoulders, brawny biceps, and flat stomach.  Most of all his rounded twin
orbs of muscled bubble butt and his enticing crotch with its patch of light
pubes and delectable cut cock and dangling balls.  I would later find out
that they were comparatively modest in size, but at the time, they were the
Holy Grail to me.  What I wouldn't give to get that meaty dick and those
firm round balls into my mouth just once!

	I was never aware that Allen noticed me, though now I realize I
was, myself, one of the hotter guys on the squad.  His occasional glance in
my direction was no more significant than the way he looked at the
plumbing.  But one night after a long practice right before the opening of
the season, something changed.  There had been a good bit of horseplay in
the locker room that evening, a lot of pushing around, laughter, and towel
popping.  There was a sort of high-T chemistry in the air, perhaps because
our opening game was so close.  Allen was laughing and joking with a group
of other backs and taking an unusually long time getting to the shower.
For a moment I saw them whispering conspiratorially, laughing, and I even
thought, glancing over at me at the end of the bench.  But I thought
nothing much of it--a senior in-joke apparently that they didn't want
overheard.  Finally, I went ahead to the shower, unable to wait any longer
for any of the pretty boys to go ahead of me.  All four of the backs showed
up a few minutes later, though, still looking at each other, at me, and
laughing nonsensically.  Two were black guys, Tyrone and DeShawn, the other
was a white guy, Jeremy; all were starters as well as seniors and so above
me in the social hierarchy.  The three of them left quickly, leaving Allen
and me alone, the last in the shower.  He seemed to be taking his time,
standing with his head under the water, allowing it to sluice over his
admirable rippling skin.  He stood full frontal to me, head back under the
torrent, eyes closed, and let me stare openly at his gorgeous cock and
balls, his sculpted chest.  Then turning, he gave me plenty of time to
enjoy gazing at his lovely backside, so much so that I became almost
entranced, forgetting where I was for a moment in the presence of such a
magnificent work of art.  Suddenly, Allen turned around abruptly and his
eyes met mine.  There was a hint of a smile of triumph behind them.  "So
what are you looking at?" he asked, not challenging or unfriendly, but as
if amused.  Of course when he had turned, my eyes, formerly fastened upon
his marvelous butt, refocused clearly staring right at his pubic patch
before I thought to shift my gaze.  I stammered something inane in reply.
"It's OK.  I know you've been staring at me all spring and summer.  I guess
I'm a little flattered.  I just wonder what you really want, Bryant."  (He
did know my name!)  He walked over next to me now, dripping wet, and leaned
nonchalantly on the tile wall next to my shower head.  My divinity, naked
and dripping wet, right next to me in the shower! He looked me straight in
the eye.  "You aren't really satisfied with just looking, are you?  You
want to touch, right?  Maybe even get your mouth around it?  I'm right,
aren't I?"  I was blushing deeply, too mortified by this unfamiliar
directness on such a subject even to deny.  But Allen went on, smirking
with his senior confidence.  "I thought so.  Well, tonight's your lucky
night.  I'm free for awhile.  Just meet me under the visitors' bleachers in
fifteen minutes, after everyone is gone."  I began to stammer in protest,
but he interrupted.  "Just be there.  I'm counting on you.  And strip down
for me.  You're going to get a treat tonight."

	With that he left the shower and sauntered out into the dressing
room.  I heard voices for a couple of minutes more until the other guys
left.  Then I came out myself.  Allen was just slipping into his sneakers.
He gave me a knowing look, slammed his locker, and went over to the coach's
office to rap a bit about the coming game while I hastily dressed and
slipped away.

	The field by now was dark and deserted.  The moon was about
three-quarters full, though, and I could see that no one was about.  I
walked around to the visitors' side, telling myself all the way that there
was no way I was going to go through with this.  Underneath the stands, the
shadows were deep.  It took a few minutes before I could see clearly enough
to go under, but when I did, I found I could see well enough to avoid the
steel girders.  The ground was paved with cement underfoot and pretty well
cleared of debris.  At about the twenty yard line, there was a big concrete
platform about four feet high, maybe six feet by eight on top, with girders
going out from both ends.  I stopped there and hesitated.  This was crazy,
and I knew it.  What could this formidable older dude have planned for me?
Then I had a vision of his cute cut dick, pink and sassy and dangling
beneath those fluffy light pubes.  And he wanted me naked, too--what could
that mean?  Could he be wanting to suck me, too?  I started taking my
clothes off, spreading them onto the concrete slab.  In a moment I was
naked.  I hopped up on top of my clothing to await my destiny.

