Date: Thu, 2 Mar 2017 10:13:46 +0100 (CET)
From: z.blake@tutanota.com
Subject: Ever So Gratefully Smaller

EVER SO GRATEFULLY SMALLER
By Zachyboy
masturbation, oral, anal, romantic

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

This story is a work of fiction. It'll be part of an eventual collection of
mine called "Yanking in the Young Years," which will include 26 boyhood sex
stories that start out as masturbation episodes, and build up from
there. Keep a lookout for it in a couple of months from now on Nifty. It'll
be a scary-large memoir collection and I'll be dropping it on your
slap-happy wieners all in one shot.

Friends who pre-read this particular installment of the effort said, "Ehh,
the rest is good, but you GOTTA gotta publish this one as a standalone,
Zachy. It wrecked me, you fucker."

So here it is in the high school section. Not my normal category, but one
that's filled with some astouding romance. I hope this story takes its
place among some very good company.

When I was 14, I definitely wanted a 17-year-old to love me the way that
Steve Oxford loves towel boy T-Dog in this one. I still do, really. Been
searching a whole lost lifetime for it, I guess.

Before we get going, please donate to Nifty, gang. Guys like me could write
a million different stories to arouse you in a million different ways, but
if nobody kicks in to keep this site up and running, we all go bye-bye.

This enjoyment can't happen without your committment. Give a little money
and sustain me. Sustain us all together. It takes so little and means so
much.

http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

And now on with the show. Let's pretend that somebody beautiful in a
lost-remembered yesteryear was kind enough to share this story with
me. Even though it's really me, breathlessly reimagined, on the quaking,
shaking, always-needed-it-this-way receiving end.

Fill me, friends.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

Dear Zach,

You asked for favorite youth masturbation memories, and I definitely know
what mine is. It starts out with a whole lot of ropey, sticky masturbation,
but quickly moves to gagging down cumloads way too big for me and then on
to the eventual obliteration of my 14-year-old anal virginity. Something
tells me you probably won't mind if there's more than just jacking off in
the story.

And I will start this by saying nobody ever believes my story, because it's
such a cliché setup right out of the Nifty athlete and high school
section – "football jock bangs the towel boy" - and my whole life I've
been telling friends, "No, seriously, I'm not kidding, it REALLY happened,"
and they laugh and roll their eyes and never believe me, so ((sigh)) I
might as well write it all down and send it in to you, and you can stick it
in a story somewhere and have it publicly disbelieved by everybody.

And you know what? I don't give a shit if anybody believes me or not
anymore. I know it happened, and if they think it's bullshit, then it was
6-inches of really GOOD bullshit up my little teen rump, so believe me,
I've made peace with the accuracy of the memory, whether anyone else
believes me or not.

So. Late 1990's. I'm 14 and Ox is 17. Ox is the halfback on our high school
football team. #80. Go Patriots...the Mighty Roaring Patriots.

Let me say from the start, I was WAY too gay to be the towel boy for the
high school football team, that's for sure. You don't want to put me in a
room with naked guys, or I'm going to lose all concentration. But honestly,
I like football. I've got a lot of team spirit. (Quit laughing. Don't go
there yet. Not "that" kind of spirit).

And I just feel proud that I'm this sweet, skinny, gangly sort of kid who'd
get murdered on the field in the first half if he ever tried to suit up and
play, but I get to make a difference in my own way, and help out a
genuinely nice group of guys, the players, who are all very nice to
me. (Ha! Don't go there yet, either. Not "that" kind of nice).

Anyway. I feel good about what I do back then. I'm proud of it. And I'm
like their mascot. My name is Todd Tucker, but they all call me
T-Dog. They're nice to me. I matter to the team. In my own way, I'm
integral.

Anyway. Towel boy/water boy/last-one-out of the locker room clean-up boy is
something I've been doing since middle school at my dad's urging. I was way
too gay to be his son, I think, so after a lot of arguing and crying on my
part, he made me try out for football in 6th grade, and towel boy/water boy
is as far as I ever made it.

That seemed to satisfy him, that at least I was in the presence of jocks
(even if I never actually became one myself), and once I got over the
horror of having to go to practice and games nonstop, I actually found
myself liking it.

And being a burgeoning little gaybee, believe me, I sure as hell liked
seeing naked guys in the shower, all strong and sweaty, all through 6th,
7th and 8th, while I casually rolled a cart past them all, passing out
fresh towels and studying their dicks, close and unobstructed.

After being TB/WB (towel boy/water boy) three years of middle school (and I
was quite fucking good at it, I might add), the middle school football
coach told the high school football coach about me and said I was too
efficient to retire, and after a five-minute meeting in the high school
coach's office two weeks before the season started (do NOT go there either,
LOL), I was instantly drafted for the same job in high school. I was sort
of a TB/WB legend at that point, and really very proud to be asked. Go
Patriots. Go Mighty Roaring Patriots.

