Date: Sun, 06 May 2001 21:10:56 -0700
From: The Pecman <thepecman@yahoo.com>
Subject: Groovy Kind of Love 5-6 (t/t, HS, 1st, HS, size, mast, oral, anal)

GROOVY KIND OF LOVE
*******************

-----------------------------------------------------------
   For the disclaimer, please read Part 1.
   This story may be reprinted anywhere on the Net, as long
   as it's done intact, without changing a single word,
   and preserving my copyright & Email address. And that's
   Copyright 2001 ThePecman@yahoo.com. All rights reserved.
-----------------------------------------------------------


Chapter 5

For the next few weeks at school, Sky managed to avoid me
in the halls. We were cordial enough in English, and I even
let him copy my homework a couple of times. But I could
sense that things weren't going to be like they were
before.

I somehow made it through gym class at the end of each day.
I still heard some occasional whispers and giggles from a
few of the guys in the locker room, but after the Coach's
warnings, they more or less left me alone. Late one Friday
afternoon, somebody stole my towel off the hook from the
shower. That meant I had no choice but to go over to Chuck,
the assistant Phys. Ed. manager -- a huge, bloated 10th
grader who looked even goofier than Ron, if you could
believe it -- who sat behind a little window in the office
near the shower entrance. As I stood there naked, dripping
wet, I thought his eyes were gonna bulge out of his head
when he handed me a towel, staring obviously at my crotch.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," I muttered to him as I
tossed a dime on the counter and walked away, wrapping the
terrycloth around my waist.

Ronnie was just finishing getting dressed as I got back to
my clothes locker. He looked up at me and grinned. "Oh,
lost your towel, right? Watch out for Chuck -- I heard he's
one o' them thar preverts." Ron laughed loudly at his own
hillbilly impression, and slapped his knee for comic
effect.

I smiled wanly. "Yeah. But he's not my type."

Ron seemed oblivious to my joke. "Hey, listen, Wil," he
said. "My brother and some of his 10th-grade friends are
gonna have a little backyard barbecue at my place after
school. My mom's got some kinda meeting tonight, so she
won't be home until at least 11. You wanna come by?"

I sighed. Ron was such an annoying little twerp, and he
looked goofy as hell, but since all Sky wanted to do was
play football and spend time with his girlfriend, maybe...

"OK," I said, surprising even myself. "Yeah, what the hell.
Your mom gonna pick you guys up from school today?"

Ron's freckled face immediately lit up. "Yeah! We're gonna
have burgers and dogs and stuff. In fact," his voice
dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "I think Rick's got
some _beer_." He shot me a glance and wiggled his eyebrows
comically. We both laughed.

I never really liked the taste of beer, I thought, but this
was as good an excuse as any for me to get a little wasted.
I called my folks to tell them where I'd be, and promised
I'd be home by 11. They said it was okay, since it wasn't a
school night. I hung up the pay phone and jogged back to my
friend, grinning. "You're on, Ronnie. Let's go."

An hour later, we were sitting around Ron's lush backyard,
which was enormous compared to mine. His family had a large
kidney-shaped pool, surrounded by trees and fancy
shrubbery, and there was a built-in barbecue on the patio.
Three older kids I hadn't met before were tossing a
football back and forth, while I sat on a lounge chair next
to Ronnie. Rick, Ron's brother, wore a big apron around his
waist and had a chef's hat comically perched on his head.
He slapped another patty on the grill.

It was a little cold for late October. Ron and I sat in
adjoining lounge chairs, and chatted idly as the sun went
down. I leaned back and smiled as a hazy cloud of blue
smoke drifted towards us from the barbecue. I loved the
smell of charcoal and grease. Mmmmmmm.

Rick turned to me. "Y-y-y-y-you want another b-b-b-b-b-b-
b..." he stammered.

"BURGER, you mean," I said, annoyed. What was with this
guy?

"Y-y-y-yeah, burger." He nodded and flipped it over,
turning away from me, slightly embarrassed. Ron gave me a
look.

"Listen, Wil," he said in a low voice. "Rick can't help it.
He's stuttered real bad ever since my Dad died five years
ago. Don't make fun of him, man."

"Shit, I'm sorry, Ron," I said quietly, glancing over at
his older brother. "You mean he can't stop doing it?"

Ronnie shook his head. "Not even if he tried as hard as he
could. He's been goin' to speech therapy three times a
week, but it's still as bad as ever. Just don't razz him
about it, OK?"

I nodded. Jeez. Maybe there were kids out there who
actually had worse problems than I did.

Just after 6PM, Mrs. Lannigan stuck her head out to the
patio. "OK, boys -- I'm late for my meeting! You've got all
my phone numbers. I want no rough-housing, no messes, and
that kitchen had better be spotless when I come back
tonight. Richard!"

Ron's older brother froze in mid-flip and turned, his face
reddening. "Y-y-y-yes, M-m-mom?"

"You're in charge for tonight. Now, Ronald -- you do
whatever your brother tells you to do! If I find out about
any funny business going on, you both will have old Mrs.
Evans, the babysitter, to take care of you the next time."

Rick and Ron both gulped. "Forget about it, Mom. We'll be
cool, we promise!" implored the younger brother. She nodded
and closed the door.

The moment we heard her car's engine start and the garage
door open, Ron raced across the backyard and looked over
the fence. Seconds later, he yelled, "OK, guys! The coast
is clear! The wicked witch has flown the coop!" He cackled
wildly -- not a bad impression of Margaret Hamilton from
_The Wizard of Oz,_ I thought. This guy's quite a
character.

Rick laughed, and I grinned at him. I could see he had a
good sense of humor, just like his younger brother --
speech impediment or no. He reached down to a small
refrigerator next to the grill, and triumphantly brought
out an ice-cold six-pack of Budweiser.

"Cool!" said one of the other guys, who ran up. "Toss me
one, Rick!" We each grabbed a can and started yanking the
pull-tabs. Ronnie popped his beer can open and splattered
it down my back, and I let out a yelp. He grinned, and I
gingerly opened mine and sipped it slowly. Bitter, but at
least it was cold. I made a face.

Ronnie laughed. "Not much of a beer-drinker, eh, Wil?"

I shook my head and winced. "Naaaa, it sucks," said,
smacking my lips at the taste. "Coach says it'll make us
fat. I gotta stay real lean for the swim team."

He giggled. "I know one part of you that's real fat," he
said, poking me in the stomach.

"Cut that out, asshole!" I hissed, punching him in the
shoulder.

He looked hurt. "C'mon, man. I was just kiddin'! Drink your
beer. You wanna go swimming?"

I looked at the water, which was already steaming. Even in
the cold October weather we were having, their heater kept
it fairly warm.

"I, uh, didn't bring my suit," I began. "It's back in my
locker at school."

"Fuck that," said one of Rick's friends. I looked up and
was shocked to see him yank his pants off and dive in,
naked! In minutes, all of them were all in the pool,
splashing and horsing around.

"C'mon in, Wil!" called Ronnie as he did a flip off the
diving board. "It feels great!"

Grimacing, I kicked off my sneakers and pulled my shirt
over my head, then yanked down my pants. Luckily, the yard
was fairly dark and the other boys were already occupied,
playing tag on the other side of the pool. But Ron's eyes
never left me, as I pulled off my underwear, removed my
glasses and dove into the water like a porpoise.

It felt really good. I touched the pool drain on the bottom
and rose slowly up, letting the bubbles rise above me to
the surface. I glanced at the other naked boys underwater.
The dim pool light showed at least one of them had a
partial erection, and I felt a little surge of excitement.
Down boy, I thought to myself, as I continued floating up
to the ladder in the deep end.

