Date: Sun, 1 Oct 2006 08:16:57 -0700 (PDT)
From: Matthew Lake <matthew_lake@yahoo.com>
Subject: intolerable-cruelty-9

Hello there.  Thanks for tuning in again...  I hope that readers continue
to enjoy these characters and the direction of the story.  If you have
comments, don't hesitate to email me at matthew_lake@yahoo.com or AIM me at
matthewlake309.  Also, for those of you who are a little more visual, I
have pictures of Lake, Jamie and Anthony that I have used in imagining
them.  Let me know if you want any of those returned to you.  There it is
. . . I hope you enjoy!

BTW, the author holds a copyright for this and all previous chapters of
Intolerable Cruelty.  It is not to be distributed for profit or hosted,
without permission, on profit-making websites.

Previously, in Intolerable Cruelty...

"Wanna hold it for me?" Jamie asked, laughing, arcing his stream around the
bowl, and calling attention to my fixation.

"Zip it or you'll *need* someone to hold it," I mock threatened, smiling
and matching his amused tone.

"Well," he answered lightly.  "You never know what might happen.  Before
last night, I never imagined you might want to floss your teeth with my ass
hair, who knows if you might want to gargle with my piss?"  He chuckled at
what he saw as ironic wit never knowing just how close he was to the truth
of my life.

I laughed it off and picked up my toothbrush, peripherally watching him
finish up.  "I think I'll use my toothbrush this morning, thank you very
much."  He drew back the curtain and stepped into the hot water.

"Well you better hurry up, before it gets cold.  It feels so good," he
taunted.

"Feel this," I said, and flushed the toilet.

The momentary flash of cold water had him yelling "Motherfucker," and
before I knew it, his wet arm was pulling me into the shower with him.

* * * * *

Jamie and I arrived at the bus a few minutes before the deadline.  Other
guys were straggling on in ones and twos.  Rutland was standing just
outside the doors, clipboard in hand.

"About time you made it, Lake," he nodded to Jamie, "Get plenty of rest,
Jamie?  A good night's sleep can really get the tension out, and you're
gonna need to be at your best today if you're going to place.  It's not
going to be a cake-walk."

"I know," he responded, "and I'm ready.  I'm feeling great, Coach."  Jamie
smiled, and Rutland clapped him on the shoulder as he stepped up to board
the bus.  He handed me the clipboard, and made no mention of having heard
our intimacy next door.  If he was just avoiding, he was doing a great job
of playing oblivious.

Like Jamie, I felt pretty good about things, too.  The sky was a perfect
azure, not a cloud anywhere.  I had been closer to Jamie on this trip than
I could ever remember being.  I could almost feel his arms around me,
holding me close.  The thought of him fucking me--no making love to
me--made me throw half-hard, and to calm myself, I focused on the ribbing
and roughhousing that had taken place in the bathroom this morning, and the
fun we had with the whole team at the pool last night.  Three games of
freeze tag in the water, and every time Mark had been 'it' he had come
after me, tagging me.  And I had never once been able to turn the tables on
him.  Somehow, I resolved, I was going to pay him back, and the thought
brought a sly smile to my face.  I just wondered how I was going to make it
happen.

"Stow your gear and then take a count of guys on the bus," Rutland was
giving me directions and I snapped back to reality.  "I'll be back in a
second."  I stepped up the three stairs and noticed that Jamie had saved me
a spot next to him.  I tossed my bag into the seat and counted my way back
to the front.  Hopping off the bus, I counted a few more guys as they
arrived late and boarded.  Rutland had stepped over to a white Honda Civic
and was helping his fianc^Î to stow her bags in the trunk.  In my head, I
could hear echoes of her muffled moans and whimpers, and I started to get
hard again.  A few more guys boarded as they embraced and she climbed in
the driver's side door.  He took a few steps away and turned towards the
car to wave.  She rolled down the window and he leaned in for a last,
lingering kiss.  As he stepped away she raised her voice to get his
attention.

"Troy, do you have the navy duffel?  I didn't bring it out.  And your video
camera?  Make sure you don't forget anything, honey.  I love you."

He raised his hand to acknowledge he had heard her.  "I love you, too.  And
I didn't get it either.  I'll go back and make sure."  She smiled and blew
him a kiss and then she was backing out of the spot and he was walking back
towards me.

