Date: Fri, 27 Sep 2013 19:48:48 -0700
From: Bain Taylor <dozedaze@gmail.com>
Subject: Bending Straight Lines

BENDING STRAIGHT LINES
By Bain Taylor
Copyright 2013


Warning: If it is illegal where you live to read about teenaged boys that
find themselves in erotic sexual situations, please don't read this story.
Everything in the story is pure fiction, and the charactors are nothing
more than inventions of my imagination.



Everyone is good at something, right?

Even me.

For some reason I started caring about things like that last summer. It
took me a while to figure out what it was - that one little thing that
stood out about me, and gave me a fraction of an edge over other people in
life.

I know it sounds weird.

But I remember waiting for my magical 'good at something' moment to
suddenly show up out of nowhere, and knock me in the head like a rock, or a
can of V8.

I needed to know that I was something more than just a blip on the radar
screen. But the more I waited for that answer to happen, the more
unimportant I felt about myself. My answer never came.  And I waited for
it.

And yeah, I was beginning to wonder if I was an exception to the rule; that
I was only kinda good at some things; that being me, just the way I was,
was as good as it was gonna get.

Then something strange happened while I was out on a run this summer.  I
was pacing along at my normal stride; I had my distance running shoes on,
my shaggy dirty blond hair blowing in the wind all messed up as usual,
tee-shirt hanging out the back of my favorite blue running shorts, my mid
summer tan dripping in sweat. And for some reason, just then, I looked down
at my legs and feet, which seemed to be on auto-pilot.

Ok, big deal, right?

But I'd never given the things my body can do much thought before that
moment.  My legs were like pistons in a car, doing their thing like I was
completely detached from them.  I remember thinking that it was so odd,
running along, not getting tired at all, feeling like I could go wherever I
wanted on a full tank that never seemed to run out of gas.  I didn't need a
bike, I didn't need someone to give me a ride, I didn't need a skateboard
or a motercycle or a bus.  I had my feet.  They got me where I needed to
go, and it was fun getting there.

That's when I realized that I was good at something.  It was right there
staring me in the face me the whole time... I was good at running.

Later, when the summer was over and I was trying to get all amped-up for my
first year of high school, my feet came to my rescue like a best friend,
and took me on some amazing runs that breached the boundaries of our small
town, and transported me to places that most people can't go; places that
are hard to get to, like scantly traveled deer trails that led to hidden
lakes, or rocky river beds jammed up against misty waterfalls, or vista
points where I could look out over canyons from a perspective that most
people would never get to see.

Those runs helped me to see the world as it was, to get in touch with the
me I'm happy with, and to get ready for something that scared the shit out
of me: Growing up.  And more specifically, high school.

So now, here I am, plopped down in the middle of a place called Grant High,
where every freshman like me is an outcast in a brand new universe where
upperclassmen rule the day, and seem born to make us feel like we are
aliens that have invaded their precious turf.  There aren't any misty
waterfalls here at Grant High, and the only canyons are the empty days that
fill my new and detached life.

Two weeks in, and I am already learning the ropes: Who it's safe to talk
to, who to avoid, and when to hide.

Funny that running, the one thing I love most in life, is the thing that
changed everything.

A few days ago my intentionally uneventful school life took a major
hit. Somehow my P.E. coach and the head track coach teamed up and decided
they would take it upon themselves to discuss my running career.  It all
happened super fast.  And they did it behind my back.

I saw them in the office that day.  I'm surprised I even noticed as they
talked behind the glass window of the track coach's office, every now and
then nodding in my direction.

But I had other problems at the moment, so at the time I didn't dwell on
the two coaches too much.  Mostly because our normal daily shower routine,
which consisted of guys that were all my own age, was interupted by an
intruder.  Some dude that was either a junior or a senior comes into the
locker room like he owned the place, and decides it's no big deal to take
himself a shower right during our shower time.

I think it was some kind of intimidation tactic, but I can't prove it, of
course.

The other guys didn't seem to mind much, but they kept their distance and
let him have his own space in the large open shower area.  For whatever
reason, I couldn't keep my eyes off of him.  I mean, his naked body in
contrast to the freshman was dramatic.  This guy was much taller, and had
this ridiculously great body.  And once I'd scanned his broad muscular
shoulders, well developed chest, crazy hard stomach, and chiseled ass, my
body decided to react to it.  I'd never seen an older teen naked before,
and it caught be by total surprise.

He turned in my general direction at one point, and I saw the size of what
was hanging between his legs, and that sealed my fate.  I knew I'd have to
sneak out without a shower that day.

So in a hurry, I shoved my hard-on stright up so that the waistband of my
skinny jeans could hold it flat against my stomach, threw on the longest
tee-shirt I could find in my locker, slapped my shoes on, and bolted from
there.

I remember being so pissed off.  Pissed at myself for getting boned-up in
the locker room of all places - something that never happens when I'm
around the guys my own age - and pissed that the two coaches were talking
behind my back.

That day I looked everywhere for a possible place to jerk-off.  My hard-on
was that bad.  But the school doesn't have anywhere a guy can do that kind
of thing without serious risk of getting caught.  I mean, even if the risk
of someone catching you is, like .00001% that's way too high.  Think about
it.  So I just dealt with my problem.

Anyway, it turns out that my P.E. coach apparently saw something in me that
stood out when he'd have us run various lengthed races over the course of
our daily exercise regimen.  I had finished first in the distances when I
felt like showing off a little, and that's what he must have
noticed. That's what he'd been talking to the track coach about.

The next day, the head track coach had called me into his office, and he
was blowing me all of this, "You have talent" crap, and, "We could use a
guy like you on the team".

I'm sure I was supposed to be impressed, but to be honest, the guy scared
the shit out of me.

I listened to his entire sales pitch before I gave him this look like I
thought he was speaking Chinese.