Ronnie and I horsed around for the better part of an hour,
until I started to cramp up. Between the beer and the
burgers, I wasn't surprised. I stayed in the pool as much
as I could, hoping nobody would notice my underwater
submarine. Much to my relief, Rick's older friends seemed
oblivious to me and Ron, as they played an intense game of
"Marco Polo." I managed to avoid getting tagged, and I
relaxed with Ron in one corner of the deep end, letting the
warm water soak into my tired muscles.

Eventually, the other guys got tired and decided to go
inside. Rick and I were the last to get out, and Ron tossed
me a towel as I pulled myself out of the shallow end, with
Rick just ahead of me. I gave him a quick glance; despite
the darkness, I could see he was also uncircumcised, just
like his little brother.

As I toweled off on the deck, trying to avoid letting the
others see me, I turned to Ron. "So, what's the deal with
you and your brother's, uh... you know..."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh, you mean our _dicks?"_

I nodded, embarrassed, as I continued to towel off.

"Rick and I were actually born overseas, in Formosa," he
explained. "My Dad was in the Air Force, and that's where
we were stationed. I dunno. I guess it's just a local
custom or somethin'. Once we got into school, and people
started razzin' us about it, Mom said we should ignore 'em.
She said, 'that's the way God created you, with a foreskin,
and there's nothin' to be ashamed about it.' So I guess
that's that."

I grinned at the two of them. "Well, if nothing else, it
gives you something to talk about. You know -- a
conversation piece."

They laughed. The other three boys had already gone into
the house. "You wanna shoot some pool with us?" Ronnie
asked, pulling up his pants.

"Sure," I replied, grinning. "But be warned -- I know more
about swimming in one than shooting one."

Ron laughed uproariously at my bad pun, and we trotted back
into the house.

The six of us started playing 8-ball in the family den,
which had expensive-looking walnut-covered walls and
bookcases. A cool stained-glass Tiffany lamp hung over the
table. We each took turns trying trick shots, and Ron took
great delight in creaming my ass. This red-headed twerp
might be a goofball, I mused, but he did know his way
around a billiards table -- just like a real pool shark.

"You should be glad we aren't playin' strip pool," he
chortled. "You'd be totally butt-ass naked, for sure." Both
brothers whooped with glee.

They were right -- I was a total klutz at pool. Once, I
almost ripped the green cloth with my pool cue, until Rick
showed me how to hold the stick properly. These two were
like real hustlers; they won every round, much to our
ongoing frustration. Well, I thought, maybe there's more to
total geeks like these guys than most people knew.

By 9PM, Rick's friends had left, leaving only me and the
two Lannigan brothers. I gave up trying to beat them at
their own game, and dropped my pool cue back in the rack.
"That's it for me, guys," I said. "Maybe I should be
heading home, too."

"No!" said Ron. "Not yet! You haven't seen my model kit
collection!"

His older brother gave him a curious nod as he sank the
last ball in the corner pocket, then hung up his pool cue
and walked over to us. I noticed that even though Ronnie
was a year younger, it looked like he seemed to call all
the shots for the two brothers. They led me down to the end
of a hallway to the back of their house, and opened a door.
Inside was a fairly large bedroom, almost as big as my
family's living room, with two bunk beds on one side. To
the left were an incredible array of toys and models --
_Frankenstein,_ _Dracula,_ all the big movie monsters, plus
dozens of cars, spaceships, and robots -- set up on a dozen
shelves, each intricately arranged like a professional
display.

"Wow!" I said, picking up a miniature _Phantom of the
Opera_ ghoul. "Gee, you painted it and everything! This
looks really cool, guys."

Rick and Ron beamed. "That's Rick!" said Ron, proudly.
"He's a real artist. Look at the detail here!"

I was impressed. Ron chattered on endlessly, while his
older brother smiled and let him monopolize the
conversation. I sat on the lower bunk and glanced around
the room. Man, I thought. Some people really have the life.
This place made my room look like a crackerbox. They even
had their own color TV set and a fairly big stereo system!
Shit, I didn't know any kid that had a TV in their room,
especially in 1968.

"S-s-s-so, Ronnie says you're on the s-s-s-wim team,"
stammered Rick.

"Yeah, he's a real champ!" enthused Ron.

I shook my head, smiling wanly at the compliment. "Hardly.
I'm still on second-string. I'm the third-slowest guy on
the team, mainly 'cause I'm short. But Coach says if I work
out, I can bulk up, get more muscle, and improve on my
times."

"I think your body looks cool, Wil," said Ron. I couldn't
swear it, but thought I saw a gleam in his eye.

My face reddened. My body wasn't nearly as good as Sky's, I
thought. Sky. Shit, I had hadn't even thought about him for
days.

Rick sat next to me on the bed. "Yeah. R-r-r-real cool." He
smiled at me.

I gulped. Rick had a curious expression on his face, almost
like he was... hungry.

"I told him about you, Wil," said Ron, shyly.

Great. More jokes at my expense. I stood up. "Look, it's
getting late, guys," I said. "My folks want me to be home
before 11, or I'm busted."

Ronnie leapt up and put his hand on my arm. "No, wait!" he
implored. "You wanna... I dunno, maybe look at some dirty
magazines or somethin'?"

My heart fluttered. It'd been almost a month since the last
time I'd spent the night with Sky, and I'd been too pissed-
off and depressed to masturbate for the last three days.

Ron looked at me, expectantly.

"What kind of magazines?" I asked.

The two red-haired brothers eagerly pulled out a half-dozen
dog-eared magazines from a top shelf. My mouth fell open
with surprise. Shit, some of these things looked like they
were from the 1950s, like nudist colony mags or something!
We sat down and ogled the photos, eagerly flipping through
the pages. I could see they'd gotten a lot of use out of
these mags; some of the pages were practically stuck
together. We laughed over some of the hairstyles and pot-
bellies, but a few of them looked really hot. In minutes,
both brothers had little tent-poles growing from their
shorts. I squirmed and had to adjust my pants, myself.

"Look at this one," said Ron. I looked down and stared at a
picture of a muscular teen, who looked just a little older
than we were. He was blond, like Sky, and was almost as
good-looking, I thought. I looked below the teen's waist,
and was surprised to see that his organ was just about as
big as mine -- maybe even bigger. Maybe I wasn't such a
freak after all. My groin throbbed.

Ronnie got off the bed, looked at his brother and gave him
a knowing glance. "Rick, you wanna do it?"

His brother nodded and turned to me and grinned. I felt
that familiar warmth in my gut, but I was scared. My mouth
went dry.

"It's just us, Wil," Ronnie said, softly. "C'mon -- let's
do it."

Ronnie pulled his shirt over his head, slid off his shorts,
and yanked down his underwear. Up popped his bulging
member, which was skinny, but had to be at least six inches
long. Rick locked the door, then pulled off his shorts and
let them drop to his ankles. I saw that even though he was
a little taller than his younger brother, they appeared to
be almost identically-equipped below the waist, even down
to the freckles. Rick's had a good thatch of light reddish
hair at the base; Ron's wasn't quite as hairy, but it was
so stiff, it almost pointed straight up. Rick grinned at
me, pulled his erection part-way down and let it slap back
against his belly. Both boys giggled, then turned to me and
waited, expectantly.

I sighed. "OK, but this was your idea," I said, defeated. I
stood up, pulled off my shirt, unzipped my pants, and let
them drop to the floor, revealing my teenage tool in all
its glory. It was so hard, the tip glistened, and the shaft
bounced with every move I made.

"Wow." Rick let out a low whistle. "Jesus, Ron, you weren't
kidding. That's the biggest one I ever saw. It's a monster!
Lookit the veins and stuff on it!" He was totally
mesmerized.