He grabbed the clipboard and I told him there were six guys left to
board. "You can never count on guys to be on time, Lake," he was less upset
about the absences than I expected him to be.  "That's why I built in a
buffer to get us there on time.  We'll still make it, no problem.  In fact,
I'm gonna get myself some coffee in the lobby real quick.  Will you go in
and round them up, Lake?"  I turned towards the door.  "One other thing, I
think I may have left a dark blue duffel bag in the room and my camera case
on the desk.  Will you go check and make sure we didn't leave anything
behind?"  He handed me his room key.

Jerome and Rick were heading out to the bus as Coach and I were stepping
inside.  "Two down, Coach."  I threw a smile over my shoulder and headed
towards the two occupied rooms, and I could hear Rutland telling the guys
to hurry up and get on the bus.  I knocked on the door to room 214, and
Blake swung it wide open.  Behind him, I could see Joe standing, his tan
skin in stark contrast to the towel wrapped around his waist.  While he was
pulling clothes out of his duffel, Blake was completely dressed.  Before I
could even open my mouth, Blake interrupted me.

Still facing away from me, I saw Joe loosen the towel and it dropped to the
floor, revealing two smooth mounded cheeks almost as white as the towel
that had covered them.  Joe was incredibly lean, his skin stretched tight
over muscles.  Each sculpted indentation where his cheek blended into his
thigh deepened as he stepped into his jockstrap one leg at a time,
adjusting the elastic.

"We're almost there," Blake gestured over his shoulder.  "Miss Priss just
has to put her stockings on."  He laughed, and I could hear Joe respond
from inside with a casual "Fuck you." I could feel my cock swell at the
sight of his tight runner's ass, and my mind wandered as I imagined the
feel of his warm skin beneath my fingers, the first hints of his smell as
my face drew close to his crevice.  I imagined a few wisps of hair hiding
in his crack, revealed as my hands parted his powerful cheeks and my tongue
approached for a first taste of him.

I tried to convey cool urgency and purposely shifted my line of sight away
from the strap-framed mounds of flesh.  "No problem, dude.  Coach just sent
me up to get everyone outside ASAP."  I didn't give him time to respond or
myself time to take a last glance beyond him to the near-perfect physique
of his roommate.  "See you on the bus."  I turned and headed down the
hallway, and I heard the door close behind me.

The next room was at the other end of the long hallway.  Halfway there, I
saw Sean stepping into the hallway, and figured Mark was probably right
behind him, but the door swung closed as he started towards me, bags in
hand.

"Where's Mark?" I asked.

Sean just shook his head.  "Little shit wouldn't get outta bed this
morning.  I kept telling him we was gonna be late, but he wasn't hearin'
me."  Sean seemed equal parts amused and concerned.  "Is Coach mad?"

"I don't think he's pissed yet, Sean, but he will be if the bus doesn't
pull out soon.  You better get down there and tell him everyone's on their
way.  I'll go knock on your door and hurry Mark along."

Sean reached towards me.  "He was just getting into the shower when I left,
so just in case he doesn't answer the door, here's our room key."  He
handed me the key card and started towards the stairwell.  Suddenly, it
occurred to me that this was my opportunity to give Mark back some of the
ribbing he had given me yesterday.

As I stepped up to the door, I wasn't entirely sure what I would find
inside.  I prepared my best imitation of Anthony Perkins in the hopes that
I might scare the shit out of him while he was in the shower.  Having made
him scream like a girl would be the perfect story to have at the ready for
the upcoming busride.

I slipped the key card into the slot and heard the lock slide back as the
green light flared.  I pushed the handle down as quietly as I could and
swung the door open just a bit.  I could hear the shower still running, and
I could hear ESPN playing on the TV.  Passing the point of no return, I
held my hand up, slasher-like to channel my best Psycho.  The bathroom door
was a few feet ahead of me on the right, and the door was just slightly
ajar.  I closed the door to the hallway behind me and crept forward, making
as little noise as I could, though the ambient noise level in the room gave
me pretty good cover.