So, when all of this started, I was 14 and Ox was 17.

Ox was Steven Oxford, a senior that year, and believe me, he was built like
one. Very tall. Very strong. I was in clumsy stuttering dicklust with him
the first time I saw him. But that wasn't unusual. I was in dicklust with
all the upper classmen the first time I saw them. Or buttlust really, since
I knew when push came to shove, if anybody shoved anything, they'd be
shoving it in me, and not vice-versa. And believe me, I was perfectly fine
with that yet-unrealized fantasy of mine.

So, Ox was just one of the players I fantasized about, jacking off at night
and putting fingers up my ass.

Ox was super nice to me from the very beginning. All the guys on the team
were. Football teams take care of their own. It's a brotherhood, and I was
the little brother. Nobody messed with me. Ox even pummeled a kid in the
hallway on my behalf once. He happened to be walking by one day after 5th
period when some burnout junior was giving me shit and calling me a fag.

Without even a word of warning, Ox grabbed the kid by the shirt collar,
slammed him up against the locker so hard it left a dent, and said, "This
little man you're picking on is T-Dog. And he's part of my team,
asshole. And if I ever catch you giving this little man trouble again I
swear to all-holy Jesus I will put your teeth through the back of your
head. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

The kid was dumbstruck. Speechless.

Ox pushed him harder against the locker and said, "Say `yes sir.'"

That kid said "yes sir" faster than any of us could take our next breath.

"Apologize to him."

"I'm sorry, Tucker."

"Mean it."

"I'm sorry, Tucker. I'm really sorry." The kid was crying now.

Ox let him drop.

Then to me, Ox said, "You come and get me if he ever bothers you again, all
right T-Dog?"

"Yeah, Ox, sure." I was breathless. Nobody ever stuck up like that before.

And then he spoke to the assembled group. "Pass the word. T-Dog is part of
the Mighty Roaring Patriots football team. Anybody who picks on T-Dog in
ANY way will simply CEASE to exist. Be warned. Say "Yes, sir."

A bunch of gathered kids automatically said "Yes, sir." Who would dare not
to?

And then with a nod of respect to me, Ox walked off without another
word. And then I really loved him. Not dicklust. Crush. And nobody in high
school EVER messed with me. Not a single whisper behind my back. Not a
single, solitary pick-on-the-gay-boy word.

TB/WB. Towel boy, water boy.

These were my duties. Fill and refill six packs carry-crates of Gatorade
bottles with water, not Gatorade. Lug them back and forth from tank to
bench, tank to bench. It was fucking exhausting. Keep track of an endless
supply of hand towels on the field for sweaty time-outs. Hand players
water, hand players water, hand players water, hand players water.

Did I mention hand players water?

Be the other half of their brain. Know when they're thirsty. Protect their
hydration. Hand them water even before they say "hand me water." I was good
at it. It was instinct. Nobody ever went thirsty or sweaty when I was
there. Ever. I took pride in how good I was at what I did. And they all
appreciated what I did.

When there were victories, I was part of the team. The first head they
rubbed and tousled walking back down to the locker room was mine. "Good
game, T-Dog," they'd say, like I actually played in there with them, and in
my eyes and their eyes, I did. I played a different position, but it was
every bit as valuable.

I'd lay out their shower towels on their locker room benches. Collect all
the dirty uniforms and wet towels off the floor in a big rolling laundry
cart like the maids in hotels use, and I'd roll it to school maintenance
room where it got washed overnight by the janitors. I'd pick everything up
and fold it the next morning and put it back in the correct players'
lockers with my passkey. I had access to all their lockers.

And I know what you're thinking, Zach. I was probably in there sniffing
their sweaty jock straps and jacking off to all that testosterone and
teenage football sweat, and I guess I probably could have. There was plenty
of time and privacy to do it, but Jesus, the schedule and workload was
unending.

I was 14. A Freshman. I had homework. Duties. Constant workload. On
practice days and game days, believe me, there's no time to stand around
and sniff anybody's jock strap. Jesus Christ, you're exhausted.

We had 30 guys on our team. 30 sweaty guys. Sweat on one guy might be
hot. But sweat times 30 guys all over your hands and arms and skin and
face? Eww. Sorry, Zachy. That much sweat all over you every day, you just
want to shower off and go home.

I did shower in the locker room, but long after all the players had already
left. After games, they were in and out of the locker room, showered up and
dressed in street clothes in about fifteen minutes. I gathered wet towels
and dirty uniforms, carted them to maintenance, then I came back, took my
shower (I wore a uniform too. Lucky #7. TB/WB at our school was always
lucky #7), and then after I showered and dressed in street clothes (I also
had my own locker), I dropped my uniform off in the bin at maintenance, and
walked home. (I lived about 10 miles from the school). Last one out. Last
one home.

It was during my last-one-out shower one night, when Ox first saw me naked.