I looked up at him, shocked. "Hey! What happened to your
stutter?"

"It c-c-c-c-c-comes and goes," he laughed. "I guess you
just... sur-sur-surprised me. It's not every day you s-s-
see a foot-long wanger."

I smiled. "Actually, it's only nine inches."

"Closer to ten," chimed in Ron, who grinned from ear to
ear. "Was I kiddin', Ronnie? It's bigger than yours and
mine combined!" His brother nodded, and licked his lips.

My organ twitched up and down with anticipation. I sat down
on the bed and idly started playing with myself.

Ron put his lips close to my ear and said softly, "Wil...
lemme show ya some stuff my brother and I do to each
other."

With that, they began rubbing and sliding their hands over
each other's bodies. Ron dropped to his knees and started
groping his brother's groin and stroking his inner thighs.
Rick moaned and sat down next to me on the bed, just as Ron
completely engulfed his brother's penis in his mouth.

I gasped. Holy shit, I thought. What had I gotten myself
into?

"Oh, Ronnie... that's s-so good," he groaned.

Ron reached back and grabbed his brother's lower back,
pulling him closer with both hands. In seconds, Rick began
thrusting forward, moaning feverishly. I looked down and
saw that Ronnie was manipulating himself frantically. Shit,
I thought, looking closely. I didn't know you could pull
the foreskin up and down like that. Very cool.

Rick's eyes were closed and he moaned with delight. He put
his right hand on the back of his brother's head, and
gently pulled him forward. With his other hand, he began
tweaking his left nipple, then made little grunting noises,
like an animal. My own cock throbbed, and I started
stroking faster, completely engrossed by the two brothers,
who seemed oblivious to me.

Within a minute, the older boy let out a loud yell and
redoubled his thrusts. Ron choked and sputtered, and Rick
fell back on the bed beside me, panting and totally spent.

"Jesus," I exclaimed. "You swallowed it!"

Ronnie let go and sat up. "So what?" he said, grinning from
ear to ear. "It's just between brothers."

Yeah, I thought. Maybe then it's not queer. I was feeling
horny as hell, and continued to stroke myself, staring at
the younger boy.

Ron put his hand on my fist. "Stop," he said. "Lemme show
ya somethin' a lot better."

With that, he dropped to his knees in front of me and
started slurping my member. I almost cried out in surprise.
My whole groin felt like it was on fire, and I curled my
toes with delight. I was powerless to resist.

"D-d-don't forget to watch your teeth, Ronnie," said Rick,
who leaned over to get a better look.

Ron looked like he was in a state of bliss. He took his
mouth off me for a moment and gazed at my groin, which was
covered with his saliva. "Get over here, Rick. I can't
handle this thing by myself!"

Before I knew it, both brothers' tongues explored every
inch of me. My shaft had never felt bigger. One boy slurped
hungrily on my balls, while the other kept a steady pace
stroking me with his mouth. I was in such a daze, I didn't
know or care which of them was doing what.

The two brothers kept up their assault with renewed fervor.
Hands squeezed and stroked my chest, tweaked my nipples,
and I sucked in my breath when I felt a straying finger
poke me gently in the butt. I felt a bead of sweat trickle
down my chest and into my armpit. This was a hundred times
better than anything I'd ever experienced before, pleasure
almost beyond my wildest imagination.

Seconds later, my pulse began to race. I gasped out,
"I'm... I'm getting real close, guys."

Ron -- at least I think it was Ron -- plunged his mouth
down even deeper, and I felt a new sensation as I popped
past the back of his throat.

"Oh, fuck!" I yelled.

My hips thrust and bucked uncontrollably, and my hands
squeezed the bedspread as hard as I could. My eyes rolled
back in my head, then I whimpered with ecstasy as my groin
repeatedly vomited a torrent that vanished down Ron's
throat. At last, I lay back on the bed, exhausted and
overcome with bliss, trembling with excitement. I felt like
Old Faithful had just erupted the biggest geyser in
recorded history.

"Shit," said Ron, quietly. "Look at this, Rickie! I came
all over myself without even touching it!"

Rick and I started to laugh as I sat up. Sure enough, there
was a little puddle of goo on the carpet by Ron's knee. I
could smell that unmistakable smell known to all horny
teenagers.

"That's... that's a pretty cool trick, Ron," I laughed,
catching my breath. "You've gotta teach me that one
someday." I sighed and grinned down at him.

He giggled his boyish laugh. I looked down, and immediately
felt a jealous surge. Shit, it was true -- he really had
more hair than I did. Adolescence really sucks.

"What's wrong?" he asked, giving me a quizzical look.

"I'm still almost as bald as a fucking baby," I muttered,
embarrassed.

"N-n-no, you're not," said Rick. "Look!"

He kneeled down to me and pointed out a few new stray hairs
at the base of my softening shaft. I leaned over to take a
closer look. He was right! They must've grown in over the
last few weeks. Finally, I was becoming a man.

"Wow," I exclaimed, relieved. "It's about fucking time."

Ronnie looked closer. "Hey, you got peach fuzz all over
here. Take a look in the light."

He gently grabbed my flaccid appendage and dragged me
across the room, over to the desk lamp on the table. Sure
enough, I could see a few more sprouts of hair above the
base of my member, some almost light enough to be blond. I
felt relieved. Maybe I was finally hitting my growth spurt.

"Well, at least that's one problem I don't have to worry
about," I sighed with relief.

Rick and Ron grinned. "I dunno, Wil," giggled Ron, as he
wiggled my rubbery appendage back and forth. "This thing's
a pretty big problem, if you ask me."

"Oh, shut up!" I grinned, mussing up his hair.

After we cleaned up, we lay on the bed and listened to
their stereo, which at the moment was playing The Righteous
Brothers' "You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin." I quietly sang
along with it; it was one of my favorite songs from a
couple of years before. My voice was deep enough that I
could match Bill Medley's with a little effort.

Ronnie sat next to me and leaned over. "Listen, Wil," he
said quietly. "I kinda had to talk Rick into this for weeks
before he'd let me do it." Rick glanced nervously at me,
then looked down at his feet, and Ron continued, anxiously.
"You can't ever tell..."

I held my hand up. "I'm 'way ahead of you. Nobody knows
about this but us."

"Nobody," echoed Ron.

Rick nodded, relieved. "Th-th-thanks, Wil. We'd be glad to
d-do it anytime with you."

"Just us brothers," giggled Ronnie.

I grinned. Well, even if I didn't have Sky as a friend any
more, maybe the Lannigan brothers would be a reasonable
substitute. For awhile, anyway.

                        *   *   *

As we walked the eight long blocks to my house, the two
Lannigan brothers and I discussed the events of the last
week, but they didn't seem anxious to talk about what we
had just done back in their bedroom. Ron kept us laughing
with his lame jokes, and I kept my eye on my watch. Still
10:45 -- more than enough time to make it back home before
my folks killed me.

Halfway there, while we were waiting for a street-light to
change, I turned to Rick and said, "hey -- what the hell is
it with this Scott Michaels guy, anyway? What's his
goddamned problem?"

The two brothers looked like I'd hit them on the back of
the head with a shovel. Rick was visibly shaken, and
pounced on Ron.

"You told him, d-d-didn't you!" he hissed. "This was all
your fucking fault, Ronnie!"

Rick cocked his fist back like he was going to pound the
life out of his little brother. Ronnie immediately cowered
and covered his face.

"HEY!" I yelled. "Stop it!" I caught Rick's hand and
dragged it down to his side.

They both turned to me, but kept their eyes averted.

"We... we gotta get back home, Wil," Ron said, meekly,
backing up. For once, the light went out of his eyes. Now,
he looked absolutely terrified, almost on the verge of
tears.