I didn't want to lose my opportunity if Mark was trying to hurry through
his shower, so I stepped up to the door, and started to push it open, not
slowly, exactly, but slowly enough to keep it quiet.  But I was the one who
was caught off-guard.  Mark was not in the shower at all.  In the far
corner of the room, he was sitting entirely naked on the toilet, leaning
back against the water tank with his eyes closed, tensed legs spread out
before him, and his left hand pumping quickly up and down his thick shaft
while his right hand twisted and squeezed his nipple.  I froze in my spot,
and four pumps later, Mark's hips pumped forward as his cock started to
spew.  When I say he erupted, it's because no other word would quite
describe it.  His first two shots landed in quick succession at
shoulder-height on the mirror mounted on the facing wall.  The sheer volume
and distance of those first two squirts were enough to make me gasp, and my
gasp was enough to startle Mark alert.

He reacted to my presence by almost jumping up off the commode, cock still
spewing, his muscles in a tremor, hands searching wildly for something,
maybe a towel, maybe my face.  "What the fuck?" I heard him yelling as I
was backing out of the bathroom.  "Can't a dude have some privacy?" as I
threw open the hallway door.  "Get the fuck out!" but I was already in the
empty hallway and two doors away.

A thousand questions ran through my mind as I stumbled down the stairwell.
I was half afraid that Mark would come bolting after me, and feeling the
second key card--the one to Rutland's room in my pocket--I stepped out of
the stairwell and took refuge in the Coach's room.  Just inside the door, I
fell against the wall, still breathless, and slid down to a squat.
Immediately in that act of squatting, all of the stimulation I had received
that morning, from hearing Coach fuck his girl in the next room, to taking
Jamie's load between my legs, to seeing Joe's jock-clad ass, and finally
catching Mark in his moment of ecstasy caught up with me, and the mere
friction of my cockhead rubbing against my briefs set my own orgasm in
motion.  Right there in the entryway, my whole body shook as I
uncontrollably soaked my shorts with jizz.

Slumped against the wall, my body still shaking agonizingly in
post-orgasmic bliss, I began to cry.  Just when I thought I had begun to
smooth things out with Mark, this had to happen.  Mark had no idea how I
came to be standing at the door of his bathroom, witness to his pleasure.
All he knew was that some faggot snuck into his room and was perving on his
stroke session.  Sure it's true that every guy jacks off, and most even
talk or joke about it with friends, but the two of us weren't that close.
How would Mark react to getting caught in the act?  Would he be angry?
Vulnerable?  Humiliated?  Threatened?  Would he wait to find me alone and
teach me a lesson, to re-establish his manhood, to show me his strength, to
drive home his dominance?  I knew a fight with Mark wouldn't even be a
contest.  I'd get pummeled and the only scratches he would have on him
would be from where his fists connected with my body over and over and over
again.

I was near hysterics, tears racing down my cheeks, as I stood up and tried
to shake it off. As I looked around the room, I saw a mirror image of the
one I had shared with Jamie.  Sure enough, the headboard was on the wall
this room shared with mine and Jamie's.  The sheets and blankets and
bedspread on the near bed were all entirely askew, on the other they seemed
untouched.  As I stepped forward, I briefly stood at the edge of the bed
and acknowledged the site of Coach's passionate morning lovemaking only a
few physical feet from the site of mine.  I could almost see him on top of
her, his furry, muscled mounds flexing and tensing as he drove his powerful
tool deeply into her.  My cock twitched, and semen shifted uncomfortably in
my shorts.

I looked around the room and saw the duffel on the dresser below the
mirror.  I stepped over to retrieve it only to see a scared and shaking boy
looking back at me, the beginnings of a wet spot forming on the front of
his track shorts.  I panicked and tore them off.  I couldn't suffer the
humiliation of wearing a cumstain on the front of my shorts all day.
Moreover, I certainly couldn't explain to Rutland or Jamie, let alone the
rest of the team, how it came about.

The front of my briefs was soaked.  The load that had built up for hours
this morning had left them sopping.  Without thinking, I threw them on the
bed and used the mussed sheets to wipe up the remains of my cold, drying
load.  As I prepared to put my shorts back on, I could see that the flimsy
vented nylon would leave me at risk of exposing myself throughout the
entire day if I didn't have something else to contain my overactive cock
and balls.