I wanted to sound mad, to prove a point: No one fucks with me and my
running, and trying to get me to run for glory or school spirit was like
driving a stake through my one, very private escape in life.

But since he's a scary old wrinkled coach that probably eats 14 year-olds
like me for lunch, I toned it down as he waited for my reply.

"Wow, what an honor.  Thank you.  But really, no thanks coach.  I mean, I
totally appreciate the interest, and I get how running on the team can help
our school and all, but I'm just not cut out to be on a sports team".

So he takes a big breath and gives me this major 'plan B' look as he lears
over the top of his out-of-date reading glasses.

"Look, I'm not going to try and push you into something you don't want to
do, Devon, but could you at least give it a trial period?  How about two
weeks? You can try it out, and if you hate running on the team, you can go
back to your regular P.E. class with no strings attached".

I almost said no again, politely, but then I came up with an idea. At the
time, I thought it was brilliant, considering how much I suck at regular
P.E.

"If I agree to give it a two week try, how would you feel about a guarantee
of a B grade in standard P.E. when I go back to my regular schedule if this
trial period on the track team doesn't work out?  And how would you feel
about exempting me from having to take showers after practice? That's not
my thing."  I managed to say shyly.

Luckily he didn't flinch at the shower excuse request.  Maybe other guys in
his 200 year history of being a coach had requested the same thing decades
ago, and he was used to strange kids like me coming along every few
generations or so.

So I figured that if he had taken the time to sit me down and try to get me
to run track, that I must be even better than I thought I was, and maybe
he'd be willing to negotiate.

The coach lowered his brow and looked down at his desk for a few seconds.
He poked around at some paperclips he had in an old Altoids can, and then
looked back up at me with this spooky grin - like what a zombie might look
like if it tried to smile through all of that dead skin.

"You have a deal.  See you at 4:00 P.M. tomorrow." He said matter of
factly.

Blind-siding me with an instantaneous agreement to the world's shortest
negotiation must have given him an erection, because he had a really
satisfied look on his face as he shifted in his seat, savorying his mastery
over check-mating an innocent freshmen.

"What the fuck?" I said to myself.

The next thing I knew, he was sticking out his quivering hand to shake on
the deal, which I did.  And presto, I was on the track team.

The next day everything was arranged.  The coach switched my schedule
around so that my history class moved from last period to 3rd period, and
track would now be my last period of the day. By then, it had all sunk in,
and I was dreading that first workout with the team.  It was one of the
only times in my life that I hoped my earlier classes would suspend
themselves in time and space - like a continuum or something.  But did
they?  No.  The day broke the sound barrier, and boom, I was lined up at
the track with a bunch of guys I didn't know, running a bunch of drills on
the crappy J.V. paractice track.

It felt like I'd joined the military.

Luckily the guys I was running against didn't include any neanderthal
seniors.  They, along with a few juniors that had made varsity, were way
over at the football field - where the real track is - practicing whatever
it is that varsity guys practice.

Anyway, I'm not exactly sure what it is about running, but it comes so
natural to me that I've never considered things like getting nervous for a
race.  And the way I see it, racing for practice against my own teammates
shouldn't be a big deal. I did think about taking it easy and letting
someone else win the first couple of drills, the last thing I wanted was
for the coach to pat himself on the back for recruiting me.  But if I did
that, it would be almost as bad as cheating.

So, without much choice, and this crazy adreniline surge I was feeling, I
won every race.  Not just some races.  Every-fucking-race.  The coach was
giddy.  I was so mad at myself for not cheating, and losing a few on
purpose. Now guys would know my name.  That was the last thing I had
wanted.

So that's pretty much sums up how my first few days in the military ended
up going.  I got to know a bunch of the guys, and I think a lot of them
wondered what rock I'd crawled out from under. But I never stuck around
long enough after practice to join in all of the locker room talk that goes
on, so I'm not exactly sure what they thought of me.

After practices I just sort of snuck out when everyone else was in the
showers.  Besides, I was exempt from having to take showers, thank God,
because when you are on a team sport, all age groups shower at the same
time. And that meant lots of naked muscular seniors.

Anyway, me being a fan of running, on the Thursday of that first week I
decided to venture over to check out the varsity team, and just out of
curiousity I walked over to the football field where the official track is,
and watched the neanderthals run.  And man, those guys were awesome.

That's when I saw the true stars of the school.  There were three of them,
and everyone knew them, and they were legends: The kind of guys that played
multiple sports, and were good at all of them. But when you put the three
of them together in the same race, it's like they become super-human.

I'd heard all of the stories, and from what I hear, they are all good
enough to go to the state sectionals.  And from what I saw with my own
eyes, they were fucking gods in the track and field world.  They could all
clock 50 second quarter miles in their sleep. And that's just the tip of
the iceburg.  One guy, Troy Steinmuller, is the best of the three.  He is
also the team captain.  Talk about a frickin' stereotype though.  The guy
is built like a Greek statue, and has looks to match.  I wonder why great
looking dudes are always talented like that?  I don't get it.

The other two guys are James Dredgerunner and John Mack.  They aren't much
different.  All three are huge into working out together, which is no
secret. Guys tell me that they sometimes stay after school long after
everyone else leaves, pumping iron and doing whatever it is they do to look
so fit and strong.

Most of what I know about the big three is from rumors and whatnot. So
maybe some of it's not true. That said, Troy, the one with dimples that
looks way too cute for a dude, is known for dating pretty much any hot and
sexy girl he wants.  They say that he can even get the really
straight-laced christian girls that are 'saving themselves' for marriage.
Maybe he flashes them those dimples of his, and the girls melt or
something?  Or maybe they like dudes that have veins popping out all over
their muscles.  Or maybe they like six pack stomachs that flex every time
he barely moves. Or maybe it's the black hair and blue eyes.  Or it could
be the fact that he's over 6' tall and towers over them.  Who knows?  But
every guy in the school wants to be him, or so I've heard.