	It was still quite warm outside, and just a waft of stray breeze
came across underneath the bleachers, cooling my skin and tousling my
pubes.  It was a very quiet and private place.  I had heard of other
players having occasional trysts here with girlfriends.  I heard nothing
but the summery mating sounds of nearby insects and distant tree frogs.

	Suddenly, there was movement at the edge of the bleachers, and a
masculine outline appeared.  Slowly and quietly, the figure began to move
underneath.  With his shape branded into my mind as it was, I knew
instantly that it was Allen.  He could not see as well as I, though, so he
moved cautiously.  In a moment, he was right next to me, and now he could
see that I was there.  "I thought you'd be here," he said, and placed his
hands right on my bare knees.  A current of electricity ran up my legs and
exploded in my crotch at his touch, and my dick suddenly inflated to raging
hard-on like an airbag in a head-on collision.  "Did you follow all my
instructions?"  His hands now slid up the outsides of my thighs to my hips
and then my waist, checking that I was not wearing anything.  His touch
sent a flurry of chill bumps all over my body.  Now I could feel Allen
relax beside me, and I could actually see his dazzling teeth glow in a
grin.  "I promised you a treat, so here it is."  He pulled his tee shirt
over his head, placing it beside me, and then he stepped out of his shorts
and underwear in one easy movement.  He turned and leaned against the
concrete, spreading his legs.  "Here it is, what you've been wanting.  I've
just washed it, and I can't do a thing with it! Have a go at it."

	I hopped down from my perch and turned to face Allen.  He was still
grinning.  I put my hands on his hips and stared at his shadowy crotch.
Sure enough, his enlarged dick was rising excitedly toward me. He took my
hands and moved them inward so that they folded around his genitals.  His
cock firmed up stiffly at their touch.  Then he put his hands on my
shoulders and pushed me down to my knees before him.  I felt his firm,
rubbery-headed cock brush my cheek as he pushed it toward me.  His muff of
pubes rested under my nose like a furry mustache, smelling of soap and
maleness.  I kissed and licked the base of his pole, then leaned back and
took the head of it into my mouth.  This was my first taste of cock, and I
loved it!  Allen moaned with pleasure above my head, which he now held in
his strong hands, guiding it back and forth on his slimy organ.

	He began to verbalize encouragement, a little too loud, I thought.
"Yeah, man, suck that cock. Take it in deeper.  Suck me good," and so
forth.  I was loving hearing his voice, but wishing he would be more
cautious.  But suddenly, I heard movement from the other side of the
concrete buttress, and I realized we were not alone!  Shapes began moving
around the block from both sides at once.  Oh, shit!  We're dead in this
town!  were the only words my shocked brain, instantly turned to panicky
mush, could form.  Here we were, both naked as grocery store chickens, with
rock-hard erections, me kneeling at Allen's feet slobbering all over his
enflamed organ. I stood in dread, nothing else to do.  I heard laughter,
male laughter.  Then I realized Allen was laughing, too.

	Gradually, the light began to dawn.  I could make out three new
shapes, surrounding me closely.  I recognized the voices: Tyrone, DeShawn,
and Jeremy, Allen's buddies.  From the light coloring of Jeremy's shape and
the uniform darkness of Tyrone and DeShawn's, I became aware that they also
were naked.  Then I felt my heart drop down into my feet.  I knew the
enormity of my predicament.  It was not Allen and I who were caught, but
only me.  I had been set up.

	Still, I had some vague hope.  Maybe all the guys were into having
sex together.  Maybe this was a regular group thing that I was being
invited into.  For a moment I was optimistic that this could possibly turn
into a fantastic sex-fest with four of my prime ogling subjects.  My hopes
were soon dashed, however.  I was going to have sex, all right, but not the
way I had dreamed of it. The three newcomers were still laughing, poking
Allen on the shoulders and biceps, but now congratulating him on being
right about me and luring me right into their trap, and suggesting that I
was about to be taught a lesson on what happens to faggots in their town.
I looked desperately into Allen's eyes, but he looked right through me with
an indifferent shrug.  "I told you I had a special treat for you.  I think
you'll enjoy it. And whether you enjoy it or not, you're going to remember
it for a long, long time."