Running on instinct, I tore into the duffel and quickly located a pair of
boxer briefs.  As if it were a natural reaction, I held them to my face and
breathed in.  In my mind, Anthony was asking me to rate them.  Had they
been used? From the smell of them, I could sense some wear, and I felt my
mouth begin to water a bit. What body scents had been left behind?  Was the
mere scent of another man going to make me hard?  I refused to answer the
last two questions, as I held the garment in front of me.  Although they
were two sizes too big for me, and almost certainly a part of Coach's
wardrobe the day before, I had no choice but to put them on.  I did so
without hesitation, pulling my shorts up over them.  I went to the sink,
splashed some cold water on my face and mussed up my hair a little,
directing strands here and there.  And then, looking at the clock, I
grabbed the duffel and the camera case on the desk and bolted from the
room.

The two bags weighed next to nothing, but they still seemed a burden as I
hauled myself back out to the lobby, worried about what I would find there.
I was terrified that I would find Mark telling Rutland I was a sick fuck,
or that he might have outted me to the entire team.  Or worst of all, that
he might somehow have used what happened to hurt Jamie either through guilt
by association or by suggesting that my behavior was a betrayal of the love
I held for Jamie.  Even if I got to the lobby and none of those things had
happened, it didn't mean they wouldn't.  Immediately or eventually I was
certain that I would end up paying a hefty price for what had transpired.
It was sheer force of will that allowed me to follow each step with
another.  Rutland was waiting for me in the lobby, and as I walked out with
the two bags, he turned my way and smiled.

"Still waiting on Joe and Mark," he said consulting the clipboard.  He
reached for the shoulder strap and the weight of the navy bag transferred
from me to him, coming to a rest on his hip.  I couldn't make eye contact
with him, certain he would be able to tell something was up.  Although I
knew it was impossible, I was certain if he looked at me, he would know the
depth of my perversion.  "Are you alright, Lake?  You're awful quiet," he
took a step towards me, and I barely resisted the urge to take a step back.

"I'm fine, Coach," I felt my eyes welling with tears again.  "It's just,
can I get on the bus, now?  I promised I'd text message my mom, and my cell
is on the bus."

"No problem, Lake."  I started to turn, and he caught my shoulder, half
turning me back towards him.  "I just want to make sure that nothing
happened yesterday or last night or even this morning that's got you
concerned.  I mean, sometimes guys on a team, you know, things can get out
of hand."  I still wouldn't look at him, and I could feel bile rising in my
throat.  "You sure you're okay?"

I swallowed it back down and gathered myself.  I wasn't ready for this
conversation, not now and not ever.  I searched for a way out.  "No,
nothing like that, Coach.  Yesterday and last night were a blast.  I'm fine
with all the guys."  His hand stayed on my shoulder, and his concern was
apparent in his eyes.  "Really, it's nothing like that.  I swear."
Compounding my awkwardness at not wanting to share, in any way, the
thoughts that were currently swarming my mind, it occurred to me that even
as I stood in gentle contact with this coach, mentor, role-model,
protector--he was filling so many roles in my life--I was in possession of
his intimate property.  I had become so immune in my recent history to
being in possession of other men's used underwear that I hadn't really
considered the implication that what I was doing in his room was stealing.
More than that, I had rifled through his bag and stolen a possession of a
deeply personal nature.  I felt myself sinking even deeper into this
quagmire I had made in the last few minutes.

"That's good enough for me," he responded, commanding my attention once
again.  "Because I want you to know there's nothing you couldn't tell me."
He paused and the grave tone of the conversation seemed to almost
immediately dissipate as he broke into a broad grin.  "The thing I value
most about having you as my team manger, Lake, is that I know I can trust
you with anything.  From getting my bags out of my room to keeping
excellent stats."  He mock punched me in the chest.  "So, I need you to
stick close to me today.  It's gonna be a hell of a ride!"

"No problem, Coach."  I finally looked up into his beaming blue eyes.  I
couldn't bring myself to smile back.

"Now go text your mom, before she starts to worry."  I stepped out of the
lobby and ascended the stairs into the bus, depositing the camera on the
front seat where Rutland always sat, and finding my way back to the seat
Jamie had saved for me.  Rutland's voice echoed in my head.  "I need you to
stick close to me today."  It was like he knew I had raided his bag for a
pair of underwear, the used pair I was wearing now.  Stick close to him?  I
couldn't be much closer to him as the fabric that had gently molded to his
abundant package yesterday now loosely held mine, the same material that
had smoothly covered his powerful ass hours before was now bunched against
mine, my crime veiled by a scarce few millimeters of nylon.  Reflexively, I
found myself responding to the overwhelming reality with a general
emotional numbness.  Oblivious to the excitement building around me, I sat
quietly, mentally slinking away from the corner I had backed myself into
this morning.