I walked home and basically just chilled in my room listening to music.  I
knew there were things I should have done to help my grandma out around the
trailer, but it looked spotlessly clean when I got there, so I didn't
offer.  She would have had me clean something that didn't need cleaning
anyway, so it's not like I'm a bad grandson or something.

Sometimes I wonder if she comes in my room when I'm at school.  I worry
about stuff like that.  I mean, being a clean freak and all it wouldn't
take much effort for her to spot a bunch of - um - evidence.  What can I
say?  I like to jerk off every chance I get, and it wouldn't be humanly
possible for me to track down and find where every single cum shot
landed... and clean up the evidence.  I guess some people would think that
sounds gross, but there's no way I can keep track of that kind of thing.
If I were smart, I'd just shoot my loads into a kleanex and get rid of it.
But is that what I do?  Nope.  I like to watch it fly.  Don't ask me why,
but I think watching myself shoot is cool.

If my grandma busts me someday, I'll deny everything.

On Friday I was actually ready for school.  I had studied for a dreaded
math test that I knew would count towards my total grade for the year, so
it wasn't like I had a choice.  I feel decent about the test, and I'm
pretty sure I passed.

At lunchtime I grabbed a foot-long sub from the sandwich bar and found an
isolated patch of grass out in the quad area.  I plopped down there and ate
my sandwich while I watched all of the other students hang out and do their
thing.  A lot of texting and flirting goes on at lunch, and it's fun to try
and figure out who's crushing on each other.

About halfway through my sandwich, I heard someone walking up behind me,
and as I started to turn he said my name.

I looked around, and it was Troy - the one with the dimples.

I stopped chewing, and swallowed.

"Devon my man, mind if I sit here for a sec?"  He asked.

"Um, sure."

I was surprised that he would dare sit next to a freshman in plain view of
everyone in the school, but he acted like it was the most natural thing in
the world.

What's even more strange is that he knew my name.

He started talking, in this calm and collected low pitched voice.

"So Dude, the coach has requested that you and I meet with him in his
office around 15 minutes before track period starts.  He wanted me to let
you know that he arranged it for you to get out of your 5th period class a
little early."

I gave him a puzzled look, and he continued talking.

"No worries man.  He just wants to check bases with you and see how the
first part of the trial period on the team is going."

I cleared my throat and took a drink of bottled water.

"Um, you could just tell him that I keep waiting for them to give me a buzz
haircut and a riffle. I don't really like it.  I mean, he needs to hear the
truth, right?

"Yeah, the truth is good.  But let's just save all of that for when we
meet.  We can talk then." He said.

I nodded.

"Thanks for the heads up, Troy."  I managed to utter.

He gave a single nod back, and headed off towards where John and James were
eating, the other two-thirds of the dynamic trio.  I thought it was strange
that he hadn't introduced himself, but maybe he firgured that everyone
knows him automatically.  Like me, for example.

I was kind of amazed at myself for not freaking out and completely claming
up when he was talking.  But the part that's really weird is the second he
started speaking to me, it felt like his eyes were penetrating into my
brain and making massive quantities of endorphins shoot into myself - like
a drug. My body had that feeling you get when you sneeze, but instead of it
feeling good for a half a second, it kept feeling that way.

I didn't realize I was totally hard until he left.  I'll bet that all
younger guys get hard when he's around, not just me.  At least I hope it's
not just me.  That would be sick.

I barely had time to make sure my tee shirt was covering my reaction when
two very cute girls strolled up and sat down across from me.

So there I was with a raging boner, face to face with two of Charlie's next
Angels,

They were nice enough.  They just sort of flirted around saying stuff like
they'd heard I was on the team, and what is my name, and that they thought
I was cute. One of them said something about my blond hair and blue eyes,
like she was memorizing me or something.  The other one said that she'd
kill to have my lips, which made me want to lick them.  But I didn't.

Like I said, they were flirty.

I reasoned to myself that what they were really saying was when a senior
talks to a freshman, the freshmen must be hot.  Seniors never talk to
freshmen. Add to that it was Troy Steinmuller, and I'm surprised they
didn't ask me on a date. But I'm smart enough to know that none of what
they said had to do with them actually thinking I was an infectious sex
magnet.  Although they could have at least lied and told me that I had nice
hard biceps. That would've been cool.  I like my biceps.

Anyway, after they left, I realized that the endorphin erection Troy gave
me had left me too, which I'll admit I missed a lot more than the two
girls.

When I got to the coaches office, Troy and coach were already inside.
Coach waved me in the same way the Pope waves, and motioned for me to sit
in the chair next to Troy. He was finishing up looking over some papers,
and took his time.  I wondered if he was really reading something, or if
that was just a way to stall for time while he figured out whatever it was
he had wanted to say.

It did't take long for me to find out.

"Devon," he said looking up to me as he set the paperwork aside, "I hear
that you and Troy have met."

"Yes Coach, we met earlier today for a short time."

"Good, then I can save the introductions.  The primary reason I wanted to
bring Troy in on this discussion is that I felt he is the most like what I
someday invision you to become.  And when I say that I mean his leadership
and talent on the track team - not his girl skills."

I looked over at Troy and we both smiled.  I wanted to laugh, because it
seemed crazy that coach would have heard those rumors just like the
students had.

It caused Troy to squirm in his chair a little though.

Neither of us said anything, and let coach carry on.

"Troy tells me that you are not happy on the team and that at this point of
your trial period you are leaning towards not joining us full time.  Is
that correct?"

"Yes coach Martin."  I replied.

"I may be wrong about this, but I have an inkling that the reason you don't
like it is because it's not a challenge for you.  Am I at least partially
correct when I say that?"