	Jeremy and DeShawn grabbed my arms from either side, but in any
case, there was nowhere for me to go.  "I'm wet and ready," said Allen, "so
I'll go first. Lean on the block and spread 'em," he instructed me.  Then
he slipped out past DeShawn and moved around behind me.  I didn't move,
stunned, so Jeremy and DeShawn pushed my arms down onto the block, cool
concrete covered by clothing, and held me there.  I felt Allen's rough,
quarterback hands grab my inner thighs and lift, spreading my legs wide
apart.  Then the hands pulled my butt-cheeks apart roughly, and I felt a
finger locating my asshole.

Now I knew that this was not really sex in the way I understood and desired
it, even with these guys.  It was a raw demonstration of power and
superiority, intended to humiliate me.  I would have been only too glad to
be fucked by all four of these sexy guys, anytime they asked.  But tonight,
they were not going to ask.

...[In turn, Allen, Tyrone, Jeremy, and DeShawn force themselves on Bryant,
making him suck each one's cock, and then assaulting his anus.  When he
cries out with the initial pain, Jeremy socks him in the jaw, telling him
to shut up and splitting his lip.  The description of these actions is
omitted because of their non-consensual nature.]...

	When DeShawn pulled out of me, I just sagged onto the cement
flooring in a sobbing heap, my asshole still screaming and my gut still
sore inside.  The four assailants grabbed up their clothing from both sides
of the cement block, slipped them on quickly and quietly, and hurried away,
taking my clothes with them and leaving me there naked and ravaged.  I lay
there crying on the cool cement for a good quarter of an hour, unable to
think what to do.  When I finally pulled myself up carefully, I could tell
that there was a dark little puddle on the cement--semen and shit and
blood.  I had to get myself cleaned up, I realized, and get some clothing,
and assess the damage.  So I headed back to the locker room.  It would be
locked up by now, but we all knew how to get in through a side window, as
many of us had been doing from time to time all summer to get in extra time
in the weight room.

	Long before I had limped across the field, I saw the lights on the
in the locker room.  Someone was there.  I crept up to the corner of the
window and peeked in. It was none other than my macho-guy friends, washing
up after their dirty deed.  They were no longer so jubilant and amused with
themselves, but were pretty cowed, really.  I saw my clothes on a bench.  I
moved over into the shadows to wait until they left, which only took a
couple of minutes more.  They came out and went their separate ways, much
subdued from their former bullying selves.  As a matter of fact, this
episode did in their friendship.  The four had little to do with one
another from that point on, to the bewilderment of the whole team and all
of their friends, who never understood what had happened between them.

	After they had left, I slipped in the window and headed for the
shower.  I had to turn on lights in order to check myself out.  I was a
pretty sorry sight, face and rear.  The gunk oozing from my butt was light
brown now, not red or dark.  I was still in misery, but starting to come
into grips with reality.  I decided to hit the shower and try to wash my
attackers out of me.

	I hardly got under the warm water before I heard the door open, the
outer light switch on, and Coach Howard's voice call out, "Hey, who's
there?"  I could not make my mouth open to answer.  I was in shock. He
stood at the shower room door. "Chapman, didn't you just leave a while
ago?"  Pause.  His eyes took in my downcast face with red eyes, swollen
cheek, and split lip, then the thin stream of discolored water flowing from
my feet toward the center drain.  "What's up, Bryant?"  I found I could not
speak or look at him.  I just stood there.  I think I may have started to
cry again, helpless now that the jig was up.

	Coach crossed the tile in his Nikes and turned off the water.  I
felt his hand on my chin as he lifted my head to look at my face.  "Well,
that's not so bad.  It wasn't like that when you left before, though, was
it?  So you've had an encounter outside, huh?"  Then he took my shoulders
and turned me around, and he saw the source of the darkened runoff.  For a
moment he also was silent.  Then he said quietly and more gently than I've
ever heard him speak, "I need to look at this, to see how bad it is, if you
need a doctor.  OK?"  I nodded once, and he led me out to the P. T.  table
outside his office and helped me onto it, still dripping wet.  I pressed my
face against the vinyl and just lay there, naked backside exposed.  But
after what I had been through, I guess I was now beyond humiliation, or
perhaps in shock.  In a minute, I felt a gloved finger gently poking at my
butt hole.  He spread my butt cheeks and investigated my insulted
sphincter.  He lubed his finger and gently inserted it two joints deep and
circled slowly, re-enlarging the opening, but so much gentler than Allen
had done.  I flinched, but compared to the violations I had received
earlier, this was no big deal except for it being Coach, a nice guy, but
after all a grown-up man, at least twenty-eight, and an authority figure to
boot.  "The bleeding was all from the outside, right at the entrance.
That's the tight part, the inside is pretty flexible.  They didn't stick
any rough foreign object in there, did they?"  I shook my head no, then
rolled onto my side facing him.