* * * * *

The day couldn't have gone better for the team.  Jamie won his strongest
event, and came in a respectable third in his weakest.  Mark came in first
in the 400 meter hurdles, and led the relay team to victory, crossing the
line first in a come-from-behind photo finish.  Joe and Jerome placed first
in races, and Rick and Will came in top-three in contests in which they
weren't supposed to be competitive.  Rutland seemed on top of the world as
team members racked up firsts and seconds and only occasionally thirds.
Mark had climbed onto the bus nonplussed.  Although he made no direct
contact, verbal or non-verbal, with me throughout the day, it wasn't
behavior out of the realm of his usual.

On the other hand, my torture, my punishment, my penance was that I had to
shadow Rutland all day, keeping stats and records.  Every time I moved, I
felt the cotton of his boxer briefs pull against my dick or twist around my
leg or bunch in my crack against my asshole.  I felt like my skin was on
fire down there.  Not to mention that when I stood next to him, I would
become hypnotized by his beautiful eyes or his strong jawline or the gentle
curves of his soft, masculine lips.  And when I sat, my field of vision was
consumed by the powerful curves of his glutes or the enticing bulge in his
track shorts.  I was horrified by my inability to subvert my attraction to
him in the face of my guilt and shame.  Truth be told, any crush I had on
Rutland did not realistically extend beyond the realm of fantasy, and I was
the first to admit it.  But standing there in his shorts, constantly aware
of my sex, and attracted to him beyond all reason, I was unable to wrench
free of my self-loathing, and for several hours, every time he spoke to me
or even glanced at me, bile would rise in my throat and I would swallow
hard to suppress my body's natural response to my situation.

When our team was announced as the winning team at the meet, Rutland threw
his hands into the air, jumping as high as he could, and a moment later, he
was holding me tight to him, chest to chest, as we spun around in a circle,
a victory dance inspired by his unmitigated joy.  My clipboard flew to the
floor of the stands beneath us as my hands curled around his neck and I
held him close.  I was never more distant and so intensely close to him all
at the same time, and I couldn't help the sobs that suddenly racked through
me.  On this day, our team had exhibited its collective best performance
ever, and I had exhibited an individual low.  Tears streamed down my face,
even as Rutland set me back on the ground.  He mistook them for a well of
positive emotion--tears of joy--and rubbed my shoulders telling me how
proud he was of the team and of me.  I wiped my eyes with the bottom of my
hoodie as I regained myself.  And then the team was swarming around us,
having been dismissed from their line-up on the track where they collected
the winner's trophy.

The busride home was celebratory.  Emotionally exhausted and finally more
physically distant from Rutland, I was able to partake in some of the team
bonding that accompanied a win.  Different team members relived their
events to great affect, and whoops and hollers from the other guys.  When
the bus finally pulled into the school lot later that night, cars were
honking and parents and classmates lined the driveway as the news of our
win had preceded us via cell phones and text messages.  The spring sport
cheerleaders led the crowd in some spirited congratulations as the guys
stepped off the bus to be greeted with claps on the back from dads and
brothers and hugs from moms and sisters and girlfriends.  I scanned the
crowd through the bus window, but knew that my parents wouldn't be among
the well-wishers.  My dad had been called out of town for business, and my
mom had reluctantly agreed to leave me behind when I promised I could stay
with Jamie until they returned on Sunday night.

When Jamie stepped off the bus ahead of me, Wayne was there with a
handshake and a hug, taking a moment to admire the medals still hanging
around Jamie's neck.  Mandy was right beside him.  She gave him a long hug
and pulled him in for a kiss.  Jamie seemed unsure how to react in the
presence of his dad, but gave in to the kiss, slipping his arms around her.
Wayne turned from their embrace and stepped over to offer me
congratulations, as well.

"You should be very proud, Matthew," he said.  "I'm sure the team couldn't
have gotten this far without your support."  He shook my hand, holding it
between his two for several moments, and then with a pat on my arm and
shoulder, he released it.  "I hope you and Jamie had a great time
together."

"Oh we did, sir," I was enthusiastic.  "It was so much fun, and Jamie was
awesome in his events.  He blew away the competition."