"Oh, hey T-Dog," he said as he walked past the shower. "Sorry, I forgot my
cap in my locker."

His voice startled me, and I instantly covered my crotch in
embarrassment. I was used to showering alone. It was silly I covered
myself, but it was just reflex. Plus, you know, I was pretty little down
there at 14 compared to him. It was just a modesty thing.

He got his cap and came back and stood in the shower doorway and talked to
me a little. "Good game tonight," he said. "You need any help cleaning up?"

I was confused for a minute. I didn't know if he meant cleaning up ME or
cleaning up the locker room.

"No," I said. "I'm good. I got it."

And then, I swear, he just stood there and looked at me for a little
while. Didn't say anything. Just looked.

I was a good-looking kid at 14. Skinny, but cute. I'd like to think this
Adonis was checking me out, but I figured it was just my wishful
imagination. I mean, next to me, he was from Mount Olympus and I was a
lesser creature of the glen.

"Well, goodnight," he said. But I swear he was still looking at
me. Checking me out. Viewing. My. Ass.

I went home that night and behind my locked bedroom door, I jacked off
twice at the thought of Steve Oxford looking at my naked body. Did he want
me? Oh, fuck, I wanted him. All I could whisper while I jacked off in my
bed that night was "Fuck me, Ox. Fuck me, fuck me."

I knew I was a bottom boy from the start. There was never any doubt in my
mind. I'd been putting fingers and objects up my ass since I was 10. The
thought of being Ox's bottom drove me out of my mind that night. I'm not
kidding, Zach. I wanted to be his bitch. I wanted to be his woman. I wanted
him to fuck me so bad.

Sigh. Fast-forward a few nights later.

For whatever reason, Ox doesn't leave with the rest of the guys that
night. He hangs back, telling them he needs to go back to his school
hallway locker and grab some books or something. So, he walks off in his
dirty, sweaty uniform and comes back about 15 minutes later when they're
all gone. It's just me down there cleaning up. Nobody else is at
school. It's dark for fuck's sake. It's 9-fucking-30. Coach is
gone. Janitors exist somewhere, but who fucking knows where they go at
night. They're like gophers.

"Sorry, T-Dog," he says. "I know I'm keeping you. I had some math I had to
grab."

"No problem," I said.

He stripped down and dropped his uniform on the floor like he always did
and told me, "I'm just gonna grab a quick one and get out of your hair,
T-Dog."

I said okay and watched him step naked into the shower. It was a breathless
sight. He had a dangling big sack, a magnificent cock and a full
bushy-black pube patch.

I grabbed his dirty uniform, and yeah, this time I did smell it a
little. It smelled strong and musky. I felt weak smelling it. But good
week. I wanted to get fucked by what I smelled in there.

"T-Dog," he yells over to me. "You gonna shower up too?"

I was taken by surprise. I was going to shower, but I just figured, you
know, alone. Not with him.

"Come on man," he said, all friendly. "You got nothing downstairs I ain't
seen before."

Scared as all holy fuck, but excited beyond comprehension just to be naked
together in the sight of this Olympian, I removed my clothes and put them
on the bench. My dick was in such a state of limp terror, it looked like it
was half an inch long. Shyly, covering myself with one hand, I walked over
and joined him in the shower, a few nozzles down. I turned on my
water. Hissed until the cold turned to warm, then to hot.

He looked over at me. Top to bottom. And this time I knew he was checking
me out. There was no mistaking it. He was looking at my ass. At my little
limp cock.

"Hey, T-Dog," he says, handing me his soap bar. "Do me a favor and do my
back, okay?"

I gulped out loud, but took the soap. "Okay, Ox."

And I did soap him up. Nervous as hell. Excited as hell.

I rubbed the bar all over his back, then set it down in the soap holder,
then carefully at first, scared I might do it wrong, started rubbing the
suds all over his back and shoulders and (God, he felt so strong and
muscular)...FUCK, I was touching him. My hands were shaking, all over his
skin...

"Ahhhhh," he moaned, "Tthat feels great. Keep rubbing it, T-Dog."

And I looked down between his legs and his dick was growing rock hard while
I moved my hands around his back. Mine was still soft. I was terrified. But
his was turning into steel right before my eyes. Seeing it harden made me
rub his back more sensually. You know. Not massaging. Tracing his spine
with my fingers. I rubbed his shoulders, and let my hands drift down to the
muscles of his upper arms. I rubbed those too.

"Fuck," he whispered. "Fuck, that's nice."

He reached around and took one of my hands, and slowly, looking me right in
the eye, lowered it to his cock, where he rubbed it with soap and wrapped
it around his shaft.

"Wash my cock a little, T-Dog. Will you do that for me? Give it a nice slow
wash tonight?"

And I wish I could say there was some element of shock to that, or that I
was surprised, or pulled back in embarrassment, but God, such was not the
case.