	"I can't tell you who it was."

	"You don't have to.  Because I know who it was.  I knew they were
up to something when they left here.  I just didn't know what.  But I heard
the "Q" word being tossed around about somebody."  He was quiet.  "Bryant,
I've been dreading something like this.  I know what an intolerant place
this is, how tough it is for you and a few other young guys I know around
here.  I'm sorry you found out this way."

	I looked up at Coach appraisingly. This was surprising, open talk
to me.  He was looking down at me kindly.  I realized suddenly what a
handsome guy he was, and not really so old at all (actually, in his prime,
I now know).  His long lean face had a serious expression that suited it.
His brown hair was a little tousled, appealingly so.  His white knit shirt
stretched tightly over his muscled chest, broad shoulders, and swelling
biceps.  Coach was a pretty hot, very masculine dude, and I was lying naked
in front of him at his waist level.  Suddenly, to my utter amazement and
mortification, my unruly young teen dick, not having learned a thing about
self -preservation from my asshole's earlier punishment, and still
unsatisfied, turned into a raging red boner right before his eyes.  He
couldn't have even pretended not to notice.  But he just chuckled and shook
his head.  "What did they do, set you up?"  I nodded, blushing deeply.
"And obviously they satisfied themselves with no thought for you, huh?"
Another nod.  "Straight guys are such pigs," he said contemptuously,
pausing long enough for the enormity of what he was saying to sink in.
Then he continued, "This is between you and me, right?  None of it ever
happened."  A nod.  "I can't undo what they did.  But I can help with this
part."  And with that he pushed me over onto my back, leaned down on his
elbow, lifted my dick with one hand, and took it into his wide,
authoritative mouth!

	To this day, it was the most heavenly blow-job I have ever had.  I
felt a thrill the full length of my body, but centered in my throbbing
sixteen-year-old dick.  If I had not been in shock already, I would have
gone into it at the very thought of Coach blowing my horn like this.  And
he was masterful.  Man, I couldn't help thinking, the suck-off I'm getting
beats all hell out of what Allen and the others got tonight!  If they only
knew!  I went into sort of a coma of rapture, absorbing deeply every
exhilarating neural sensation.  His hand massaged my balls and
tantalizingly fondled that sensitive space beneath them.  Normally, I would
have been like Jeremy--I would have blown like an oil well after about
three strokes of such heightened pleasure.  But for some reason, after the
events of the evening, though I was really primed for an explosion, it had
been postponed for so long by then that it took awhile to bring me off.
Coach was patient, taking to his task with skill and focus.  At last, I
felt the creek arising.  "I'm coming," I gasped simply.  He pulled back and
finished me off manually, milking a huge load of cream out of my organ onto
my belly.  I couldn't look at him, so I closed my eyes, panting.  Then I
felt a towel swabbing my stomach.  Coach carefully and gently dried me all
over, rolled me over again and dried my backside, then caressed and
massaged it, finishing with my battered but appreciative buttocks.  I
drifted into another world, heaven I think.  When he had finished, while he
was putting the towel away, I sat up, now not at all shy about my nakedness
or his presence, but deeply happy and grateful.

	"You OK with this?" he asked.

I nodded.  "Thanks.  I'll never tell," I answered simply.  And I never
have.

	"I don't want you quitting the team because of tonight.  I need
your leg.  Plus, I like having you around."

	I was quiet for a moment. "I guess I would have quit because of
those pricks.  I still don't know how I'll deal with facing them.  But now
I won't quit the team.  I'll stay for you."

	I still wasn't looking at Coach.  I just got up and gathered my
clothing and started to put it on.  "We have a lot to talk about later,
don't we?" asked Coach.  I nodded.  "My place, any night after practice,"
he said.  "I'll be looking for you."  I nodded again.  Just for a moment, I
looked at him and met his kindly gaze, wordlessly conveying my thanks, my
admiration, my joy.  Then I turned and walked out of the building, and into
my new, adult life, feeling braver and more hopeful than I had ever felt
before.