Date: Sat, 2 Nov 2013 17:53:25 -0500
From: mt nuda <mtnuda@hotmail.com>
Subject: Chapter One Twenty two for "The Exam"

Chapter One Twenty-Two

Disclaimer/Reminder: The following story is a work of gay fiction although
based on non-fictional events.  It contains sexual acts involving males of
high school age as well as older males.  There are scenes of involuntary
humiliation and punishment, some of them graphic.  If this subject matter
is offensive to you or if you are too young to be reading it, please exit
now.  Now kid!  You have been warned.  This story is the property of the
author under U.S. copyright laws, and may not be used elsewhere without
written consent.  Otherwise enjoy it to your heart's content.  Emails
expressing interest or wishing further information can be sent to:
mtnuda@hotmail.com.

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(NOTE: This story involves a "prequel" regarding the O'Toole family
mentioned in Chapter Ninety-Seven.  Several readers expressed an interest
in hearing more about the character of Pat O'Toole.  Although these stories
are stand-alone, the reader is strongly advised to begin at the beginning
all the way back in Chapter One.  By reading Chapter Ninety-Seven alone (or
for that matter Chapter Ninety-Eight for Coach Don Farbersten), the reader
will have a better idea who the characters are and how they came to be in
that crowded room with Pat being forced to explain to his roommates all the
ordeals he endured to bring him to such a crossroads.  That being said,
here is the Pat's story.


	"What the hell's been your problem Tool?" Coach Farbersten again
singled out Pat O'Toole for attention "you been checked out the last three
practices.  You wanna make Varsity or not?" and the cycle of trouble
started up again.  Whenever either of the coaches had a bug up his butt it
always seemed Pat would have to be on the receiving end of it.  The
assistant coach, that Sorin guy, was bad but Senior Coach Farbersten was
the worst.  So Pat lowered his head and waited for it to hit the fan.

	"Yes coach more'n anything!" Pat looked around at his teammates
hoping someone would come to his defense.  His older brother Mike was
senior varsity wrestler and being Iowa that was a huge accomplishment.  But
Pat had more than that one count against him.  To make it worse he was a
"mere" junior" who did not have at least six years of wrestling already
behind him, and even worse, he was making no motions towards giving up his
spot on the baseball team.  Baseball in Iowa barely got a passing notice in
the local sports page.  So that is why he was assigned to the B group while
his brother, of course, was the A group.

	"Okay ladies hit the showers!" Don yelled "everyone except you!"
pointing at Pat.

	"Me?" oh shit here it comes.

	"Yeah, you'n me gonna work on your sloppy style.  I can't have an
O'Toole on this team embrarrassing us" he growled "or embarrassing your
brother on top of it."

	"Yes coach anything you say coach" Pat watched his various
teammates file out of the practice room in silence.  It seemed like making
JV much less Varsity was going to be a major ass-buster.  Once everyone had
vacated the room Coach Farbersten pointed at the center of the mat.  Maybe
now Pat might figure out why he was wasting his time with the B group,

	"Assume the position" Pat knew enough to drop to his knees checking
his mouthpiece in the process.  Once he had dropped to his hands he felt
that hot flesh embrace him "go!" and there was a split-second flurry or
arms and legs as Pat tried to escape the hold and Farbersten did everything
to counter every move.  Again and again they practiced escapes, sometimes
Pat managed to spin around and if lucky enough get to his feet at least try
to attempt a take-down.  Other times – most of the times – he found
himself bundled and crumpled into a mass of flesh, his shoulders
dangerously close to a pin.  Over and over the practiced the same moves,
Pat a bit shocked that the coach had no qualms about grabbing him in the
crotch, even though the close contact was doing little to keep Pat from
getting more and more aroused.  During those times when his coach started
in the bottom position, Pat made sure to keep his hand far from that
dangerous area of the coach's crotch.  After the third or fourth escape,
Don grunted,

	"Damnit boy, I ain't gonna break!" grabbing Pat's hand and placing
it firmly on his bulge "if you don't keep your opponent – "

	"C'mon coach!" Pat turned even redder.  And for someone as blond
and fair-skinned as he was, that was bright enough to signal low-flying
planes "grabbing a dude there – "

	"Is that it?" Don pointed at the center of the mat again until Pat
was back on his hands and knees.  This time Don made a point of giving
Pat's hardon a tight squeeze and not letting go "you got issues being
grabbed... there?" actually rubbing it "just because you bone, ain't a
deal-breaker... or a match ender, y'hearing me Pat?"