"I love to run sir, but I don't care for team sports much.  And, I mean,
yeah, it's not very challenging to me."

"I thought that was part of the problem.  There's not much I can do for you
when it comes to not liking team sports, socializing with new friends, or
even wanting to hang out and join the locker room banter, but I can offer
you an unprecedented challenge."

I looked over at Troy, who was stone-faced, then back at the coach.

"Unprecedented?  I'm not sure if I know what that means coach."

It means that I want to break all of the rules by making you the first
freshman in the history of this school to ever be promoted to a varsity
team. I don't want to blow too much smoke up your ass here, but I never
have, and likely never will see any 14 year-old kid with as much talent as
you have, and I'm not going to let you off the hook, if humanly possible."

I was totally stunned.  There's not even a word for as surprised as I was
to hear someone say that about me.  "That's about the biggest honor and
compliment I've ever received sir, thank you.  Wow.  Um, but..."

That's when Troy cut me off mid-sentence.  And that's when I saw a side of
Troy that I wan't expecting.

"There's no 'but' Devon.  Do you have any idea what he's offering you?
Dude, you'll have an all expense paid scholorship to the college of your
choice practically waiting for you when you graduate in a few years. This
is the stuff that goes on the front page of the town newspaper.  Every dude
on campus will know who you are.  Every chick will want to date you.  But
please go on.  Tell us what the 'but' is...  tell us why again, exactly do
you want to throw all of that down the toilet?"

I felt my face get hot as the two of them waited for me to reply.

"It's like this: I can't race against a senior.  Not race and win, anyway.
It's not that I'm not fast enough either.  It's a respect thing.  Think
about it.  How would you like to be this super confident senior, who's
loving life and looking forward to college, then alongs comes a freshman
that kicks your ass on the track and drags your ego and your pride and your
confidence into the fucking dirt?  Excuse my language."

I couldn't believe I'd said it, but it was too late to take back.

The coach looked over at Troy, knowing he'd have an answer to that.  And
Troy looked like he was going to burst or something. I'm pretty sure my
response was a little too cocky, even though that wasn't my intent.  "With
all due respect, fuck you you little shit," he said looking directly into
my eyes, "how fucking dare you assume that you could kick every senior's
ass on the track even if you wanted to.  How fucking dare you ingnore the
fact that this man sitting across from you is going out of his way to give
you a future.  And what kind of an idiot am I to have agreed to let you
have a locker next to mine so I could have helped your sorry unappreciating
ass fit in with all of the older guys?  You fucking have balls, Devon my
man."

I felt even redder than before.  And it was the first I'd heard of the
locker arrangement.

Coach just sat there, letting it all unfold. He didn't say a word about all
the cussing.

I was looking down, and felt ashamed.  I'm not sure what overcame me, but
the harder I fought it, it just happened.  It wasn't much, but my eyes got
all watery.  I didn't cry actual tears, but I might as well have.  I looked
back up.

"I'm sorry."  Is all I could come up with.

"Well I'm sorry isn't going to cut it," Troy said, "I have you for a full
week longer.  And starting today we are going to work out all of your
fucked-up problems together.  You will be running against seniors and if
you are fast enough, you will come in first place no matter who it is you
are running against.  You will do your best to get along with the other
guys, who aren't exactly thrilled to have a punk freshman getting all of
the attention. And you will get in the goddamned shower just like the rest
of us and carry on like you've been doing it your whole life.  Saying 'no'
is not an option, because you made a two week promise."

I couldn't talk, so I just nodded and wondered why Troy was being such a
prick.

"I'm glad we have that cleared up," coach said, "and I'm looking forward to
seeing you out on the track this afternoon, and next week, even if it is
short-lived."

Coach waved us off, like we were a couple of flys bothering him.

I felt like bolting out of the place, but as soon as we got away from the
office, Troy stopped me.

"Hey kid, hang on for a sec., just for the record," he said looking
genuine, "that wasn't really me in there talking.  That's just how coach
expected me to act as team captain, so that's how I acted. Don't hold it
against me, alright?"

"Sure."  I said, feeling a little better about it now that I knew it was an
act.

"But Devon, what I said is true.  We'll work out the problems and get
through the week just fine - minus me being an asshore about it.  Is that
cool?"

I nodded.

He started walking, and I followed.  We ended up in front of his locker,
which was at the very end of the double-sided locker row on the far side of
the large room.

He started on his locker combination, and motioned with his head to the one
next to him.

"That's your locker.  I moved all of your stuff over already.  Coach asked
me to."

My locker was the one closest to the back wall, and at the end of the row.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper.

"This is your combo."

The senior lockers are the big ones that go from the floor to about
shoulder level.  When he got his open, there was a mirror covering the
entire inside of the door, and inside the locker it was basically a mess of
all kinds of dirty looking old tee-shirts and shoes and stuff.

He started undressing to change into his workout clothes, so I worked on my
combo trying to keep up.  The locker room wasn't very busy since we'd
gotten an early start with the meeting.  There were a few guys talking off
in some other part of the huge room, several rows over, so it sounded like
guys were slowly trickling in.

"Dude, let's get a jump on it and get out to the track early.  We can talk
more on the way."

I looked over the top of my locker door at him.

"OK.  Give me a sec to find shit," I said, "Everything's in one big pile."

By then he was nearly out of his street clothes.

"Sorry about that... throwing all of your stuff into a pile," he said,
"coach said to bring your shit over here, but he didn't give any
instructions to hang your smelly socks, or fold your disgusting underwear."

I laughed, as I looked back down and found what I needed to wear.  I made
fast and flew out of what I was wearing, making an attempt to catch up.

It turns out that the way my locker is situated is that when the door is
open, it blocks other people from seeing me from the side facing everyone
else - from about my neck down.  And since my locker was at the end, I had
total privacy.  Thank god for small miracles.  Or who knows, maybe Troy and
coach planned it that way knowing I was shy.