"Well, he's lucky to have you there cheering him on and helping him to be
the best man that he can be."  He smiled at me.  "We can only be who we
are, and when we are true to that, we have succeeded."  He winked at me and
said quickly, "You have a good night, Matthew."  He stepped towards a
finally disentangled Jamie and Mandy.

Jamie looked my way with distress.  He stepped over to me.  "I know we were
gonna hang out tonight and tomorrow, Lake.  But Mandy has all these
surprise plans to go out, and I had no idea, but I don't feel like I can
tell her no."  It all came out in a rush.  "Would you mind if we hang later
in the week.  I'll make it up to you.  I mean, it was so much fun yesterday
and today.  But I feel like this is something I gotta do now or I'm gonna
pay later, know what I mean?"

I shook my head.  "I know.  I understand."  I was angry and getting
depressed.

"You can find another ride home?  I'm seriously sorry to leave you hanging,
dude."

"Really, it's okay," I said, disappointed at the abandonment.  Inside I
screamed, "No, it's not ok.  You promised me a place to stay, you promised
me your company, just us guys, a whole weekend together, and you lied."  He
wrapped his arms around me in a brief man-hug, and I gave a little squeeze
back.  I knew I was sending mixed messages, but I didn't care and he didn't
seem to notice.  He picked up his bags and joined Wayne and Mandy as they
walked to the car.

He had held me in his embrace last night, he had made love to me this
morning, and he was walking away tonight.  I had let his kisses and my love
for him confuse me, distract me from the fact that, like all straight guys,
Jamie was after pleasure.  His kisses weren't contracts, and he had never
led me to believe we could be more than we were.  If lies were told, they
had been told to me by myself.  The realization was like a kick to the
head.

As I shook it off and looked around, the crowd was fast dissipating.  A few
cheerleaders remained, and of course, they were clucking and chirping in a
circle around Mark, who was giving a blow-by-blow account of his miraculous
win just a few yards away from me.  Rutland saw me standing alone and
yelled over to me.  "Lake, do you need a ride?"  He was the last person I
wanted to close out my night with.  I looked around frantically searching
for an alternative.

Mark turned our way without skipping a beat.  "I'll drive you home, Lake,"
he looked to Rutland.  "It's okay, Coach.  I've got him."  Mark made quick
good-byes and promises to IM some of the girls later.  He grabbed my bag,
and started walking towards his Prius.  I felt rooted to the spot, my pulse
racing.  I was sure this was the moment when payback began.

"Lake?" Mark questioned.  "Are you coming?"  Not quite sure if I should, I
again put one foot before the other and once more until I was moving along
behind him.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea, Mark.  I think I can find another ride
home.  I mean, we don't even live near each other."  I couldn't help but
admire his frame and the contrasting hard angles and soft curves of his
back and shoulders as he stepped away with my bag.  It was a cool night for
early spring, and like most of the team, Mark had pulled on a pair of
sweatpants, and they hugged and clung to his body in all the right places.

"It's no problem, dude."  I finally stepped forward, reluctantly catching
up to him until we were walking side-by-side.  "When I saw Mandy here, I
thought maybe your ride might fall through.  I'm happy to give a friend a
helping hand."  He smiled at me, and I worried that a helping hand might
mean a helping fist.

"Mark, look, what happened this morning. . ."

"Was an accident," he interrupted.  "Sean told me he gave you the room key
and that you were just trying to deliver Coach's message.  It was truly
unfortunate timing, though, dude, because that was one hell of a blast you
interrupted," he chuckled at that.  I laughed tentatively, too, not sure if
I should comment on just how impressive a shot it was.  "Dude, you shoulda
seen your face."  He was laughing openly now.

"Me?" I countered.  "What about you?  Your face was priceless."  I was
loosening up a little bit.  "Mostly, I just feel sorry for whatever hotel
maid had to clean that spunk up."

"Seriously.  There must have been a gallon of it."  He paused and looked at
me.  "Are we okay, now?" Mark asked.  "Are you gonna let me take you home?
Honestly, Lake.  No hard feelings."  He held out his hand in a fist, and I
mirrored him as our fists bumped together.  He opened the door of the car
and swung my bag into the back seat.  Contrary to his claim, I was
experiencing hard feelings stirring in my groin.