"No, wait!" I said, dumbfounded. "Really, I don't know
anything! What's the deal?"

The two brothers started walking away, then broke out into
a run, leaving me alone on the street. What had just
happened here? I felt like I was in the _Twilight Zone,_
like one of those doomed characters on TV.

I made my way home and back up to my room. It took me over
an hour to get to sleep, and when I did, my head was filled
with nothing but nightmares. When I fell out of bed
Saturday morning, I couldn't remember anything I'd dreamed,
except bizarre bits and pieces: smoky, out-of-focus
pictures of Rick, Ron, and Scott Michaels, all of them
naked. And Sky was in there too, but he was angry, fully
clothed and yelling at me, like he hated me. I shook my
head in an effort to make that mental image go away, and
spent the rest of the afternoon in my Dad's easy chair,
watching bad sci-fi movies on TV.

Later that day, I stared at the phone, almost willing it to
ring. Sky... Ron... somebody had to call me, eventually.
But nobody did. I gave up and buried myself in a book.
Since I was a little kid, whenever I felt really down, I
could always count on a book to help get my mind off my
troubles. I picked up one of my favorites, Arthur Conan
Doyle's _Adventures of Sherlock Holmes._ At least these
were short stories; I found the longer ones a little
tedious, like _Hound of the Baskervilles._

Sunday morning, I reorganized my collection of _Famous
Monsters_ magazines and re-read them for about the 18th
time. Monsters were cool, but I felt a pang. I was still
lonely. I lay back on my bed and listened to my little
transistor radio for the rest of the day. By the time they
played "Harper Valley P.T.A." for the third time, I
couldn't take it anymore, and I angrily punched the off
button.

By 3PM, I'd had enough solitude. I gathered up my courage,
walked into the kitchen, took a deep breath, and dialed
Sky's number. It rang twice. His mom answered, and though
she sounded glad to hear from me, she told me that Sky had
gone out with some friends from the football team. Great.
Left out again. I thanked her and hung up the phone. One
down, and one to go.

There was only one "Lannigan" listed on Westshore Blvd.,
but it took me ten minutes to get the courage to dial the
number. Finally, I did. A young voice answered.

"Hel-hel-hel-hello?"

I didn't have to be a mentalist to figure out which
Lannigan that was. "Rick! Hi, it's me, Wil. What're you up
to, man?" I tried to act as casual as I could.

A long pause. "N-n-nothin'."

Okay. This wasn't gonna be easy. "So," I continued, "you
guys wanna come over to my place and hang out or
something?" Another long silence.

"No. I got homework." Hmmm, no stutter this time.

"Yeah, me, too," I answered glumly. This was getting
nowhere. "Uh, is Ronnie around?"

The phone clunked down and I heard a voice yell in the
background. A few seconds later, Ron was on the line.

"Uh... hi, Wil."

Jeez -- no jokes, no funny voices, no nothing. It looked
like the deep freeze wasn't going to thaw very soon.

"Hey, Ronnie, you feel like coming by my place?" I asked,
trying to sound cheerful and enthusiastic. "My folks and my
stupid sister are out all day, so we'd have the run of the
place to ourselves. How's that sound?"

Ronnie covered the mouthpiece, and I heard some angry,
muffled voices snarling in the background.

"Sorry, Wil. I got..."

"Oh, don't tell me, let me guess," I sighed. "Homework,
right?"

"Yeah," he said in a small voice.

"Look, Ron," I said, imploringly. "You can trust me. Tell
me what the hell's going on!"

"Later," he whispered. "I gotta go."

                        *   *   *

Monday morning at school, I spotted Ronnie walking down the
hall, looking like his old self again. His face brightened
when he saw me, and I waved across the courtyard and ran
over.

"Hey, Ronnie. Hope you're OK," I started. "Listen, man, I'm
sorry for pissing-off you and your brother the other
day..."

"No," he whispered. "Not here." He looked around nervously.
"In the bathroom. C'mon."

We trotted briskly over to the smallest of the boys'
restrooms in the school, the one all the way down at the
end of the fourth wing of classrooms. Ron cautiously
checked the stalls. The coast was clear.

Ron took a deep breath. "OK. So you wanna hear the whole
story about Rick and Scott Michaels?"

I nodded. "What's the big deal?"

Ron looked down at the ground, embarrassed. "Well... you
know, the stuff we did together Friday night?" he said.

"Yeah...?" I said, quizzically.

He took a deep breath. "That's not the first time we've
done that before," he said, quietly.

Holy shit, I thought. "Wait a minute -- you mean that Rick
and Scott were..."

Ronnie looked up at me nervously and nodded.

"It was in May, last year," he began. "I didn't know
nothin' about sex or anything. I came home from school,
late, and I heard some noises from our bedroom, so I walked
in and they were... you know..." He looked down at his
feet.

I let out a slow whistle. "So your brother did it with
Scott?"

Ron got right up to my face and stared, grimly. "You can't
tell anybody, Wil!" he whispered. "Not Sky, not the coach,
not ANYBODY!"

I thought for a minute. "But why does Scott hate _you?"_

He sighed. "They'd been doin' it for awhile. I think he
trusted Rick to keep his mouth shut, but not me."

"Hey," I chuckled, "if Rick had kept his mouth shut, he
wouldn't be in this mess in the first place!"

"Shut up, Wil!" he growled, and grabbed my shirt. "You
don't know Rick like I do! I'd do anything for him --
anything!" His eyes darkened.

Shit, I thought. For a goofy kid, Ronnie could sure be
sensitive.

"Jesus, calm down, Ron," I said, gently taking his hand off
me. "OK, I swear, I won't ever tell anybody about this."

"And that means Scott, too," he continued. "If he finds out
you know, he's gonna come after me, because I'm the only
guy who coulda told you."

"But why is he always calling you 'faggot'?" I asked.

Ronnie winced. "He's... he's scared because I saw what he
was doing with my brother."

I grinned at the thought. "Yeah, your brother's really
talented," I chuckled.

Ron shook his head. _"Scott_ was on his knees, Wil," he
whispered.

I blinked. Jesus. The star football player of the Tampa
Central Cheetahs was...

"So _he's_ really the faggot." I said, in disbelief. "I
mean, uh, he's... you know, a homo. Like you guys." Like
me, I thought.

Ron's face blanched. "No we're not, Wil!" he insisted. "I
really like girls, as much as you do! So does Rickie, I
swear. But y' know, sometimes... guys gotta help each other
out. Like brothers."

I nodded. "OK," I said. "Let's forget it ever happened." We
shook on it.

A bell echoed down the hall. The walkways were deserted,
and we slunk into our homeroom class and sat down at our
desks, under the evil eye of Mrs. Swatts. She gave us an
evil glare. "Thirty more seconds, and you two would've gone
off to detention!" she snapped.

Ronnie and I kept our heads down and pretended to take a
sudden deep interest in our social studies books, preparing
for a test in the next      period.

                        *   *   *

Report cards came out a week later in mid- October. I
pulled two A's and four B's, but one lone 'C' in Algebra
kept me off the Honor Roll. My parents were terribly
disappointed. At this rate, I was never going to get to go
back to the LaFontaine school.

The weather turned cold and drizzly. October dissolved into
November, and November dissolved into December. God finally
gave me a break: at last, I was getting a respectable
growth of hair on my groin. So did just about all the other
kids in gym class, ranging from peach fuzz to downright
hirsute. Their initial fascination with "donkey boy" seemed
to have evaporated, though I still occasionally caught a
few stares and surprised glances in my direction in the
shower. Once, I thought I saw one teen start to get visibly
excited, but he quickly turned away before I knew for sure.