The minute he put my hand on his dick, that was the only place I ever
wanted my hand to be again. God, it felt
wonderful. Big. Thick. Hard. Six-inches. No Nifty story cock where the
guy's got a 10-inch dong. Fuck fiction. 6-inches of Ox cock in my hand felt
overwhelmingly big, perfect and good. I did not need an embellishment. I
had a high-school senior's cock in my hand.

"That's it, T-Dog," Ox whispered gently, closing his eyes. "Wash it good
for me, T. It needs a good, good washing. Use a little more soap."

He stepped a little out of the shower spray so it wouldn't rinse off, and I
grabbed the bar and put some more soap in my hands so I could stroke him
with more lather.

"I appreciate this man," he said as I stroked him. "I appreciate this more
than you know. Awww, fuck. That's nice. That's it. Keep doing it."

And I just stood there naked in the shower, staring at his cock, amazed I
was doing this. Amazed it was MY hand wrapped around him, getting him off
like this. I started varying my strokes. Squeezing it in different
ways. Going harder, then lighter. Twisting my hand in different positions
around his shaft.

"Jesus," he whispered. "You do that so good."

And I kept it up. Varying it. Loving it. Making love to his cock with my
hand.

He reached forward and put a hand against the shower tile.

"Oh fuck, T-Dog. Fuck...FUCKKKKK!"

I saw his ass clench up first and then, BAM! His dick flinched in my hand,
and POW! His wad shot out all over the shower wall. A thick, long ROPE of
cum, followed by another, then a smaller one, then a fourth. Jesus, he
came. I'd never seen that much semen erupt from a penis. I was stunned by
the amount of it. Confused in a good way. I was still jacking him when he
shot.

He made that half-laugh, half-ticklish sound and reached his hand down to
stop mine from moving.

"Whoa," he said. "Enough, enough."

Then he let out a sigh of relief.

"Jesus, T-Dog, that was fantastic."

He looked down at my still-limp dick. "Let me wash you a little bit." He
took it in his hand, and moved it around for me, but it wouldn't go up. I
was too nervous. Too in awe of what just happened.

He soaped up his hand. Tried stroking me again. No go. It just laid
there. I mean it felt good when he held it. I was just...I don't know...not
equipped to be big for him. I wasn't big. Ox was big. I was smaller. I
wanted to be smaller.

"I'm sorry," I said, blushing because it was still limp. "It's not going
up. I mean, it wants to. It's just not...ugh...cooperating." God, I felt
dumb. I was babbling like an idiot.

Ox just smiled. "Want me to keep trying?"

"Nah," I told him. "I'm good. Mine's clean."

He grinned at that too and let go of it. God, mine was small compared to
his. Mine was just a penis. Ox's was a cock. It was all I could do not to
go down on my knees in front of it. And you know. Suck him. Jesus Christ I
wanted to. I wanted him in my mouth so bad. I wanted to swallow what he
shot on the wall. But unless he asked, I didn't dare offer. Even back then,
there were unwritten rules to this sort of secret coupling.

"Well, it'll go up next time maybe," he grinned, rinsing the remaining soap
off his body, swirling his cum off the wall with a palm. "Noooooo!" I
thought in my head. "I wanted that for later! After you left! I need to be
alone with it!" But no. There it went, swirling down the drain. Fuck.

Ox turned his showerhead off and said, "See ya later, T-Dog. I gotta run,"
leaving me standing there with the ghost-feel of his big meaty cock in my
hand. I finished my shower in dreamlike shock. Like an out-of-body
experience. Ox was already dressed and gone before I finished rinsing off
and came back to my locker. My first jack-off with Ox. It felt like a
dream. Like a hit and run. I stood there dressing, wondering if it really
actually happened.

It happened all right. Because the next night after practice, it happened
again. And the night after that, it happened again. And it happened all
that week. Ox hanging behind. Both of us showering together.

"Come on T-Dog. Wash it again for me. You wash it so nice, you know that,
right?"

"Yeah, Ox. I like washing it for you." I really did. I liked washing it
slow. I liked teasing it out. Watching his face, knowing he didn't just
WANT to cum now, he NEEDED to cum. Then I'd do it really fast at the end to
watch the bliss in his face when he finally let loose and shot cum on the
shower wall. It made me feel strong and right, to make Ox cum like that. It
made me feel desired and sexy and essential to his needs.

Ox was always polite and tried to wash my dick too, but mine would never go
up for him.

"I'm sorry," I kept telling him, embarrassed. "It just won't...sorry,
Ox...it just won't do anything. I feel dumb."

"Hey," said Ox. "Not a problem. Some guys wash. Some guys get washed. It's
how it goes."

And he was right. There's a natural fucking pecking order to it, right?
Some gay kids are just meant to stroke. They don't get reciprocals. They
simply have a duty.

It was like my dick knew the absolute natural order of things. I was there
to to service Ox. It wasn't meant to be the other way around. There's an
excitement in knowing you were made to be submissive. There's a relief in
discovering you are entirely meant to be this way. It's an absolute relief.