By the time I had my shirt off, Troy was totally naked, except for his jock
strap. And I was blown away by what I saw. And knowing it would be easy for
him to catch me looking in his mirror to see his butt, I took snapshots
instead - you know - like a camera in my mind.

I re-focused on what I was doing, hoping that one look at him wasn't enough
to set off a chain reaction in my body.  I did my best to put it out of my
mind, but it wasn't working very well.

I wonder how many chicks have seen that perfect ass?  Probably a bunch. Or
maybe it's all a big fat lie, and he is just like everyone else and hardly
ever scores - like he's a lying virgin or something.  Who knows.  But the
legend... is real.

There was something about seeing all of those muscles and that ridiculously
perfect body of his that had an effect on me.  I mean, I was boning up
again, and I had looked at him for, like, one 1/100th of a second.  So I
kept looking down and shoved my body into my track clothes and shoes
lightning fast.

Out on the track, we stood there alone waiting for the others. I needed the
fresh air, that's for sure.

Troy was the first to talk.

"Ok Devon, this is how I see things working if we're gonna tackle some of
that stuff we talked about in coach's office.  As far as you winning races
against the seniors goes, let's just put that off for now.  Just do what
you do with the underclassmen in reverse.  Let the seniors come in ahead of
you, but just barely ahead of you.  Don't lose by a mile.  I'll have
another talk with coach and see if we can put you in events, like the
relays, where you run against the clock rather than your own teammates.
Does that sound OK?"

I nodded my head, and felt myself smile.

"It totally works," I said back.

"Cool, so we have that settled.  And as far as the guys giving you a hard
time goes, as long as you are around me, it's not going to happen.  They're
all scared shitless of me, and if they think I like having you on the team,
they won't bother you, even though most seniors would privately puke at the
thought of a freshman on the team."

Before then, it never occured to me that someone would throw-up because of
me.

"As long as it doesn't look like you are being my personal bodyguard or
something, sure." I replied.

"Do you have any other ideas to add to that?"

I thought about his question for a minute.

"Well, I'm probably pushing my luck by asking, but if I'm going to fit in
with a bunch of guys that are 3 years older than me, I'm going to need help
with my 'cool factor'.  You saw me in my school clothes, and I dress like
my age.  But maybe I can dress a little older.  And I think I need some
tips on what kinds of things to talk about.  I have no idea what a
conversation with one of those guys should sound like."

"Good idea," he said, "that's something I can start thinking about."

"Cool," I said, still smiling.

"And as far as the shower thing goes, I get it." he said.  "The very same
mega-testosterone that seems to make you a freshman phenomenon, is half the
reason you get bone-up twice as easy as other guys.  Jacked-up hormones do
that.  It's also why you have such a decent body for your age, which is the
good news.  The bad news is that those shower hard-ons ain't gonna cure
themselves.  They need your help."

Great.  Just fucking-great.  He already figured out my 'problem'.  Well,
'half' of it, as he put it.

"What, you were checking me out over the locker door or somethin'?"  I
asked, faking a laugh.

"I wasn't perving on you.  Relax.  I hate freshmen as much as the next guy.
But yeah, I checked you out to see if you were gonna look like a wet, weak,
under-developed kid in the showers, and lucky for you that's not an issue.
And yeah, I saw you starting to get boned-up, and um, I was the only dude
in the room."

OK, so he figured out both halves of my problem.  I should've ran at that
point, but I decided to brave it out.

"Hmm, thanks, I think?"  I said feeling my face get warm.  "OK, so is this
the part where you're gonna tell me about how I handle the popping-wood
problem?

"I never thought you'd ask."  He said, looking away as if he was about to
tell me my dog had just died.

"Great, I'm all ears."  I said, looking around to see if there was anything
I could use to kill myself with.  "Ok, well, my original plan isn't going
to work.  But I have another idea that's just as good. Are you ready for
this?

I managed an unconvincing laugh, and rolled my eyes.

"Of course not.  You've already pushed me too far.  Can't you see that I'm
suffering?

"Devon, just agree with me on this, I know what I'm doing, and it's gonna
work."

I managed to speak one word...

"Whatever."

"Cool.  So here's the plan.  After practice when everyone is bullshitting
and heading back to the locker room, you will give me a 30 second lead,
then follow me as if we are doing the normal warm-down run.  I'll tell John
and James not to follow."

"Follow you where?"

"It's a place near the far edge of campus that most people don't know
about. It's safe.  When we get there, I give you your space or whatever,
and you get off - you know - as in, spankin' that big monkey of yours.  I
figure if you shoot a load just before shower time, your dick will be happy
and limp when it's time to get in.  What do you think?"

I coughed.  And it was a real cough; the kind that spontaneously happens
when you get shot.

"Well, I won't get hard after that. But are you saying that this is
something I have to do every day just so I can fit in and be one of the
varsity guys?  I mean, it will work.  But EVERY DAY?"  I asked sheepishly.

"Nah.  It would be just be once or twice at the most.  Once everyone sees
that you are cool with getting wet with the boys, no one will ever know you
are hiding something. After that, you can skip the ritual from then on -
even if you join the team for the rest of the year."

"And what exactly is your role?  I mean, are you my bodyguard that protects
me while I beat-off at this mysterious location?" I asked, a little too
boldly.

"Very funny.  For one thing, I have the key to the building where we are
going."

"Troy, has anyone ever told you that you are fucking crazy?"

"Yeah, I get that a lot."  He said, grinning.

"Well you can smile, but it's not funny to me. If this ends up permanently
altering my personality or something, I'm going to report you to the school
newspaper".

Now he was laughing.

I wanted to protest more, but the other guys on varsity were arriving, and
the conversation had to end.  In reality I was scared shitless. I wanted to
ask him if this was all some kind of elaborate senior prank he was playing
on me.  You know, the kind where a person gets recorded on a secret web
cam, and the next thing you know, you're a porn star on a bunch of
sugardaddy sites?