	"Y-y-you..." Pat was panting and gasping for air, only partly
because of the last half-hour of practice "what are you saying?  I mean you
sure, coach?"

	"Okay switch" Don got up, replacing Pat on his hands and knees "now
you do it!  And be a man about it!"

	"You sure?  Y'mean grab you..." before he could finish Don grabbed
Pat's hand and placed it firmly on his nads, making sure Pat's slow brain
got the picture.

	"Okay now try to pin me" and this time when he coach tried to break
the hold, Pat's hand was not afraid to apply holds everyone, no matter what
it took to keep his opponent down.  Again and again they reversed
positions, their hands free to grab and tug anywhere necessary.  When
Farbersten was convinced Pat was dangerously hard and almost about to leak
pre-cum, and then even felt himself start the process of getting
dangerously aroused in turn he grunted "okay okay!  Enough for one day!
Don't wanna wear you out with one practice" quickly pinning him, but only
long enough for Pat to realize both their crotches were pressed together,
enough for Pat to feel his coach's cock pressed against his "hit the
showers Tool!"

	"Yes coach" feeling all that hot sweaty flesh finally roll off of
him.  He struggled to his feet with a slight assist.

	"Now maybe just maybe if you would show as much... aggression to
your other opponents as you showed me just now... maybe... maybe... I'll
find a place for you on this team after all."

	"Thanks coach!  You're the best!"

	"Don't thank me yet" Don kept his stone face in place "now go
shower up, you stink!"

	"Yes coach!" and Pat was out of the room fast.  For being one of
the worst days so far, it was turning out almost bearable, like he might
survive this after all.  He knew he had little chance of making the real
wrestling squad the Varsity squad, hell he only did it at his brother's
urging.  And now knowing getting a bone during practices, even grabbing and
being grabbed in that super-forbidden area, was not going to get him tarred
and feathered like he always feared.  The way his coach had no qualms about
grabbing his dick, even his hard dick! – and letting, no making Pat do
the same to him in turn... Pat stripped down thinking a major hurdle in his
life has finally been overcome.  When he was naked and heading for the
shower with his towel securely tucked around his waist like he had always
been told to do, he felt like something like a huge burden, a secret
tormenting fear, had been lifted off his shoulders.

	He stood under the hot spray, enjoying the fact that he could now
hog all the hot water, and pressure, to himself for a change.  For being
such a gung-ho sports high school you would have thought they could at
least have up-to-date plumbing fer crissakes!  So nothing felt better than
to stand under the spray and feel it flush all the redness from his face
and upper body, all his almost too-big-for-baseball, too-wide-for-wrestling
muscles in his shoulders and arms letting the water flush all his pent-up
tension down the drain.  He was just about to reach for the soap before his
muscles got too relaxed when he heard a second shower start!  What the
fuck?

	"Sorry but I usually wait til I get home" there stood his coach,
Don Farbersten, almost naked in little more than his nylon shorts.  His wet
clinging nylon shorts.  His wet clinging nylon shorts molded to every inch
of flesh Pat had been grabbing not ten minutes before.  Pat took in the
whole package all one-ninety some pounds of perfectly sculpted National
title holder wrestler tightly packaged onto his five ten frame.  His slight
dusting of brown chest hair leading down to a full thatch at this crotch
that seemed to spread all over his thighs and legs, and all of it just a
perfect complement to his chunky muscular frame directing the spray around
and down to that perfect cock and low hangers, acting like his display of
nakedness was nothing worth bothering about.  Standing across the room like
he was, Pat realized he actually had several inches on coach Farbersten and
then those inches started to grow fast!  Pat turned his back to the coach,
facing the wall fast as his cock began to grow and fill out, lifting up and
away from his dark blond pubes so fast he almost had to take a step
backwards so his ten plus cut meat did not hit the wall, fer crissakes.  He
dropped his head and closed his eyes and prayed for it to go down.  But he
feared now his chances of making the team were going down the drain with
all that soap and sweat.  Everything was going down except his g-d hardon!

	So it was a slow awkward waiting game, Pat facing the wall hoping
sooner or later his coach would finish and leave.  Finally after several
hours Pat heard the shower behind him stop.  He waited a few moments then
turned hoping to see him leave.

	Instead Don Farbersten, all one ninety pounds of sculpted muscle on
that compact frame gave a short cough just standing there waiting for Pat
to turn and then like it was nothing lowered his shorts and stepped out of
them, his jock-covered crotch facing Pat, his eyes on what was sticking
sideways from Pat's crotch.  Pat froze knowing he was totally busted, no
longer bothering to try to hide his enormously betraying boner.

