Date: Fri, 24 Oct 2008 12:19:21 -0700
From: Jay roberts <diplomat1501@msn.com>
Subject: "Andy is Trying to Bend Me, Part One" by Jay Roberts  Gay High School

		Jeez, no!  This is not about learning gymnastics.
                  You, boi, if you are under 18 I do not want you
		On my turf.  Come back when you are over 18.
		The rest of you, take off your shoes, unzip and
		Sit back.


Sup?  Plenty!  This guy Andy is after my ass.  He's real clever; he never
makes a move when anyone is around.  His favorite place to work his sex
stuff is in the locker room.

We are both sophs.  I'm Terry Fowler, redheaded, second generation Irish
boy.  Girls say I am cute.  Trouble is, I am on the skinny side and I can
never get a decent tan with my pale skin.  Oh yeah, they think freckles are
good to have.  I don't.

Now my tormentor, Andy is one of those good-looking jocks.  He's square all
over.  No not that way, I mean he has a square jaw, a square face. His pecs
are square, and so are his sex packs, for all I now his prick is square.  I
guess he is handsome in a muscle bound way, but his aggressive nature is
unsettling.  Somehow he has decided that I am gay.  Worse, he thinks I will
become "his boy".

I ought to report him for sexual harassment but can you imagine the razzing
I'd get, besides, I can't prove it.  It would be his word against mine.
And who would not believe the three-letter popular athlete of the school's
word, especially against a quiet bench sitter like me?

So I stood for it, but not gladly.

It usually went like this: my locker was one away from his (his was smelly
and packed with unwashed jocks and tee shirts.)  He waited until we were
alone with no one in the aisle.  Then he'd grab the back of my neck in his
jock paw and massage my neck.  He'd bring his puffy lips next to my ear and
whisper, "How's my boy Terry?  Did you jack off yet today?"

I had to admit that his large, warm hand felt good on my neck and his
breath was hot against my ear, but I broke away quickly.  "Andy, you are
such a dumb jock.  Your mind is always on queer sex.  I think you wank too
much."

He'd laugh, then grab my sixteen-year old ass and squeeze it.  "You have
the prettiest ass in Central High.  When you gonna give it up to me?  I
have a nice fat dick that'll make you happy.  Ask any of the gay boys
here."

I never even knew there were gay boys in school.  He sure lived a life that
I could not imagine.  I got a glimpse of that when he said, a few days
later, "Meet me in the basement boy's room.  That's the place for action."

I continued to ignore him.  I never contemplated sex with a guy.  I'm not
homosexual, is that what they call them?  I do admit that I kinda liked the
attention he gave me.  At times my backside would tingle in remembrance of
his ass grabs.  My neck would get hot, just where he stroked it so
possessively.  Shit, I had to watch myself.  I was in a battle, and he is
winning.

On the way down the back stairs to get to the locker room, I heard
footsteps behind me.  Very soft, because sneakers hardly made a sound, but
these were the treads of a strong determined body.  I looked over my should
and found the smiling face of my nemesis about one half flight above me.

"Alone at last," he said.  "Slow down, this looks like a good place for you
to get to know me, really know me.  I once fucked a kid just where you are
standing."

I tried to hurry, but my legs were like lead.  He exercised an almost
hypnotic effect on me.  His voice, his presence, his smell, his powerful
eyes could control me.  He easily caught up me and stood on the same step.
The hand he brought to me cheek was moist and warm.  He stroked my check,
tenderly. Back and forth.  I was falling into a trance, a trance of sexual
need.  Surrender was around the corner and it came when, without realizing
it, I kissed his fingers as they graced my lips.

"That's it baby.  You're coming around nicely."  He pushed his index finger
past my lips.  "Suck it baby."

I don't know what came over me, but I took that finger into my mouth, I
salivated over it, I licked it and finally began sucking it as though I was
trying to pull something out of it.

"Whoa!  Geez, you are a hot one.  Ease off, I know you want my prick to
suck, you'll never get cream out of my finger."

He took two hands, one on each shoulder and pressed.  My knees collapsed
and I was kneeling on the hard steel step, his crotch in my face.

"Feel it.  I'm commando.  Put your hand up my shorts.  It's waiting for
you."

I pressed my lips against the large bulge in his thin shorts.  I could feel
his stiff cock pulsing there.  I rubbed my lips back and forth, making love
to it.  Then his words echoed in my mind: 'Put your hand up my shorts,' his
shorts were loose and his cock almost reached the bottom hem.  I put one
finger in and felt the slippery head.  Above me I heard his deep groan.  In
my lust it seemed like a compliment.  He thrust at my finger.  "Pull them
down," he ordered in a firm voice.

"I put both hands on the bottom of his shorts.  The elastic waistband
hardly held them tight and they moved quickly down his thick, muscled legs,
covered with shiny black hairs.  But it was his prick that made me gasp.  I
had never been this close to a man's sex organ.  His seemed more intimate
than I imagined.  It was thick, tubular, unveined. Perfect.  The foreskin
was slightly retracted, exposing a red glossy head.  Drops of dew oozed out
of the piss hole.  The odor reached my nose and my head spun.

With a cry of resignation tinged with avid passion I opened my lips and
slipped his cock into them, my saliva filling my mouth.  I held him there,
and lapped at the head like a dog with a bone.

"O-o-o-o-h, you sweet fag.  That's s-o-o good.  I knew you could be had and
I knew you would like it.  Get to work boi."

His words humiliated me.  I was always proud.  I would never have stood for
that except...I wanted to taste that cock, to suckle it and to finally
taste that gift of man milk.  But along with the shame of his crude words
came knowledge that I loved being insulted.

He was not satisfied with my soft attempts to pleasure him.  He wanted
thrusting, fucking.  His thrill must have come from abusing me physically
and verbally.  To him the sex must have been secondary.  I felt his cock
touching the back of my throat.  I gagged.  That made him laugh.

"Shit, keep gagging, that feels excellent."

Finally I somehow stopped him hitting against the back of my throat by
instinctively opening it.  He slid down and I held him there, swallowing
wildly to keep from choking off my air.  He loved it.  He was now crowing
with passion.  He began rubbing my hair roughly.  "Oh you fucking Red Head,
you cock sucker.  I love your mouth.  This is the best blow job I have even
had."

In my new lowered state I was thrilled to be complimented by this pig.  I
smiled in gratitude around his thrusting cock.  Suddenly he put him arms
around my head and stopped me from moving.  He began mewling and thrusting.
He was fucking my mouth like a cunt.  Then his hot legs locked as his
orgasm took control of his body.  He shouted and cried.  It was almost
frightening.  Then I felt my throat pelted with his unending streams of
cum.  I managed to taste it.  It was something I knew I had always wanted.

At last he pulled out of my abused mouth.  "Kiddo, you get the cigar.  You
were born to suck.  Get up and scram, I'll let you know when I need another
draining.

He shook his softening cock, splashing the remaining cum on the staircase,
whipped up his shorts, gave me a cocky salute, and thundered up the stairs.
I swear I heard him whistling.

End of part one

Now you weenies who think poor Terry was sad about being turned out by the
lout Andy just have no real sense.  Immediately afterward Terry wiped one
off, and an hour later his lips was twitching for a second helping of Andy.
Keep turned to see how this develops.