Once all of the guys were grouped together, I tried to fit in the best I
could. Everyone joked around waiting for coach to arrive, and I think I did
a decent job of blending - even though everyone knew I was out of place.
But it was hard for me to get into it knowing that in two hours I would be
in some strange place, with this jock dude I barely knew, wanking myself
for the betterment of the track team that I hadn't even officially
joined. It was insane.  All of it.

And as I stood there, I wondered what it would be like to beat-off in front
of the first person that had ever seen me do that.  I wondered if it would
be as terrifying as I imagined, standing naked in the same room as Troy
Steinmuller, the god.  Him watching me get all worked up and shit.

I was fucked.  And I tried not to think about it.  And I might be wrong,
but I think that Troy was enjoying it.  Some people like to torture small
animals, and some people like to humiliate young guys like me.  He probably
has humiliation notches on his bed post, and I'm nothing more than a future
notch.

Once coach had given a short speech, and everyone settled down, we all
ended up going different ways depending on what events we do.  Some guys
headed off to the long jump and high jump area, and others went over to the
hurdles, or to the pole vault and shot-put section.

The runners all got paired off into teams of two. The way practice went is
that two guys at a time would compete against each other in races of
different lengths.  And to save time, they staggered us so the first two
guys would take off running, then around ten seconds later the second two
guys would take off behind us. There were guys there with stop watches, so
each team of two got timed.

I ended up getting paired with John Mack, one of the three guys that is
friends with Troy. He's another statue of perfection, only he has dark
reddish-brown hair - which you hardly ever see on a person - a few
freckles, and an awesome tan. I've never seen a person with freckles have a
nice tan, but he did.  He doesn't have those dimples like Troy has, but he
has these way-crazy full red lips, like you get after eating a cherry snow
cone.  I thought his hair looked bad-ass hanging down in front of his eyes
like that, and it looked even better when he ran - like he was the fire
dude from that superhero flick.

Otherwise he had more muscles than grandma's gumbo. The guy was built a lot
like Troy, only a little taller. He had a totally unique look.  His
greenish-brown eyes were a little spooky though.

I forgot how many races we ran by the time it was all over, but I did
exactly as Troy had suggested, and made sure that John won every race, but
only by a few steps. If John ever found out, I'm sure I'd be a dead man.

Everyone had watched us, mostly to see how I'd do I guess.  I was a
freshman freak show, after all.  And I'm pretty sure there were a lot of
impressed guys by the time all was said and done.  I was even impressed
with myself.  I'd never pushed myself to that level against guys that age.
And John was just plain fucking fast.  The best part was that I got to know
John - sorta.  He was less outgoing than Troy, and had more of a mellow
personality.  It didn't seem like much bothered him.  He was one of those
guys that floated through life, carefree, and in whichever direction the
wind blew.  I liked him nearly instantly.  I wondered if he looked as good
as Troy does in a jock strap.

I know, I'm sick.

When practice for the day had ended, I met up with Troy, and our plan went
into motion.  He headed off towards the edge of campus, and I followed
around 30 seconds later.

We ended up at the old sports storage shed, which had been abandoned ages
ago for a newer bigger one that was closer to the football field.  At first
I didn't realize that the old shed was our destination.  But then I saw him
reach up to this old oak tree, and pull down a key that had been hidden
there.

The shed was made of wood, and termites must have been eating away at it
for a long time.  Once we were on the inside, you could see out through
cracks between the rotting wooden walls.  and on the inside, there was
nothing but a dirt floor, with a few old football pads and helmets laying
around, and broken shelving and wood fragments.  There were cobwebs
everywhere, and a strong smell of ancient dampness.  Like the way King
Tut's tomb must have smelled the first time it was opened.

Troy locked the door from the inside, and for the first few minutes we
walked around looking at the place.  He told me a few stories about how he
and his friends would sometimes hangout in there. And they were awesome
stories.

I think me must have thought I was stalling after a while.  I hadn't made
any moves to do what I was there to do.  So he pointed over to a wooden
saw-horse and said I could but my clothes over that.

So I did as he said, and got all the way naked except for my shoes.

I wasn't sure how to start until he said something that finally gave me the
motivation to start giving myself the first few strokes...

"Dude, not that I pay attention to shit like this, but FYI, I didn't think
guys your age were supposed to have dicks that big.  Not that you're a
freak, but dude..."

That did strange things to by blood pressure.  Compliments can do that.

I looked down at my smooth body which was still all shiny and wet from our
workout.  My ribs were showing a little, and my stomach was sorta sucked
in.  And yeah, my dick did look kinda big on me.

"Dunno," I said with a nervous smile, "it started happening all by itself -
like a year ago."

I started stroking with more confidence after that, and as I did, he would
look over at the door, as if the lock wasn't strong enough to keep people
out.  But he kept looking over at me too. He looked like he wanted to ask
me something - and he finally did.

"So um, if it helps you out a little, I can, you know, take off my shirt or
whatever."  He offered.  He was actually fairly shy about it.

I think it was his way of saying that he was cool with me looking at his
body as a way to get off faster - judging by his smirk.

By then I was feeling pretty brave.  Beating-off causes that you know.

"I would feel about 100 times better if you were naked, just like me.  I
feel like a freak or something doing this all by myself in front of you."

For some reason I wasn't expecting him to grant my ridiculous wish.  But I
was wrong. He just smiled and shucked his clothes like it was a strip
tease, right in front of me.  What a cocky prick, I thought.  But I wasn't
complaining.

And totally naked, with his over-sized cock hanging between his two bulging
thighs, he said:

"So where do you want me?"

"The closer the better".  I barely replied, feeling my cock surge with the
thought of him being close enough to touch.