Despite being the youngest student at Tampa Central, I was
beginning to get used to 9th grade. I managed to make a few
more casual friends, thanks to being on the swim team. I
spent more and more time each week in practice. Between
that and homework, I hardly had time to do anything else. I
was able to dramatically improve on my Freestyle times, and
I inched my way up on the coach's list to finally qualify
for first-string Butterfly and Breaststroke. Coach Byers
encouraged me at every practice, giving me pointers. He
occasionally showed us Olympic films highlighting some of
the swimming techniques in slow-motion, with all kinds of
animated arrows and graphics to show us how the champions
did it. I watched the films with open-mouthed wonder. God,
I thought. What I'd give to be able to swim that fast...

One day in early December, at the end of practice, Coach
Byers took me aside. "You're comin' along well, Larson, but
I think you still need to do some work on your legs and
arms. If you were just a little stronger, I think you'd
have the body type that could really make it as a swimmer."

"You think so, Coach?" I asked, dripping on the tile floor.

He nodded. "You know, Wil, I almost made the Olympic team
back in 1956," he said, wistfully. "Eight years before
that, I was the spitting image of you at your age -- same
speeds, same height, and just about the same weight. Maybe
you could make it in another six or seven years. The 1976
games aren't all that far off, you know."

"Hey, why not try for '72?" I chuckled.

The couch laughed. "Son, you've gotta train for _years_ for
this," he explained, kindly. "You have no idea the work and
sacrifice it's going to take. Let's just go a step at a
time."

I thought for a moment. "Have there ever been any 17 year-
olds on an Olympic team?" I asked, wistfully.

He shook his head. "Not very often. Nowadays, it's mostly
the 20 to 25 year-olds that dominate the sport. You're what
-- 15, now?"

"I'll, uh, be 14 next May," I confessed.

"You're just 13?" he exclaimed. "Aren't you a little young
to be in high school already?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I guess. I skipped first and
second grade, because I was too smart for my own good," I
sighed. "I went to LaFontaine for 7th and 8th grade. Now
I'm here."

"The LaFontaine Institute?" the coach asked in surprise.
"So you're a gifted kid."

I laughed and shook my head. "Apparently, not gifted
enough," I said. "I'm back in public school, now. My
parents thought it'd do me some good." I shook my head,
sadly. "I'd almost rather be back at the Institute. But at
least you've got a great swim team here."

The coach gave me an understanding look. "It's tough when
you're young, and the older kids tease you. They think
you're an easy target, just because you're smaller than
they are."

I had to stop myself from blurting out, "tell that to my
dick," but I bit my tongue.

"Wil," he said, stepping back and giving me a grin. "You
look to me like a young man who's gotta lot of intestinal
fortitude. You know what I mean?"

I grinned. "You mean I've got 'guts,' right?"

Coach Byers nodded, thought for a moment, then started
filling out a piece of paper. "I'll tell you what I'm gonna
do," he said. "I'm going to set it up with Coach Lucas to
have you work out once or twice a week in the other
building, where the football players have their weight room
set up. Have your parents sign this consent form, and we'll
start you pumping some iron. And follow the recommended
diet in this booklet," he said, as he handed me the papers.

"I thought that lifting weights would stunt my growth or
something," I said, a note of concern in my voice.

"Naw -- that's just an old wives' tale, son," he explained.
"We're not gonna dump 300 pound barbells on you. Just some
light weights and machines, period. Stay away from the
heavy stuff," he cautioned. "You can really get hurt with
those, especially without the right training and a good
spotter. You'll be ready for that in another year or two."

"And then on to the Olympics!" I grinned.

"We'll see about that," he laughed, swatting my wet fanny
as I trotted to the locker room. "Get going! And don't
forget to bring the form back in to me tomorrow!"



Chapter 6

Friday the 13th, as I was walking to sixth-period English,
I had to fend off Rick and Ron -- "the geek brothers" as
I'd started to call them. We'd had a few more sessions in
their bedroom over the last few weeks, but I began to
realize I really didn't like the guys all that much. Heck,
they spent more time screwing around with each other than
they did with me. I almost felt like I was intruding on
their little games. Even worse, I still felt like I was
still the freak on display, which made me really self-
conscious. And even though I felt kind of ashamed to admit
it, Rick and Ron just weren't... well, all that attractive.
Hell, they were downright goofy-looking! Every time I did
it with them, once it was over with, I felt kind of
ashamed.

As I trudged through the halls, I thought of Sky, and the
two or three times we had fooled around together. I never
felt embarrassed with him. When I was with Sky, it all
seemed... I dunno -- _exciting,_ yet at the same time, like
it was the most natural thing in the world. I mean, I had
known the guy for what, six years? I began to feel that
familiar pain in my chest again, then I shook my head. I'm
not a homo, I thought. I'm just going through a phase.
That's what all the books said.

Sky was right: maybe I should try to date some girls. Fat
chance I had at actually getting laid, but at least maybe I
could go out and have some fun. Shit, I was a jock, right?
Well, almost a jock. Even if I was the lowest guy in the
line-up, and I'd yet to even compete in a single meet, I
still technically had a monogrammed team letter. Just like
Sky.

When I finally got to class, Sky was already laughing with
a couple of the football jocks at the front of the room. We
sat down almost at the same time, and just as I turned to
bring my notebook up from under my desk, someone on my left
playfully punched my arm.

"Hey, stud! Look at the new letter-man!"

I looked over to see Sky grinning at me, with the same
carefree smile I'd known practically all my life. It'd been
awhile since I'd seen him do that. God. Does this guy have
perfect teeth, or what? I mentally slapped myself awake and
looked down at my new sweater, which I'd gotten the day
before.

"Yeah. We all just got them on the swim team. Pretty cool,
eh?" I said, trying to be as macho as I could.

"Still, it's not as cool as a varsity _football_ letter,"
he said, smugly, "...but it's not bad."

I looked closer at the insignia on his jacket. "Shit, Sky!"
I whispered. "You made it to varsity!"

He beamed ear-to-ear and nodded proudly. "Yeah. Bobby
Carlson broke his leg over the weekend, so they bumped me
up to varsity from JV. There's only three 9th graders on
the whole team, and I'm one of 'em."

"Congratulations, man!" I said, sincerely. "Man, I hope
those guys don't kick your ass too hard."

He grinned. "I'm only the center, so I just have to be hand
the ball off and do a little blocking. It's the quarterback
that does all the work. As soon as I get rid of the
football, I'm out of danger."

I thought for a second. "Wait a minute -- isn't Scott
Michaels the new quarterback?" I asked, making a face.

Sky nodded. "Yeah. I know, he can be an asshole, sometimes,
but he's really a great player. With Carlson out, I think
Coach is gonna make Scott team captain, too."

I shook my head and grimaced. You'd better watch your balls
during the game when Scott reaches behind you, I thought.

"Oh, I forgot," he said, seeing the look on my face. "You
got a thing against Michaels, from that thing that happened
in gym. Look, just stay out of his way. I'll tell him
you're cool."

Yeah, I thought. Cool like Scott's friends Rick and Ronnie.

"Don't go out of your way, man," I said. "I can take care
of myself."

He punched me in the shoulder again. "Anything you say, Mr.
Jock-man!" he said, laughing.

I grinned back at him. It was almost like being with the
old Sky again. God, I'd almost forgotten what it was like.

The class went by quickly, and so did Phys Ed. I felt sure
it was going to rain -- typical December weather for
Florida -- but all it did instead was look gray and
overcast. After we'd run around the track for about the
18th time, Coach Lucas finally blew his whistle. My group
half-walked, half stumbled the last quarter-mile back to
the boys' locker room building, puffing and wheezing most
of the way. Ronnie caught up with me just as we entered the
doorway.