God, I loved to stroke his cock. It felt so good being the one who made him
secretly cum like this in an empty locker room, empty school, after
everybody else went home. It felt so good he kept coming back for more of
me. It felt so good that I did this for him. Nobody else. This was my part
of Ox. This is where Ox came to live in MY secret world.

I was fascinated by his cum. After he came, he always rinsed off and left
pretty fast. Not rudely. Not embarrassed. Just done and tired and needing
some sleep. He always said, "Thanks, T-Dog. Sleep tight, T-Dog. Thanks,
man."

One night after he left, I reached out and palmed his wad of cum off the
wall. I rubbed it all over my cock, smearing myself with it. I got hard
instantly and jacked myself to an orgasm in the thick stickiness of his
cum. I had no problem getting hard with my dick soaked in his semen.

The next night, I took a big wad of his cum on my fingertip and shoved some
in my ass. And then I did it again and shoved some more. I shoved all of
the cum I could find up my ass. "Fuck me," I whispered to the empty shower
room. "Oh please fuck me, Ox. I need you so bad." But of course, he was
already gone. I was sodomizing myself with his leftover semen. My whispers
and echoes, but no one was there.

There was no practice the next night, so Ox and I couldn't shower together
and we knew it. I walked past him in the hall after the final bell rang. He
was talking to some other upperclassmen who weren't on the team, so I
didn't make eye contact or interrupt their discussion. There's a protocol
to things.

But he smiled up and grabbed my arm anyway. "Hey T-Dog. Guys, you know
T-Dog right?"

A chorus of "yeah's" and friendly hellos. One of them scruffed my head
because, well, I was little. That's what guys do to a mascot, a little
brother. I was Lucky Number 7 and they knew it. In Ox's shadow, I was
Protected. I was a Made Man. Well, a Made Boy, I guess.

"Hey T-Dog," Ox said. "Go wait in my car for me, huh? I've got that roster
from Coach we need to go over."

I knew there was no roster from Coach, but I instantly said, "Sure." He
reached in his pocket and handed me his car keys. I knew what he
drove. Blue Mustang. Scratch of red paint on the side from an old fender
bender. He always parked it way at the far end of the student parking
lot. To avoid more scrapes. Plus, the birds shit on the close cars. There
were too many trees up close to the school.

"Be right out," he said and he went on talking with the other guys.

I went out to his car in the student parking lot, unlocked the passenger
door, got in and waited. It was warm, but not hot. I cracked a window. Most
of the cars were gone already. There were maybe a half dozen left, not
close to where Ox was parked.

Ox came out about five minutes later. Climbed in the driver's side. Sat
down. Smiled at me.

Without fanfare, he simply unzipped his pants, pulled his long cock out of
the fly, already half hard, and moved my hand over to grab it.

"Do me quick, wouldja T-Dog?"

I got nervous. Blanched for a sec.

"What if somebody sees?" I said freezing.

"Nobody's watching," he said. "I'll keep a look out."

"Come on, man. Stroke me, T-Dog. I need one bad today, man."

I started stroking his beautiful cock.

"Lick your hand," he said. "Get it wet. Use some spit."

I did.

"Ahhhhhh," he sighed, leaning back. I watched his cock harden to
full. Stroked him slowly like I always did.

"Go down on it," he whispered. "Put your mouth on it a little."

I'd never sucked him before.

"Come on," he said. "It's okay. I know you sort of want to, right?"

I blushed at that. My neck burned red. But he was right. And he knew he
was.

I looked across the parking lot nervously. "Keep an eye out for people,
promise?"

"Promise, man. Go down on it, T-Dog."

I leaned into the hot, musky smell of him, opened my mouth and did what I'd
been wanting to do all week. I took Ox's cock in my mouth.

Slowly at first, I swirled my lips and tongue around the head. I had braces
that year, so I had to be careful. Then hungry for it, I opened wider and
went down on the shaft. I went way down on the shaft. I'd been thinking of
deep-throating Ox's cock forever. And now I was doing it.

"Oh Jesus, T-Dog," Ox whispered reverently. "Jesus, Mother, Mary, God, you
do that good."

I took my time. In case I never got to do this again, I wanted to do it
right. I wanted to do it slow and make it last, but Ox's balls had other
ideas.

It seemed I barely started when he was already grabbing my head, pumping
his hips up into my mouth, and banging his thick mushroom cockhead into the
back of my throat. I didn't gag. I did NOT gag and I'm proud of that. I
just let him grab my hair and fuck my face. I let Steve Oxford, halfback
#80, fuck my throat and I felt GLORIOUS for it. I would eat this pounding,
banging cock FOREVER.

He grunted, and pushed, and jabbed and "NNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGH!" with a growl
to shake the trees, he started shooting that hot load all over my tongue,
all over my mouth, all over my throat.