More relieved than I had been all day, I climbed into the car beside him.
Mark maneuvered the car out of the parking lot, and I gave him general
directions towards my neighborhood, as well as my house number.  It wasn't
hard to find, and within a few minutes, we were well on our way to my
house.  The inside of the car seemed both close and comfortable.  Our
shoulders sat less than a foot apart.  As I looked over at Mark, I had to
admit that his features were striking.

With the exception of Fergie's slamming base, both the car and the two of
us were nearly silent, as we passed strip malls and big box stores, one
after the other.  Finally, my curiosity got the better of me, and as we sat
at a red light, I turned towards Mark a little.  His hair had grown longer
in recent months, and his once blond tips were gone, though his hair was
still fairly short and stylishly disheveled.  One arm extended across his
body to grip the steering wheel at the six o'clock position, and his other
extended slightly towards me, resting lightly on the gearshift.  His high
cheekbones and strong jaw pointed straight ahead giving me a perfect
profile; I wasn't sure he knew I was taking him in.  "Can I ask you about
today?  I mean, I thought I had some distance shots, but, damn, Mark, do
you always shoot that far?"

Mark turned and smiled.  His eyes were energized as he looked me up and
down, and his tongue flicked out to moisten his bottom lip.  "Looks like
someone may be interested after all."  His gaze tracked from me to his
seat, and mine followed as he pulled his hand off the steering wheel long
enough to cup his bulge.  When I looked back up, his eyes were staring
directly at mine.  "Caught ya lookin'" he said, his left eye winking, as
his hand regained the steering wheel and the car began to glide forward
through the intersection.

Mark was openly flirting with me, and I felt almost giddy inside, and I
wasn't sure why.  His smile was mirrored on my face, though, and I'm sure
my eyes danced back to him.  It was almost like when Mark's attention was
focused on me, I felt unmasked, as if the world around me was a little
brighter than it was, as if I was a little better than I was.

He didn't answer my question, though.  He just continued to glance over at
me frequently, bathing me in the warm glow of his smile, occasionally
joining in to sing a few lyrics of the songs on the radio.  I didn't ask
anymore questions, but the silence between us wasn't awkward or tense.  It
was easy and friendly and flirty.  And it was confusing the hell out of me.

Mark pulled into my driveway, and I reached for the door handle.  "Lake,"
he said, and his hand slipped from the gear shift to my leg just above the
knee, electricity racing up my leg and right into my cock.  I looked over
to him.  The fingers of his other hand curled under his balls, and his
thumb paralleled the shaft of his semi-hard cock, outlined almost obscenely
by the thin fleece.  I found myself leaning towards him almost
imperceptibly.  "I didn't answer your question, tonight.  And I'm not
talking about here and now.  But, think about what I said yesterday.  If
you really want that answer, if you want a piece of this..." he squeezed
himself for emphasis, and I swear I could see his cock growing.  He let his
silence linger in the air for a moment, until my eyes made contact with
his.  And then, almost in a whisper, he continued, "...it's yours."

I felt trapped in his warm eyes, almost drowning.  I felt light-headed and
my mouth was watering.  His face was soft and hard at the same time, and
tearing myself from my contact with his eyes and his hand was agony, but I
swung the door open and stepped out of the car.  Mark reached into the
back, and transferred my duffel to the passenger seat.  "Think about it,"
he said, as if I could think of anything else.  Standing beside the open
door, I couldn't even see his face any longer, just his hand, still holding
himself, and for once I knew my own will enough to realize that if I didn't
close the door, my hand would be replacing his in a matter of moments.

"Thanks for the ride," I bent down to make a final eye contact, "and, um,
the offer.  And I'll see you at practice on Monday."

"If not before..." I heard him trail off as I swung the door closed and
turned towards my empty house.

* * * * *

Once in the house, I walked through the rooms on the first floor, turning
on lights and making sure that nothing was out of the ordinary.  I moved
quickly, hurrying towards my rooms so that I could get the fuck out of
Coach's boxer-briefs.  I couldn't take any more reminders of how my
indiscretions had set me from the course I wanted more than anything--to
love and be loved by Jamie.  Perhaps it was an unattainable course, but
made ever more so because of the power that Anthony now held over me.  In
the battle between my cock and my heart, I knew I wanted my heart to win
the war, but it seemed my cock was winning every battle.  Walking up the
stairs, cotton bunching against me, I couldn't even wait to get to my room,
and pulled off the boxers and my shorts in a tangle of cotton and nylon,
throwing them into the door of my closet and watching them slide down to
the floor.  My theft of those briefs spoke volumes about who I had become,
but not nearly as much as the almost overwhelming desire within me to take
them in my hands and hold them to my face and discover if I could still
smell anything of Rutland in them despite having worn them all day.  I
silently cursed myself as I pulled off my hoodie and t-shirt, throwing them
in the general direction of the laundry basket in the bottom of my closet.
I kicked the ball of shorts into the shadows and slammed the door, shutting
out temptation, and closing off the part of my mind that had been feeding
my lust all day.