	"C-c-coach...er um... I mean..."

	Instead of replying Don took a few steps until he was at the shower
right next to Pat!  And to push it even further into the impossible unreal
zone he turned that shower on.  Before Pat could react, and with his eyes
still glued to Pat's pulsing hardon, Don just reached down and his
jockstrap was also around his ankles.  Pat saw everything, the shower, the
room, his world, collapse to just that six inches of thick cock.  Even
those wet hairy pubes and hairy thighs were like background window dressing
compared to that fat wrinkled mass of reddened tubular flesh.  Pat grabbed
himself fast but too late!  He felt more than saw two thick shots of cum
fly out and hit the floor between them.

	Pat knew his life was over but his cock continued to ooze more and
more white goo onto the tile in front of him.  He was about to bolt out of
there when he heard one word,

	"Don't" and then like a total fool Pat opened his eyes and dared to
glance at his coach, not believing where his coach was staring; he was
staring at Pat's crotch.

	"Huh?" was the best Pat could manage.  In response Don grabbed some
soap and began to lather up his muscled slighty-haired chest, then to his
tattooed bicep and scarred shoulder.  But when his hands went lower, Pat
stood frozen where he stood.  And when they went even lower and began to
lather that bulls-eye crotch Pat almost stopped breathing.  Still he
continued to soap and lather his balls and dick, slicking his soapy hand
back and forth until it was blatantly obvious Don was doing more than
cleaning himself – he was starting to jack off!  Pat gasped when his
brain caught up with his bugging eyes "c-c-coach?"

	"Don't" catching Pat's slight wobble as he tried to back away.
Pat's post-orgasm brain was not functioning right—he could not believe
his coach wanted him to stay and witness this.  Not after busting Pat for
letting himself cum in the shower room!  Pat could not stay, he could not
go.  He wished he could undo the last five minutes, five hours, five years
of his life and do everything all over.  Because now he knew he had damned
himself beyond the point of any recovery.  He was so busy spinning and all
but hyperventilating he almost did not hear that little voice in his head
say: stay.

	Stay?  I can't do that! Pat tried to argue with himself.

	Stay and if you play it cool, everything will work out, it
responded.

	This is crazy! Pat tried.

	Leaving would be crazier, it continued, trust me.

	This is nuts!

	Do it, the voice finished in a way Pat could no longer argue.
Maybe he could stay, but he did not have to stare at what his coach's hand
was doing.  Instead Pat lowered his head and closed his eyes, waiting for
something – anthing! – to break the stalemate.  And that's when it
happened; Pat felt a soapy hand make contact with his shaking leg and slide
up until it found Pat's half-hard!

	"Huh!" Pat grunted and bucked his hips backwards with the shock,
but Don's other hand grabbed Pat around his waist and held him fast.  Once
he realized Pat was not going to flee out of there, or worse pass out! Don
guided Pat's good hand down to his rapidly filling cock.  They stood there
soaping and stroking each other in a race to see who would get full-out
boned first.  Don won by maybe ten seconds.  Without saying a word, with
only the slightest pressure on Pat's shoulders, Pat got the horrible,
impossible idea that he was being directed to his knees, and his mouth was
being directed to that recently rinsed hard-on now thrusting and bobbing up
and out from his coach's crotch.  Pat's mouth was on that cock for all of
five seconds before he was muscled down to the wet tiles onto his back,
that cock not leaving his mouth for more than a moment.

	Pat lay there as his mouth was used like a fuck-hole not hard
enough to make him gag but enough to let him know who was in change.  It
did not take long before the thrusts into his mouth let him know his coach
was going to empty his balls into Pat's waiting mouth.  Before Pat could
react and resign himself to what was coming, Don spun around until they
were head to toe, with Don's face only a few inches about Pat's damning and
incriminating bone.  Don knocked Pat's hand away and began to do the work
himself, stroking Pat's cock with a steady demanding grip bringing him
closer and closer to a second orgasm.

	"No stop no no!" Pat grunted, trying to angle his coach's cock back
into his mouth.