"Hey, Wil," he wheezed. "My mom has to go to some stupid
office party tonight. You wanna come by for... you know, a
barbecue or pool or somethin'?" He wiggled his eyebrows
suggestively.

I sighed. "Not tonight, Ronnie," I said. "I finally
convinced my folks to let me use the weights in the varsity
workout room. I won't get out of here until at least 5:00
or 5:30."

His face fell, like somebody had just cancelled Christmas
or something. "Gee, Wil. You haven't come by to see me and
Rick in like two weeks," he said, shyly.

I looked in both directions, then brought my voice down to
a whisper. "Look, Ron, you know I like you and Rick and
all..."

He nodded, but had a disappointed look in his eyes.

"...but I got all these responsibilities and stuff, being
on the swim team," I continued. "Coach says I've gotta, you
know, bulk up. I really need to get bigger muscles, you
know?"

"I think you've already got a lotta muscles, Wil," he said,
admiringly.

"But not enough to _win,_ Ronnie," I said, exasperated.
"You don't understand -- I'm like the shrimpiest guy on the
team! I've gotta get bigger so I can beat these guys. Coach
says I can do it -- I've just got to get stronger!"

The red-haired geek nodded. Actually, I thought, in this
light, Ron almost looked kind of cute in a strange way.
What was I saying? I shook my head to try to lose the
mental image of him and his brother naked.

"OK," he said, finally accepting defeat. "Just don't turn
into one of those giant muscle-bound guys, Wil. You know,
like Willie Armitage on the IM Force." Ron looked at me
forlornly with his piercing green eyes. Why had I never
noticed those before?

"Who?" I asked, as he walked down the hall to the locker
room.

"You know, dummy!" he yelled from a distance, exasperated.
"Peter Lupus on 'Mission: Impossible,'" he said, as if this
was the most obvious thing in the world.

I rolled my eyes and laughed. "Not a chance, Ronnie," I
grinned, as I walked over to the weight-room door and
pushed it open. "I'll be lucky if I can just add 10 pounds
of muscle!" I yelled.

Or turn into a Greek god like Sky. There he was on the
bench in front of me, stripped to the waist with four of
the other football jocks. I felt a twinge as I saw his
tanned chest sweat and strain under the weight.

"...eight... nine... ten! " counted off one of the players.
"Incredible, Jones! That's ten reps of 155! Un-fuckin'-
believable!"

Sky let the huge bar fall with a clang on the top of the
bench posts. He sat up and panted, while half the gym
applauded. Sky stood up and took several victory bows.

I stopped dead in my tracks and stared. Holy shit! Sky had
really put on some muscle over the last few months. My
friend had always been athletic, but now he looked like he
was turning into Superboy or something! His arms bulged
with all kinds of little veins and ripples I'd never seen
before. His chest looked totally pumped up, and he had a
deep vertical line that went all the way from the top of
his chest down to his muscular stomach. His nipples had a
light dusting of hairs, and a little inverted V-shaped tuft
of blond curls trailed down tantalizingly from his belly-
button into his shorts. When he saw me gawking in front of
him, he grinned.

"Shit!" he said, laughing. "They'll let anybody in this
place!"

"Who's the shrimp?" said one jock, a Cuban guy who'd been
assisting Sky with the weights.

"Lay off, man," Sky said, defensively, as he got up and put
his arm around my shoulder. "This 'shrimp' just so happens
to be a good friend of mine. Gentlemen, let me introduce to
you Tampa Central's premiere Butterfly-stroke king, Mr.
William Larson. He's on the varsity swim team."

"Call me Wil," I grinned. "With one 'L.'"

I shook hands with three of the players, but the big
Hispanic guy just stared at me.

"Hey -- wait a minute!," he said, as a wave of recognition
hit his face. "You're that kid... Donkey Boy, right? Man,
this guy's got a cock on him... _madre de dios!"_ He held
his hands about a foot apart and whooped like a hyena.
Several other onlookers turned to see what he was laughing
about.

"Can it, Rodriquez!" snapped Sky, angrily. "I bet he fucks
your mother with that big dick!"

"I doubt it," said one of the others. "Enrique has a baby
dick! No way this guy over here could be the father!" he
said, pointing in my direction. We all laughed, except for
Rodriquez, who turned bright red.

"Hey, shut up, you guys!" he yelled. "That ain't funny!"

I grinned at him and shook my head. "I swear, Enrique," I
said, as evenly as I could, "I've never even met your
mother." I held my hand out as a gesture of peace.

The brown-skinned teen reluctantly took my hand and made a
half-hearted attempt to smile, but the other guys just
laughed again and slapped Sky on the back.

"No disrespect, man," I said to him, sincerely. He nodded,
finally giving me a firm handshake.

Sky's teammates started walking towards the door. "We'll
catch ya later, man. We're gonna hit the showers."

"OK. Later, guys! Thanks for helpin' me," called Sky, as
they left the room. "So," he said to me, eying my small
frame, "I hear you wanna learn how to build strong bodies
12 ways."

"I'll settle for just one," I replied, grinning. I looked
around the room at the rows of gleaming chrome steel bars,
racks of huge black weights stacked against the far wall,
and a dozen dangerous-looking machines arranged in the
center of the room. A half-dozen stationary bicycles were
next to us, and full-length mirrors surrounded the room on
three sides, making the place look twice as big as it
really was.

"Jesus!" I said, amazed. "I had no idea the school had such
a huge workout room!"

"The best in the state," said Sky, proudly. "Doug Wheeler's
dad is the regional rep for the Universal Fitness Company,
and he got 'em to donate most of this gear for free. I bet
there's some colleges that don't have this much equipment!"

The workout gear looked cool, but also very intimidating.
"How do you work all this stuff, Sky?" I asked, with some
trepidation. "It looks real complicated. And dangerous," I
added.

"Naw, it's easy," he said, reassuringly. "Just follow the
rules, and you can't hurt yourself. Look at these charts up
here." He walked me over to one wall, and I saw a bunch of
colored diagrams and outlines of the human body. "These'll
show you how to warm-up, how to stretch, and how to hold
the weights for proper form."

"Will you... would you mind showing me?" I asked.

Sky thought for a moment. "Well, I sorta promised Melissa
I'd walk her home from school."

My face must've reacted, because he gave me a curious look.

"Or... oh, fuck it," he said, finally. "I could just see
her later on tonight. Lemme get a message to her, and I'll
come back and show ya the ropes."

I grinned. "Thanks, Sky. I'd really appreciate it."

"Hey, man, what're best friends for?" he replied, giving me
his million-dollar smile.

                        *   *   *

Sky's workout routine was intense. He started me on biceps,
which hurt like hell. The weights I was using were little
puny 10-pounders, but he reassured me, everybody always
started out small. Next up was shoulders, then triceps,
then chest.

"Chest is my favorite," said Sky, moving me into position
on the bench. "Officially, this is the 'Pectoral Muscle
Group,'" he said, putting his hands on my chest. "We call
'em 'Pecs' for short."

I felt my heart flutter momentarily at the touch of his
hands, but tried to concentrate on his instructions.

"You'll need good pecs for swimming, for sure," he
continued.

"Wouldn't this be safer on the machines?" I asked, timidly.
The weights on the bench were about the size of trashcan
lids.

"Machines are for pussies, Wil," he said, confidently. "You
ever see any of those really huge guys in the magazines?"

I nodded.

"Trust me," he said, replacing the big plates with smaller
ones. "None of those guys got big pullin' cables or pushin'
levers," he explained. "Those guys pump iron -- the real
deal, none of this candy-ass stuff."

I lay back on the bench and looked up at him. Sky's gold
chain still dangled around his neck, nestled in the deep
groove between his pecs.