Taking a deep breath, I determined to finish out the night without thoughts
of Anthony or Rutland, Mark or Jamie, and owning this freedom and that
which accompanied being entirely alone in house, I strolled through the
hallway to the bathroom entirely naked.

Leaving the door open, I turned on the water, letting it warm up.  My
reflection in the mirror seemed peaceful and inspired.  I really looked at
myself for a minute, and I began to see why another guy might take an
interest.  My dark hair and eyes contrasted nicely with my light skin.
Each of my facial features complemented the others nicely, nothing too
dominant or too delicate, and my skin was clean and clear.  I didn't have
the definition in my shoulders or arms or pecs or abs that I had seen on
Mark or Jamie or Anthony.  In my mind, my eyes wandered from one of their
chests to another, and I could see my cock responding in my reflection.
Holding fast to my need for a night free of angst, I shut them out of my
mind.  But it was too late for my cock, which, finding life, rose up out of
a small bed of soft dark pubes.  My short hairs had less curl to them than
some of the bushes I'd run my fingers through.  They were neither thick nor
sparse, and stuck close to their home around the base of my cock, declining
to wander towards my navel or even onto my tween.  My body was mostly
smooth, except for legs and arms, pits, and bush.  I turned to look at
myself from the rear.  My legs and ass were probably the most defined parts
of my body, reflecting that my main mode of personal transportation was
still a bicycle.  All in all, I felt I had some nice assets.  I dared not
consider to whom I would give them next.

The steam from the shower began to fog the mirror and ruin the view, and so
I stepped under the warm stream and let the pounding droplets wash over me.
I closed my eyes and looked up into the spray, slowly turning away to let
the water cascade down my back.  Washing away the day's sweat and grime,
guilt and worry, time seemed irrelevant.  Minutes or hours later, I finally
felt entirely relaxed.  A squeeze of shampoo and a handful of body wash,
and I was finally rinsing off and wrapping a bath sheet around me.

Still dripping here and there, I made my way back through the hallway to my
room.  I sat down at my desk and let the towel collect stray droplets as my
fingers found my keyboard.  I logged on to IM, and checked a few away
messages.  I saw no one who was active that remotely piqued my interest and
put up an away of my own.  Concurrently, I checked my email and facebook.
In a moment of weakness, I searched for Mark, found him, and submitted a
friend request.  I quickly scanned the pictures on his profile, finding
nothing too scandalous.

Smiling, I realized that the fluttering in my midsection was not just a
reaction to a few shirtless pictures of Mark.  It was actually hunger.
Activating the energy saver on my monitor, I secured the towel and headed
towards the kitchen.  Not being particularly adept in culinary arts, I
decided on simple, and grabbed a bowl from the cupboard, pouring myself
some frosted flakes.  A splash of milk later, I was sitting in front of the
TV with the TiVo remote in my hand.

It was completely inspiring to eat cereal naked in the family room watching
any damn show I wanted.  Within seconds, the Gilmore Girls filled the
screen before me.  I let everything go and just gave myself over to Lorelai
and Rory.  When credits rolled on the third episode, I decided I'd had
enough.  Tossing the towel over my shoulder, I turned off the big screen
and dropped my bowl and spoon in the kitchen as I made my way to my room.
Tired as hell, I cast off the towel and dropped into my bed.  There would
be no dreams tonight.

* * * * *

If you'd like another installment, please let me know at
matthew_lake@yahoo.com or AOL IM me at matthewlake309.  It's really
motivating to get an email, even if it's just a couple of lines-especially
motivating if it's a hot pic.  I try to respond to every email, and also
keep a list of responsive readers to make notifications of the posting of
the next chapter.  You can find other stories I've written in the prolific
authors section of the nifty archive.  Thanks again for reading!