	"Cum for me!  Lemme see this cannon shoot again!  Cum!  That's an
order!" and just like that Pat unloaded again, the grip so tight his first
volley shot up several feet hitting Don right in the face.  But that did
not stop him for continuing to pump several more shots from Pat, only
loosening the grip when he lowered his cock back into that gasping mouth.
One minute, two minutes passed of those muscled hips flexing and ramming
that cock faster and faster into Pat's mouth all the while his grip on
Pat's cock kept him from loosing even a little of that eternal hardness.
When Don felt Pat start to writhe and twist with that cock again tightening
and spasming, he let his own cock find that soft spot in Pat's throat and
that did it.  He felt his cock erupt and flood that kid's mouth, his throat
muscles gagging and squeezing tight as his cock continued again and again
to shoot his long-awaited orgasm into that mouth, his hand tightening and
speeding up and then as he expected, yet a third load of cum erupted from
Pat's cock, enough to coat his hand as he continued the relentless
stroking.  Finally Pat screamed,

	"No stop!  Enough!"

	"Third time's the charm, ain't it?" Don rolled off and sprang to
his feet so fast Pat knocked his head on the tiles "get up and get cleaned
up before somebody sees us!" like it was not too late for that.  He hovered
over Pat, letting the last of his load slowly drip down on Pat's face.

	"Shit damn..." Pat tried not to swallow any more but he knew he was
labeled a cock sucker and worse.  When his coach gave him a slight slap to
his cheek he struggled to his feet, getting a friendly assist as one thick
arm guided him up and back to the showers, now running cool water "damn"
jumping under the cold spray.

	"That's your punishment for using up all my hot water!" Don
growled, looking mean and pissed.

	"Sorry coach... but..."

	"You always cum like that?" Don wasted no words, now the deed was
done "three times in what?  Ten minutes?  You been saving it for – "

	"Hell no!  I mean – "

	"So how many times CAN you cum?"

	"What?"

	"Three four FIVE?" seeing Pat's blush.

	"You serious?"

	"Answer the question O'Toole!" Don stood there trying to resume his
hard-ass mode "tell me!"

	"I dunno maybe..." lowering his head "six...?"

	"You can shoot off six times?  In a day?"

	"Maybe... um er... in an hour?"

	"We're gonna have to see about that" Don glared at him like one of
his team members was lying straight to his face "but for now we won't talk
about this, say it!"

	"Shit no!  I mean, hell no."

	"We don't talk about this! Say it!"

	"Okay I don't talk about this!  I won't breathe a word about any of
this" like I still can't believe it myself, he thought.





	Pat was too freaked out to mention a word of what had happened that
night after practice, even when his big brother grilled him about coming
home late.  The two of them was all but browbeaten into continuing their
basement exercise routine for the next several days, but all the while Pat
knew his brother Mike could smell something had changed, something Pat had
done, some nasty unmentionable thing had happened which Pat struggled to
keep secret.  Which made Mike all the more determined to get it out of him.
And Mike knew he was probably the last person on earth to whom Pat would
spill the beans, his one year seniority enough to cause a barrier at times
like this.  Like Pat's secret would unravel the precarious balance that
made the O'Toole family function.  Even less likely Pat would spill his
guts down here in front of their younger brother Sean or worse, their dad!



	But the worst ordeals were the next days' wrestling practices.  As
much as Pat was on damage control at home, at school and during the next
practices Pat was hyper-alert to the slightest signals from either Coach
Farbersten or his practice mates for that matter.  But now it was Coach
Sorin, his now JV coach, watching his every move like Pat would pull
something funny... damn, it was enough to give him a major case of the
willies!  Pat watched and waited for his coach – for anyone! – to let
a comment slip, something about showers or shit, but other than his regular
coach sticking to the hard-ass no-funny-business script, everything seemed
normal.  Like what happened that afternoon never actually happened.  Until
it got to the point Pat began to actually entertain thoughts that it really
never did happen; that his memory of him and Coach Farbersten was some
weird dream or delusion brought on my too little food combined with too
much exercise.  But if it was all a weird stress-induced fantasy, then why
was Coach Sorin now always drilling those eagle-eyes into him.

	It continued like that for a week or two, the constant scrutiny at
school, the constant needling at home, until Pat thought he would crack.
Just when he thought about taking Mike into his confidence later than
night, the situation at practice changed.  When it began to be both Coaches
at their practice, Pat smelled a rat.  Something or somebody was upping the
stakes.  Something was about to shift their precarious balance and Pat
could only suspect he would be singled out to do... what?