"Don't worry," he reassured me. "I'll start you off real
light, then you can work your way up over the next few
weeks. I bet by next summer, you'll be able to do 155, like
I just did today for the first time!"

I gulped. "But Sky," I protested, "I'm not trying to turn
into some kind of monster! I just want to get bigger. Not
_huge,_ y' know?"

Sky grinned and got close to my ear. "I say you're already
huge," he whispered, tugging playfully at my shorts.

I laughed. From him, it sounded like a compliment, not an
insult.

                        *   *   *

By 5:30, we were both totally exhausted. I hurt in places I
didn't even know I had. If actual muscles existed there, I
thought, they definitely weren't there yesterday.

"You look like shit, Wil!" Sky laughed.

I winced, rubbing my sore left tricep. "Man, I thought I
felt like shit after swim practice!" I moaned. "This is a
whole new level of pain."

"Yes, but it's a _good_ kinda pain," he laughed. "Look,
man, if you're really hurtin', we can use the whirlpool
bath down the hall."

"What's that?"

"It's like a real hot bath," he explained, "only with a
buncha bubbles and crap. It's a shitload better than a hot
shower. Coach lets us use it when we pull a muscle in our
legs or somethin'."

"Oh, you mean like a little swimming pool?" I asked, trying
to visualize it.

He nodded. "Not exactly, but sorta. It's only big enough
for maybe ten guys. Since it's Friday, and we don't have a
game tonight, the place is totally deserted. It'll just be
you and me."

Well, maybe a hot bath with my best friend wouldn't be so
bad, I thought. I felt that familiar twinge again. Shit,
don't get hard, don't get hard! I desperately tried to
remember the capitals of Europe, which were going to be on
our Geography test this coming Monday.

I nodded and we headed back down the hall, and I pulled off
my T-shirt, which was damp with sweat. The locker room was
deserted. Sky ran down the hall to use the pay phone to
call his girlfriend at home, to apologize again for not
seeing her after school. Just as I had yanked off my
jockstrap, I heard a voice behind me and almost jumped up
in the air with fright.

"Hey! The locker room's closed! No one's allowed in here
but the football team!"

I turned to see Chuck, the gym manager. He looked at me
oddly, but then I realized why he was staring.

I already had a partial hard-on, just at the thought of
being in the whirlpool bath with Sky. I glanced down, and
was mortified to see it was already at least 7 inches, and
throbbing closer to 8 with every second.

"Oh, hi, Chuck. You scared the shit outta me," I said,
nonchalantly trying to turn away from him. "I... ah... got
permission from Coach Byers to use the weight room. Sky
Jones just took me through my first workout, and we're
gonna use the whirlpool. We'll be out in fifteen minutes, I
promise."

Chuck continued to stare intensely below my waist, then
waddled a few steps towards me. I felt a shiver. This guy
definitely gave me the creeps. Jesus, maybe he really was a
pervert, like Ronnie said. I grabbed my towel and clumsily
covered myself up.

"Look, Chuck, give me a break, willya?" I snapped. "I'm
just gonna jump in the whirlpool and be out before you know
it. Is that okay?"

As he got closer, I took a good look at him. Chuck was one
of the weirdest-looking kids I'd ever seen at school. He
was huge, even for a 16 year-old, and his eyes were real
close together. I mentally guessed he was at least 200
pounds -- probably all fat -- and I bet he had at least a
hundred thousand pimples on his face. Chuck was definitely
not an athlete, but I figured him being the assistant
manager was probably as close as he'd ever get to actually
being on a team.

"You're... you're real big, y' know?" he said, softly,
walking closer to get a better look at me.

I pretended to misunderstand him. "Yeah, and Coach says I'm
gonna get even bigger if I can work out more," I replied.
"Sky's helping me with the weights."

The other boy shook his head. "No. Your dick. It's
really... amazing."

I felt a twinge, and was terribly embarrassed when I
glanced down to see my towel was beginning to tent up below
my waist. There was no mistaking the outline.

"Yeah, well, I was born this way, and I can't change it," I
said, irritated. "It's really not a big deal."

Chuck took another step closer and looked me right in the
eye. I could smell a strange odor about him, kind of an odd
mixture of salt and rotten eggs. He was sweating profusely,
despite the locker room's cool temperature, and he had an
troubled expression on his face, as if he was caught in a
struggle trying to decide whether or not to do something
horrible.

"It's... it's a big deal to me," he said, quietly. "I'd do
anything to have a big one like that. Even to... touch it,
or anything..."

I started feeling terrified. Chuck probably outweighed me
by almost a hundred pounds. If he really attacked me, all
he'd have to do to totally subdue me would be just to sit
on my chest and crush me to death.

"Look, Chuck, I really don't w-want any trouble..." I
stammered.

He was close enough to touch me now. "I can... make you
feel a lot better, Wil," he whispered, his face moist with
perspiration. "Just let me try. Please." The obese teenager
slowly reached his pudgy hand out to touch my towel, and I
took a step back.

"Hey, Wil! Let's go, man, the whirlpool's all hot n' ready
to go!"

Both Chuck and I jumped with a start as Sky ran back into
the room, already half-naked.

"Hi, Chuck," he said, acknowledging our visitor. "Listen,
Coach said I could close up, so you can split now. Thanks
for hangin' out, man. The team really appreciates it!"

Chuck nodded meekly, and said, "Okay, Sky. You know to kill
the lights and let the door lock behind you when you
leave."

"Rightio, Chuck," said Sky, yanking off his shorts and jock
and grabbing his towel. "Thanks, man!"

The fat boy waddled out of the locker room, and Sky walked
over to me and tossed his jockstrap in the empty clothes
locker next to mine.

I let out a sigh of relief. "Jesus Christ, Sky! That guy
gives me the creeps!" I shuddered, pulling off my glasses
and laying them down in my locker.

Sky turned and gave me an incredulous look. "Ol' Chuckles?
That fat fuck? Just ignore him, man," he said. "Chuck just
likes lookin' at guys. I see him lookin' at me all the
time, when the team's in the showers. He's harmless! He's
just a fag."

I nodded. "Yeah -- just a fag. Okay."

We grabbed our towels and walked down the hall past the
shower and around the corner to a smaller room. A strange
chemical smell filled the air, and I heard a bubbling
noise, like the beakers in Dr. Frankenstein's laboratory.

"Here it is, the official Tampa Central High whirlpool!"
Sky said, reaching in and turning on the light switch,
which cast a dim glow around a small pool surrounded by a
concrete deck. "Hop on in... the water's fine."

Sky peeled off his towel and stepped down into the bubbling
water, which had a layer of white foam floating on the top.
I turned to watch him move down the steps. Jesus, even his
_back_ has muscles, I thought, as I hung my towel on a
nearby hook. A deeply-etched line ran down his spine,
leading to his very round, muscular butt -- excuse me, the
'gluteus maximus.' By any name, it still made my heart
pound. His posterior was very white, in stark contrast with
the deep brown tan of the rest of his body. I averted my
eyes and gingerly dipped my toe into the pool, which was
boiling.

"Fuck!" I yelled. "This thing is gonna scald my ass!"

Sky laughed, his wonderful laugh again. "Naaaa! It feels
great! I already checked the thermostat, and it's only 105
degrees. C'mon, just get in and go with the flow, man!"

Gingerly, I moved down the steps, wincing as the bubbling
bath hit my dangling family jewels, and finally sat down in
the water, right next to my friend.

"Aaaaaaaaah," he sighed, stretching out his legs under
water. "Isn't this the greatest?"