He moved within three feet of me, knowing the effect it would have.

I freaked.

My heart was beating like a fucking banjo.  All I could do was look at his
jock body, and at the huge soft cock that was the desire of every
red-blooded girl at our school.

Every now and then when he'd turn to check the door, I got a perfect view
of his ass, which was just as amazing as the rest of him.  It was dimpled
in on the sides, as if the muscles inside were so strong that they pulled
in the sides like that.  I wanted to take my eyes off of him, just to see
if it was possible.  But it wasn't.

I was definately getting into it, and was at the point where if I was going
to say something else to him, I had to do it before I got to that place
where it feels too good to talk.

By then, he had taken a step in closer to me, so that I felt like I
couldn't swallow, or breathe.

"Dude, you're too close to me.  I shoot a lot man..."  I managed to admit
between ever-growing pants.

But he didn't take my warning.

"No worries man, it will all be washed down the gym drain, in like, ten
minutes, so who the fuck cares where it lands?  After you shoot, we throw
on our clothes, jog back to the locker room, and the rest is history. Like
nothin' ever happened."

I nodded, wondering if he had any perception of how far I shoot.

"Cool."  Was all I could think to say.

I wanted so bad to touch him as I picked up speed.

Don't ask me why, but it's like it wasn't enough to look at him.  I needed
to feel him.  Even if it was for a second.

"Oh, fuuuuck..." I moaned quietly.

I almost lost my balance just then, so I reached out for something to grab
onto and steady myself, but all I found was air.

"Careful man, grab my arm."  I heard him say.

There is a god.

I reached out with my free hand, and took hold of his bulging bicep as he
stepped even closer.  His hard arm felt big hot and sweaty, and I could
feel the veins through his skin... his blood pumping.  It was a euphoria I
haven't felt before...

"Fuck dude, I'm gonna cum...".  I said through clenched teeth.

I went up on my toes as the first shot of cum blew through my raging hard
cock, and landed on his chest.  I let out a breath, and quickly sucked in
more air.

My second shot nailed him on the chin and swiped clear up his face into his
hair - like a bullet grazing a bad guy.  After that I only remember hanging
on to his flexed arm as tight as I could, and feeling my hard-on continue
to shoot sperm all over the place.

As the last spurts blew from me, I locked eyes with him, and that look he
gets grabbed me by the throat and held me there - like he wanted me to look
at him and didn't want me to look away.  Like he owned me.  Like he owns
anyone he wants to own.

He watched me as I slowly came down off of my high, and didn't say anything
until I could breathe again.

He looked down at his body, and I followed his eyes.  He was covered in my
cum, and it was starting to drip down his stomach in long streaks.  I could
smell it - the strong smell - and I know he could too.  I looked further
down to see his cock had taken a direct hit too.  And my still-hot jizz was
glistening on his dick-head as if it were his own sperm.

Seeing all that on himself must have caught him by surprise - another
dude's stuff on his dick - and that sorta took him over the top.  I mean he
was getting a hard-on right then and there as we both watched.  He must
have been totally shocked at his own reaction.  I mean, how could that
happen to someone like him?

"WHAT THE FUCK?" He mumbled, in a dry scratchy voice.

The track god had suddenly become human, transformed by silver bullets.

It's like he was humiliated that he could get so fired up around another
guy - a punk kid like me.

Less than a minute later, he was hard.  He looked up at me, then back as
his pulsing boner.  The thing was at least 8 inches I think.  And the
shininess of my cum on it made it look like polished steel.

"Dude, I think all that extra testosterone you have must have soaked into
my skin."

That was his excuse - that the hormones in my sperm got him hard.  I went
with it.

"Yep," I said back, "I tried to warn you.

"I gotta get rid of this before we go back."  He said, knowing he was
beyond the edge of coming back.

"Go for it," I said, looking over his shoulder to make sure that the locked
door was staying locked.

And he went all out on himself with a furry.  I've never seen an older dude
jack-off before so maybe what I was seeing was normal.  He was so caught up
in the feeling that he hadn't even realized that he was unconciously using
my cum as lube.

I'm glad he didn't realize it.

And if I thought he had a hard body before, that was nothing compared to
now.  Pumped up sweaty muscles were even showing up in his neck as veins
pulsed blood, and his face reddened. Every muscle in his body was totally
flexed to the max, like his entire body had a hard-on.

He actually started shooting sooner than I did.  He didn't say a word
before he started blasting away.  He reached out and held on to my
shoulder, and started thrusting his cock into the thick musky air between
us.  I din't know orgasms could last that long.  He just kept shooting, and
as it hit my skin, it felt like I was getting slammed by hot paint gun
rounds - each one exploding on impact.

When I looked at his face, it looked like he was on ecstacy. His body was
convulsing and shaking so much that his thrusting ass would heave out, like
an exaggerated bubble butt, and then burst forward, like he wanted to drive
his dick through a cement wall.

It seemed like it took so long for him to come to a stop.  And when he
finally did, I didn't even bother looking at how much of his cum was
covering me.  I didn't need to.  I could feel it.

Once he stopped breathing so hard, and his dick had gone down to something
below semi-hard, we threw on our clothes, double checked that we locked the
door behind us, and jogged in the direction of the school.

During the jog back I wondered if I could ask him something that I was
curious about, but if he's anything like me, he probably didn't feel like
talking too much about what had just happened.

I took a chance and asked anyway.

"So dude, I'm just curious 'cause I want to know if I have something to
look forward to when I get older."

He looked straight ahead, and didn't respond.  So I kept going.

Do you always have such - you know - intense orgasms?  I mean, it fucking
went on forever."

He looked over at me, and then straight ahead again.

"Nope, nothing like that. There's only one explanation, like I said."

"As in seriously?"  I asked.