Thick. Goopy. Syrupy. Strong. Needed. Delicious. On fire. Unending.

I gulped trying to keep up. Winced at the shock. The amount of it all. It
was fierce and it kept coming. I did gag a little. But I needed to gag. I
needed to gag on his dick load like this. It was the most empowering moment
of my life so far. My head in his lap, swallowing his sperm. Gagging in a
way I'd needed all my life.

Ox finished cumming. I sucked him a little more, cleaning him up. Feeling
him soften a little in my mouth. Getting all the flavor I could.

"Jesus, T-Dog," he whispered respectfully. "Where did you learn to do that,
man?"

"Dreams." I told him. "I've got a big imagination."

He laughed and shivered.

"Jesus," he sighed. "Fantastic. I wish you were a girl, T-Dog. We'd be
married already."

That hurt me in a way I was still too young to understand.

But, oh well, it is what it is. Kid hurts are short hurts. We get hurt and
we move on. I brought my head back up. Wiped my lips. They felt puffy and
numb.

"I'm sorry I made you swallow it, T-Dog. I should have let you up to
spit. That was rude of me, man. I shouldn't have done that."

"It's okay," I told him. "I didn't really mind."

Then meekly, embarrassed, "I liked it that way."

He didn't say anything for a second. What I wanted to say was, "I wish I
was a girl too, Ox. I wish I could be a girl for you." But the moment
passed, and some things are better left unsaid.

Ox tucked his dick away and zipped it back up.

"Good man, T-Dog. You're a good friend to help me out so much. You need a
ride home?"

I did, and he took me. We talked about football. He pulled in my driveway
and I got out of the car.

"Practice tomorrow," he said with a grin. "See you in the showers,
sunshine." He winked. I melted. Sunshine, not T-Dog. I could still taste
his cum in my throat. When I burped two hours later, I could still taste
the liquid thickness of Ox inside me.

At dinner that night, I had this burning urge to tell my mom, "You won't
believe this, but right now, this minute, I've got another guy's cum in my
stomach." I wanted to see her face when I said that to her. "I can swallow
a guy's cum too." I felt even with her now. On the same playing field. I
felt older.

The next night after practice after everyone was gone, I met Ox naked in
the shower like I always did now, and he was already hard. He got the soap
and took my hand to stroke him off, but I said, "No, Ox. Not that way
tonight," and I simply went down on my knees in the water spray, and I took
his hard cock in my mouth and started sucking him.

"Do it, T-Dog," I heard him whisper quietly. "Do it for me. Suck that
cock."

He tasted hot tonight. Sweaty and good. The water hadn't rinsed it off
enough yet. It didn't taste like wet clean skin yet. It still tasted like
hot, sweaty, 17-year-old cock. To a 14-year-old gay boy, that's delicious.

I made my tongue dance and flicker across his cockhead, down his shaft and
all over his swinging balls. They were salty. His sack was hot. I sucked
one into my mouth and he moaned. Christ I could lick off his flavor
forever, but he was having none of it.

"Stand up, T-Dog," he whispered hoarsely. "Stand up, man."

And before I knew what he was doing, he was lifting me up, pressing me up
against the wall of the shower and kissing me.

KISSING me!

Electric. Hungry. His tongue was digging into my mouth with passion. Making
moaning sounds. I was moaning back. He was rubbing the soap between
us. Slippery wet lather. I reached down to stroke his cock again. He kissed
me and moaned. I felt his hands reach out for the soap bar, almost dropping
it, lathering up.

"Gonna wash you, T-Dog," he whispered. "Gonna wash you somewhere special
tonight."

I knew what he was going to do even before I felt his hand slip down to the
globes of my ass. I felt the lather, slippery against my butt. Felt his big
finger sliding down into my crack, soapy, sudsy, searching for my hole.

He found it. FUCK. He found my asshole.

His big, long finger pushed soap past my sphincter. He didn't go slow. I
winced when he pierced me. It hurt but I said, "YESSSS," which is all he
needed to hear to push it in further.

"Gotta wash you inside, T-Dog. You need to be washed now."

"Oh yeah, Ox," I whispered into his hot mouth, our tongues in a
scrimmage. "I need to get washed, Ox. Please wash it good inside."

He finger-fucked me gloriously. Pushing, digging, curving his finger on the
inside. My knees were weak. I could barely stand. It felt like he was
holding me up from the strength of a single finger up my ass.

He took his finger out. I moaned at the emptiness. He turned me
around. Made me face the shower wall. I felt him nudging himself closer to
me. I felt him moving his cock toward my ass.

I felt him kiss the back of my neck. Kissed it. Bit it. My back arched in
reflex. I knew he planned on fucking me.

"Gonna rinse the soap out, okay now, T-Dog? Gonna rinse the soap out with a
little bit of my cum."

His dick was nudging me, searching for my hole, and all I could do was
shiver and say "Yesssss."

"Spread your legs a little more and put your arms against the wall."