	"Okay you!" Coach Sorin pointed at Dominic, someone who had always
seemed to keep to the background.  Dominic Delcosta, transfer student from
Minnesota, had gone from being the brunt of the team's jokes to being just
a piece of wallpaper.  Not that he was a bad wrestler, it was just he was
not built like one.  More like a track and field star, all legs and lean
muscles.  But when the guys realized he was not to be intimidated or shamed
off the team, everyone began to give him his space.  At least until that
Sorin coach singled him out.  Everyone sat and waited for the worst to
begin.

	"Who me?"

	"Yeah, you and..." Coach scanned the room long enough to make it
look convincing "O'Toole!"

	"What?" Pat looked at Dominic, knowing he was at least two weight
classes beneath him "me?"

	"Yeah, you two both are sloppy on take-downs.  Show each other your
best" did Pat hear the slight underlining of that word? "moves."

	"As for the rest of you ladies" Farbersten continued "everyone else
work on reversals.  That means NOW GIRLS!" and the group split into
twosomes.

	"Dom right?" Pat held out his hand.

	"Pat, yeah, I know you" what did that mean?

	"Okay you two" and right away Sorin was in their faces "O'Toole you
on bottom!  Start!" and Pat got to this knees feeling the lighter, leaner
guy grab him.  When his hand went right to Pat's groin, he knew something
was up.  The whistle blew and they were at it, Pat's superior strength
versus Dom's longer limbs until Pat had Dom flat on his back.

	"Again!" Sorin yelled this time with Dom on his knees "remember
what Coach Farbersten been working with you on" in a voice lower than Pat
expected.  It dawned on him then, now Coach Sorin wanted Pat to grab Dom's
balls blatantly this time.  He had no option so Pat grabbed his opponent
and almost yanked away when he realized Dom was starting to chub in a
serious way "go!" again the whistle screaming in his ear.  Over and over
they practiced and thrashed around until Pat realized he had not choice but
to let himself get as hard as Dom had gotten.  He was so preoccupied
feeling Dom's hand on his bone growing more and more aggressive he barely
noticed Farbersten leaving.  But Dom was going for the kill, even giving
him an almost obvious hand-job at every opportunity.  And with Sorin now
barking in his ears, Pat had to return to favor, even when Dom's cock went
from hard to leaking.  And each time they reversed and began again, more
and more of the other guys began to slow to watch them.  By the time both
were full hard and all but masturbating each other, half the team had
stopped to gawk at the exhibition.  And with Pat's thick-headed stretched
cockhead and Dom's precum-stained front, it was a serious display.

	"Again!" Coach barked "okay you guys, ain't nothing to freak out
about" talking to the others who were crouching in a sweaty circle at first
sneaking looks, then opening staring "you think you can wrestle and not get
the occasion erection, well hell, you ain't kids!  It's gonna happen, and
when it happens you better make darn sure you use full advantage of it.  If
you can get your opponent distracted enough, then pin the bastard!  If you
get boned first, don't let it make you lose your focus.  Because ladies
it's gonna happen to every one of you sooner or later – hey I didn't
tell you two to stop!  Okay Costa let's see you pin Tool now!" which is
what Dom attempted to do.  But what began as flailing of limbs and sweaty
slippery grabs became a mutual grab at each other's bone.  And when Dom got
Pat's shoulders in a full nelson, his back arched and his crotch shoved
upwards, the full extent of those ten plus inches of hard cock with that
obscene flared head was so clearly displayed to get several grunts and
gasps from the room.  But Pat had no intention of letting himself get
pinned just yet, so when Dom flipped him down trying to slam his shoulders
to the mat, he bundled himself into a little ball and the momentum threw
Dom down to the mat.  When Pat brought his weight down on him, their two
crotches slammed together, Dom grunted and bucked and that's when it
happened.  Pat felt a flood of hotness spread between them as he pinned
Dom, then quickly sprang to his feet.  As he did everyone saw the dark
stains on his the tented crotch of his singlet.

	"Dude lost his load" he heard from several directions around the
room.  He looked down at himself, praying it was not his cum.  But the
wetness only served to outline his swollen cock, highlighting every crease
and vein through the thin material.  When Dom struggled to his feet,
everyone could see the real source of the wetness.  Dom had blown his load
all over himself!

	Pat was too freaked to join everyone else in the showers but left
practice still sticky with Dom's cum, his street clothes tossed on almost
as an after thought.  By the time he got home he was trailing the
distinctive bleachy scent behind him in his smelly wake.



	Good thing it was Friday because Pat was not in any mood to show
his face outside the house for a while.  He had barely gotten into the
shower when the doorbell rang, yelling "someone get that!" before stepping
into the warming stream.  When it continued to ring he swore and tucked a
towel around his wet frame and ran downstairs.