"Well, you gave me a pretty good spunk bath," he said, "I mean, I was
dripping in it.  So yeah, I think it soaked into my skin like one of those
fucking steroid patches that professional atheletes wear. You know, hormone
boosters.  Nothing else would explain it."

"You think my cum penetrated your skin?"  I asked, wondering if he was
joking.

"That's gotta be what happened.  I would never have a reaction like that
normally. No fucking way."

"Dang," I said, "Well, it's all my fault then.  I knew you were standing
too close."

I meant it as a joke.  But he didn't laugh.

He glanced at me with an evil grin.

"Maybe I should test my theory and have you shoot a load into John's jar of
jack-off lube.  Haha.  He'd be walkin' around all day tryin' to hide his 8
1/2 inch boner.  Well, not that he tries very hard to hide much around me
and James."

Talk about a sick idea, I thought to myself.

OK, so I'll admit it - even if he was joking, it was fun to think about.
It made me feel like a vampire, but instead of sucking blood, I'd have the
power to make people have boners and huge orgasms and a greatly-reduced
ability to control themselves.  Cool.

I knew I better change the subject, but instead, I said:

"You mean you'd really go through with it and have me do that in his jar of
lube?  To your friend?  The one I ran against today?"

"Yep, that John.  The dude can't keep his hands off himself anyway, so it's
not like we'd be commiting a felony."

I considered that for a moment, before he proceded.

"I guess I haven't told you about our set-up: Where I live we have a barn
on the property that me, James and John are fixing up for when we graduate.
We plan on using that as our rent-free frat pad when we graduate and start
at S.M.U.  Right now it's not much more than a barn with a few pieces of
furniture. But we hang out there a lot, and John is always draped all over
this old futon we got in there, givin' himself handjobs every chance he
gets.  Me and James caught him in the act a few times, and after that, he
stopped trying to hide it.  He just does it whether we are in the room or
not these days."

"Shit," I said, imgining John's handsome frecked face, "that would probably
be fun to watch," I added laughing.

"I wouldn't go that far," he said laughing back, "so don't get on his good
side, or you'll end up watching more than you care to.  He loves an
audience, and the dude's a sperm factory. But if you tell him I said that,
I'll have to tie a cement block to your ankle and throw you in the deep end
of the pond."

I pictured myself with the cement block chained to my ankle, and the slow
boat ride out to the center of some creepy dark pond.

"Not a word from me, boy scouts honor."  I said, knowing that he was
serious about me not mentioning John's personal habits.

We only had a few more minutes before we'd be back at the locker rooms, so
I figured I'd get in one more question, while changing the subject from
'super-lube'.

"So what about you and James, is it true what they say - that you guys get
your pick of all the prettiest girls?"

He got quiet for just a fraction of a second too long.  He hesitated.

"Um, it's not just me and James.  John gets his share too, but he's pretty
picky.  But yeah, me and james bring girls over to the barn and sometimes
end up in the loft.  We got a mattress up there.  Sometimes the girls lay
side by side, and me and James hump away all while they have their
conversations, and we have ours. It's awesome.  But that only happens if we
get girls that know each other."

We came to a stop near the entrance of the locker rooms.  Troy used a
basketball hoop poll to push against while he stretched out.  I never
really felt like I had to stretch after a workout, but I did it anyway.

"So anyhow," he started, "the three of us are gonna be hangin' out at the
barn most of the weekend.  Those guys usually stay all three nights.  We've
got cable hooked up, so we catch a lot of games on my crappy old 20-inch
flat screen.  If you want, I can check with them to see if they'd be cool
with you hangin' with us.  I mean, if you're gonna be 4th man on our mile
relay team they're gonna want to get to know you.  That is if it would be
OK with your folks."

The offer made my heart pound with excitement.  How many dudes my age get
to spend time like that with a bunch of older, super popular guys?  It just
doesn't happen.

I tried to sound calm.

"Um, yeah, sounds like a chill time.  It's just me and my grandma, so she
wouldn't care as long as she knows I'll be back when I say.  She got
married when she was something like 13, so in her eyes I'm an adult now.
Pretty cool, huh?"

"Damn," he said shaking his head, "I wish I had that kind of luck when I
was your age.  I guess I won't ask about your parents, since that's none of
my business," he added.

"Yeah, maybe someday I'll tell you.  There's not much to tell, actually.  I
never really knew them."

That was a good enough answer for him. He just gave me one of those upward
nods, like he was saying, "no prob".

And just before we turned to walk towards the entrance doors, he said,
"Dude, by the way, I started out doing all of this stuff today for myself.
I didn't give a shit about you.  I mean, I just knew that if you were on
our varsity team, that me, James and John would have a better shot at
winning sectionals, and get free tuition at SMU.  And, um, now that I know
you, I feel like shit about it, because you know what?"

"What's that?" I asked, wondering where he was going with this.

"Fuck track.  I'll take you for a friend any day of the week."

Hearing that was almost as good as the mind-blowing orgasm I'd just had -
or maybe even better.  I was stunned.

And as that day ended, I realized that his stupid plan had actually worked,
because getting in the showers was a piece of cake.  Some of the guys joked
around with me and gave me shit for being on their senior turf, but that
was to be expected.

The main thing was that I didn't have any issues with getting a hard-on in
there - the dreaded shower - but more importantly, I was no longer alone in
this universe they call Grant High... I had a friend, and I liked him - I
liked him a lot.


***

Well, if you got this far in the story, you deserve a medal, haha.  Too
long.  Oh well.  If I decide to do another chapter, it won't be as
predictable as this was.  It'll be more about the sexy friendships and the
converted frat barn, and less talk about the locker room and the showers I
think.  And of course, more about James, who barely got mentioned.

If you feel like shooting me a comment on the story, that would definitely
rock.  I rarely write stories, so be don't be too hard on me, lol:
dozedaze@gmail.com

Cheers, Bain