His foot nudged between my ankles and I felt him kick my legs apart.

I wanted to cry, I was so ready for this.

He kicked my LEGS apart. He wanted me much he couldn't wait for me to
spread them myself. He kicked them apart. He nudged me more OPEN for him.
I put my arms up against the wall and let him do whatever he needed to
me. And I needed him to be in charge. Having no say at all was liberating.

Lathered with soap, his hard dick poked in the slipperiness of my crack. He
was looking for his angle. Trying to line it up right. Jesus, I wanted him
in me so much my whole body ached. My cells hurt. Jesus, I needed this.

I reached behind me. Helped him guide it in. Jesus, his cock was big. It
was a slippery, impossible, big hurting TOOL. Jesus, it hurt me. It hurt me
a LOT. But I didn't want him to stop putting it in me for anything. I
wanted to break down and cry it was so big, but I also wanted it deeper.

"Slower, "I begged...

"Gonna fuck your sweet ass..."

"Put it in slower..."

"Gonna cum up your asshole..."

I clenched from the pain, and then he slowed down. Breeched the first
ring. Pushed forward. Intense blinding whiteness. I breathed. I could do
this. Could take this. I needed to.

I relaxed and gave in to it. I slumped in weakness and trusted his cock. I
pushed out and I grunted, and God, he slid in me. Deeply, instantly when I
pushed, he got through my second ring. And then he was in there. And then
he was fucking me.

Oh Christ, he was fucking me. I smelled it. His cock. My ass. I could smell
us fucking, Zach. And you're right, man. You can smell getting fucked
sometimes. It smells decent, and right.

Oh Christ, his cock felt so hard and long inside me. He was so big. So
impossibly 17.

"17 goes into 14," I thought. Like a math problem. And I almost started
giggling hysterically. But then he fucked me harder and there was no time
to laugh. When he grabbed my hips and starting cock-slamming me, all
thoughts of laughter ceased.

"Anybody who picks on T-Dog in ANY way will simply CEASE to exist," I
thought deliriously. "Be warned. Say "Yes, sir."

Oh Christ, I'd needed this so long. I'd wanted this dick in me forever. Or
one just like it. But Jesus, it was big. I learned that day what all bottom
first-timers learn. The theoretical wish for a dick in your butt is NOTHING
compared to the 6-inch reality. On one hand, you're thinking "I was born to
be fucked like this," on the other hand you're thinking "what the HELL have
I gotten myself into?"

But that first one, man. You live the rest of your life trying to recreate
the feeling of that very first fuck. You search it out in alleyways. You'd
trade your fucking wealth for it.

Ox fucked my ass and he kissed and bit the back of my neck. "Good boy,
T-Dog. Open up that ass for me."

I didn't talk. Just made "nngh...nngh...nggg" sounds to the rhythm of his
fucking.

He took his time in me. Deep-dicked me. Stirred it and twisted it. He hit
spots up inside me I didn't even know existed. He stopped to lather his
cock with more soap. Pulled it out, lathered it up and shoved it back in
again. Violently. I cried out wildly, a full-throated wailing sound, in
nothing but helpless desire.

"You want it harder?" he whispered. "You need this big dick to fuck you
even harder, T-Dog?"

"Yesssssssssss," I begged him, shocked at my own answer. I was
blubbering. I could even feel my nose running. didn't know I had that in
me. I didn't know I was brave enough to ask him to fuck me even harder. But
I did. And I wasn't lying. The urgent need for it was very real.

Ox pumped me harder. NNNNGH! NNNNGH! We grunted together on each and every
fuck thrust. I could feel his bush banging into my butt cheeks. I could
hear his balls slapping hard against my taint.

"Gonna rinse that soap out of your asshole now, T-Dog. Ready for a rinse?
Ready to get all rinsed out inside?"

I nodded my head. I couldn't even speak. He was so overpowering. I was so
much smaller than him. I didn't know how we were doing this, but I was
mind-numbingly grateful. It felt so good to be his like this. It felt so
good to be smaller.

"Rinse it in me, Ox. Rinse it in my insides," I begged. And the begging was
real. It came with tears of joyful realization. God, I needed his cum. I
needed it to be in me.

There were tears flowing freely down my cheeks now. I was crying for the
love of it. I'd wanted this so long. It was everything I knew it would
be. When Ox got ready to cum in me, he grabbed my hips firmly, and kicked
my legs apart even further. Jesus, he kicked my legs again. It was like he
was kicking open another new part of my soul.

"Gonna rinse it in deep, T-Dog. Gonna make you all clean inside."

"Yes," I whimpered. "Rinse in me please, Ox. Rinse in me harder! As hard as
you can! NNNGH!"

He grabbed my hips and gave me four monster rabbit thrusts.

"JESUS JESUS JESUS JESUS" I cried.

"NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGHHH!" Ox growled and grunted and his head flew back
and his hair sweat splattered the shower wall and he howled and he bellowed
and I knew he was cumming in me. I could feel his dick jerking in
me. Twitching and grinding and pushing his cum to the limit of my sweet
nut. My prostate was decimated.

"Yesssssssss!" I cried.

"Take it," he growled.

He froze in place, to keep for comfort. He twitched and shook and creamed
my insides. He made me cry out in pain and gratitude.

Ox just CAME in me. He filled me FULL of him. He owned me now. He MADE me
this. He made me accomplish this. Take it inside me. This steaming and
stickiness, deep-fucking STRENGTH of him. I kept crying and shaking. Not
because it hurt me now. Just because I was so grateful for this. How he had
given me his STRENGTH.

As his cum subsided, he started fucking me slower again. Short, soft
strokes. Finding his artistry. Stirring me around inside. "Oh God, Ox," I
whispered. I took my own cock in my hand. I stroked myself while he fucked
me again. Rock hard, Needing to cum with his dick up my ass.

I stroked and I stroked and it didn't take me long, and sensing my tensing,
he pushed forward roughly and "OHHHHHHH, FUCKKKKKKK! NGGGGGGGH! OXXXXXX!" I
shot my first load in the shower, finally cumming for him as he fucked me
up the ass with that sweet, meaty dick of his. He pushed it in tight and
held it there, letting me cum. Letting finally find sweet, blessed relief.

He pulled out of me after I came. He was too tired to go a second
time. Just gave me the ass stirring I needed to shoot my own load.

"Jesus," he whispered. "That was incredible T-Dog. Are you okay? You're
crying, man. I'm sorry. You're crying."

"No," I whispered. "It's okay, Ox. I swear. I needed to cry. I loved how
you did it."

I sniffled. He held me. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

I cried in his arms. "Thank you, Ox. Thank you," is all I could say.

He kissed my forehead. Tousled my hair, because I was smaller, and that's
what you do.

He lifted my chin up and kissed me and smiled.

"We're doing this again, right? This is a do-over, I hope?"

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry some more. "I could do it again right
now, Ox," I told him honestly.  "You could do it again and I'd stand right
here and take it for you."

He took my soapy, sweaty body in his arms and we stood under the hot water
together. He kissed my lips again, softer this time. He kissed me like he
loved me. I felt good in his arms. Not used, just right. My size was just
right in the arms of this boy-man. I was smaller again, and I liked to feel
smaller.

"We gotta be careful about all this T-Dog. Can't get caught at it, right?"

"I know," I told him. "I'll be really, really careful."

Because that's the way it worked back then. Boys with boys, they don't go
public. They don't get to be lovers in view of anyone. You took your secret
moments wherever you could get them.

I sucked him off at the drive-in movie theater. He held my head down so I
had no choice but to swallow his cum. Twenty minutes later he made me do it
again. I could do it repeatedly. Whatever he fed me, I always wanted more.

He fucked me in the shower repeatedly. I had fissures one week, but I
didn't even care.

He fucked me in the maintenance room, bent over the laundry cart.

He fucked me at night, in the dark, in the student parking lot under a
streetlamp, bending me over the trunk of his car. I would have let him fuck
me anywhere.

He fucked me in his mom and dad's bed when his parents were away for the
weekend. That was the best one. That was the sleepover. That was the time
we fucked all weekend long. That was the time I hopefully felt like it
might last forever.

But no boyhood does. You know that already, or you wouldn't be
here. Wouldn't be here reading about it, writing about it and trying to
recapture it like the rest of us. Sigh.

There's no romantic happy ending to this story, Zach. I wish to fuck there
was. The next year, Ox went off to college, played university football on a
scholarship with a fairly decent team. Maybe banged the towel boy on that
team too. I certainly hope he didn't give it up after me. He had some
wicked prostate-stirring skills I hope he put to good use.

I missed him, of course. Cried a month's worth of loneliness. It's hard to
have something that big and that powerful – not just the cock, I'm
talking about the love – and just have it vanish one day like it was
never even there.

We saw each other on holiday breaks. We messed around a little, I jacked
him off and blew him in his car, but we both knew it wasn't the same. The
momentum of it, the wildness of it had passed. And you only get that once.

I raise my glass tonight to Steven Darien Oxford, halfback #80, and the
football-playing teenage new-men who masturbate with smaller boys, teaching
them things, helping them learn what they were always meant to do.

They hold our heads down and feed us our first epiphany. They kick our legs
apart and rinse out our souls. They lend us the strength that defines who
we are.

I raise my glass tonight to the big strong boy-men who were 17-years-old
and varsity perfect. All-state lettermen. High school seniors. Superstars.

They made you feel like part of their team, because a part of their team
you were. You were their mascot. You were integral. You were their lucky
number 7.

I raise my glass to the Mighty Roaring Patriots.

They were all very kind to their 14-year-old towel boy.

One was especially kind to a smaller boy like me.

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