	"Tommy!" Pat groaned "Mike ain't here" letting the teammate of his
brother into the house "didn't he – "

	"He's supposed to meet me here in like" checking his watch "like
fifteen minutes ago!"

	"Well you know where his room is" and Pat headed back up stairs,
leaving a dripping trail behind him.  He was not surprised to hear Tommy
follow him.  But when he followed Pat into the bathroom instead of
continuing down the hall Pat turned "what?"

	"Finish your shower" Tommy leaned his bulky frame again the door
jam, a nervous smugness on his face "from what I hear you can – "

	"What?" Pat spun around, clutching the towel like that might help
"you heard what?" oh shit here it comes!  Pat expected to here the
upperclassman make snide sneering comments about what had happened during
wrestling practice.  His "problem" was about to become major school gossip.
And if Tommy heard something from his dad Coach Brunner, then that meant
Tommy's dad and his own coach Farbersten, was now spreading the word all
over the damn school!  So much for Farbersten keeping to his word "spit it
out, Brunner!  What?  Does your dad – "

	Tommy let out a nervous chuckle and shook his head "man, does Mike
know what a stud he got for a kid brother?"

	"Huh?  WHAT?"

	"Man, talk about secret weapon!" glancing down at Pat's towel "from
what I hear, that tool's so scary you can just win a match by just rubbing
it against a dude!  Dirty tactics still win meets, right?" his eyes not
leaving Pat's crotch "I do mean meat!"

	"Knock it off, okay?" Pat expected this to be real bad, but so far
he just might survive this in one piece "what else you hear?  Spill it
Brunner!"

	"Just that anybody tries to pin you ends up messing their jock"
chuckling and staring "wait til Mike – "

	"Don't say a word promise me Tommy!"

	"Like he don't already know, c'mon half the school – like
definitely the cheerleaders – they all want some of that!" actually
pointing now "dude talk about getting a serious rep!"

	"Does Mike know?"

	"Not yet not until – "

	"Still don't say anything to Mike, promise me!"

	"I won't if..." and there was that nervous smugness again.

	"If what Tommy?"

	"If... hmmm" Mike's best friend stood there weighing his option
"seems to me you don't want me saying anything to your brother, right?"

	"Yeah please Tommy okay?"

	"And... if I don't say shit or..." if there was one thing that got
Tom off, it was seizing an advantage "or if he did hear shit, I'll just say
it's so much jealous gossip or shit or – "

	"You'd do that?"

	"Sure" narrowing his eyes "if..."

	"If what?"

	"You owe me a big favor..."

	"Sure Tommy anything" Pat doubted anything the big lug could come
up with would be too terrible "okay?"

	"Make that three favors – "

	"Sure fine deal okay" Pat stood there, sweat and water puddling the
floor.

	"First... um... favor" Tom knew the worst would be Pat would just
laugh.  But Tom suspected Mike's brother would not risk making waves "let's
see it."

	"Huh?"

	"Let's see if it's all they say it is" Tom leaned there trying to
look indifferent and failing by the second "drop the towel..."

	"You... huh... what?"

	"Do it... or the deal's off.  Do it!"

	Pat looked at Tom trying to gauge him, suspecting he's just laugh
and make snide comments.  But something about his eyes darting up and down,
told Pat to trust that little voice again.  The little voice saying: do it
do it do it.  So keeping his eyes locked on Tom's Pat let the towel fall to
the floor, exposing it all.  He heard a slight "wow" escape from Tom's
throat.

	"H-h-how..." Tom was turning beat red "how... big...?" does it get?
He wanted to cough out.  But the noose around his neck prevented anything
coherent getting out.  Instead he slowly bent forward to get a better look
at that soft eight inches hung down from Pat's wet pubes, his balls slowly
crinkling and lifting.  As they did, that tube began to fill and lift
forward "f-fu-fuck..." watching Pat trying to cover himself with his hands,
then deciding to just let himself harden then and there.

	But before either one could say or do anything they both heard the
front door and Tommy snapped out of his trance coughing "Mike!"

	"Yeah!"

	"Up here" Tommy bolted for Mike's room with a glance over his
shoulder "they weren't shitting you ARE the stud!  Tool stud!" closing the
door behind him, leaving Pat alone to make sense of that.  But if Tommy
dared to spread any trash talk, then the probability of it getting back to
Mike would be a noose around both their necks.