I had never felt anything like it. Hidden water jets in the
walls blasted thousands of bubbles all over my body, giving
my back a vigorous massage. While the chemical smell was
pretty intense -- it was noticeably worse than any of the
pools I'd ever swam in -- I had to admit, it felt great. I
closed my eyes and drank in the sheer physical pleasure of
the experience.

"Sky, this is... this is really great, man," I sighed. "I
wish my dad would buy one of these for our house!"

Sky laughed. "Fat chance, Wil. You guys still have a 21"
black and white TV!"

"Hey," I protested. "That's 'cause my Dad says color TV
isn't perfected yet!"

"No, it's 'cause he's a cheap bastard!" he taunted.

"He is not!"

"Is so!"

I started to open up my mouth up to continue the argument,
but Sky picked that exact moment to send a big splash of
bubbling water right up my nose.

I choked and wheezed. "You asshole!" I yelled, coughing.
"There's dangerous chemicals and shit in here! Now, I'll
probably turn into the Incredible Hulk or something!"

Sky laughed uproariously, his voice echoing off the tile
walls. "That's the only time I ever got you first in a
pool, Wil! C'mon, how many times have you nailed me with a
killer splash before?"

I sputtered and spit, but was hell-bent for revenge. "You
mean like THIS?" I yelled, leaping off the wall and
dragging his head under water. We spent the next few
minutes wrestling back and forth, laughing and yelping as
each of us pinched and grabbed the other in the whirlpool.

We'd done this a thousand times before in swimming pools
and at the beach, but somehow, it was different this time.
For one, we were both completely naked. For another, we
were totally by ourselves. After a few minutes of
horseplay, we wound up pinned against the wall with our
arms wrapped around each other, my face right on top of
Sky's muscular chest. We laughed hysterically, but I felt a
strong surge in my loins, and my heart pounded.

We were both breathing faster, and our laughter slowly
stopped as we caught our breath and looked up at each
other. Shit, I thought. If I made any kind of move, I just
knew what Sky would say. Suddenly, something grabbed me
firmly but gently down below.

"Ah, what do we have down here," Sky said, playfully
tugging on my manhood. "Did you smuggle a baseball bat into
the pool, young man?"

I grinned and reached down underwater. He was hard, too.
"No sir," I said, "but you seem to have an abnormal growth
over here that I think needs to be diagnosed." I started
stroking him.

"Wha... what are you doing, Wil?" he asked, his voice
trembling slightly.

"Look, man," I whispered. "There's nobody else around.
Let's... you know, go for it!"

"Here? Is that sanitary?" he asked, quietly.

I sniffed the air. "Shit, Sky. There's so many chemicals in
here, it's probably killed all the germs for 100 yards."

He nodded, and we sloshed back over to the underwater
concrete steps.

"Okay," he whispered. "You do me, and I'll do you."

My heart raced as I sat up on the pool's top step. "I'm
almost there now, Sky," I whispered back. "Just jerk me
first so I can get rid of this thing, or else I won't be
able to walk out of here."

He started stroking me slowly, using the foamy water as a
lubricant. It felt incredible. I reached over and gently
caressed his chest with my left hand, and he let out a
moan.

"You look really great, Sky," I muttered.

He kept silent and continued moving his right hand back and
forth, while his other hand groped his own groin.

"Use both hands," I begged. "You know... like you did
before."

"I remember," he said, quietly. Sky reached over and began
vigorously stroking me with both hands. It took less than a
minute for me to start bucking and thrusting. An
involuntary guttural moan started deep in my throat, and
before I knew it, a half-dozen spurts shot through the air
and landed somewhere in the middle of the bubbly water.

"Jesus, Wil," he whispered. "You just squirted  like six
feet away!"

"I guess I was... a little worked-up," I gasped.

He nodded, then pulled himself up next to me on the top
step, his long legs still in the water. He looked at me
hungrily.

"Please. Can you... do it for me?" he pleaded. "I can't
even get Melissa to let me go to second base."

I grinned wickedly and gently stroked his rock-hard
erection with my right hand. "Lemme try something
different," I said. I dropped down between his legs, opened
my mouth, and swallowed him up completely in one gulp.

"Oh, GOD!" he moaned.

"Shhhhh!" I mumbled, my mouth half-full. "Somebody'll hear
us!"

"Fuck, Wil," he whispered. "That feels incredible!"

I gripped him tightly and began moving back and forth,
exploring every inch of his groin with my tongue, slurping
hungrily as I went. I used my right hand to tenderly
squeeze his balls, while I stroked his chest and tweaked
his nipples with my left. Sky moaned with sheer delight.

"Jesus, shit, man!" he cried. "Where did you learn that
from? Christ, this is unbelievable!"

I stopped for a minute and pulled my mouth off. "I read a
lotta books," I grinned, smacking my lips.

"Please don't stop!" he begged.

"Okay, okay!" I said, and diligently went back to the job
at hand. I plunged my face all the way down until my nose
poked the blond tufts at the base and I felt a little
pressure at the back of my throat. Suppressing the urge to
gag, I worked him over as thoroughly as I could,
remembering everything Rick and Ronnie had done for me over
the past couple of months. I playfully probed my tongue in
his belly-button, tracing the light trail of blond hairs
all the way down. He moaned again with approval. Less than
a minute later, I felt his balls tighten, and I knew he was
getting close.

"Wil... I'm... gonna shoot, man!" he whispered.

I patted his chest to assure him it was OK. I squeezed his
balls a little tighter, then lightly fingered him a little
lower, pushing my finger in to the first knuckle without
encountering any resistance. I wiggled around and he began
groaning and thrusting uncontrollably.

"Oh, fuck," he moaned, "here comes! Ohhhhhhhhhhh!" He
practically lifted his hips out of the water as he lurched
forward, humping my mouth like a total madman, completely
out of control. I felt several hot spurts hit the back of
my throat, and I swallowed it all as he sank back into the
hot, bubbling water. Curiously, I couldn't taste anything;
with all the weird chemicals I'd already swallowed, I
figured, one more weird taste wouldn't kill me.

Sky looked like he was unconscious. I let him slip out of
my mouth, then I stepped up and sat down next to him on the
steps.

"So, how was that, Sky?" I asked, quietly, wiping off my
mouth. I grinned and laid my right arm on the step behind
him.

He opened his eyes, looked at me, and smiled weakly.
"Christ, Wil. That was... well, I just wasn't expecting
that." He caught his breath. "You were... you were really
great."

"Thanks," I chuckled, leaning back against the wall. "I've
never actually done it to anybody else before," I said,
truthfully. Rick and Ron had always insisted on doing all
the work in our occasional get-togethers.

Sky sighed. "Fuck, I'd hate to see how good you could get
with more practice!"

I grinned. "Well, I had a couple of good teachers," I said.

"Who?" he asked, warily.

"Oh -- nobody," I said, nonchalantly. "Just a couple of
friends. Nobody you'd know."

He was quiet for a moment, then turned to look me in the
eye.

"Melissa won't do any of that shit for me," he said,
wistfully.

"Well, don't ask me to give her lessons, okay?" I laughed,
wiggling my boner, which had sprung back to life and was
sticking out of the water like a periscope.

But Sky didn't even smile. He sat silent, and looked away
from me. I leaned up, reached over and put my hand on his
shoulder, and he turned his face back to mine. We were just
inches apart.

"I'm... I'm really glad you liked it, Sky," I whispered.
Before I could even think what I was doing, I leaned
forward and kissed him. At first, he kissed back, gently
pushing into me. I could smell his face, feel his warmth.
Oh, god, I thought, I can't believe this is happening. He
moaned softly and caressed the back of my head, and I felt
his tongue start to touch my lips. I reached to pull him
even closer, but suddenly he wrenched away with a cry, and
punched me in the face as hard as he could.

For an instant, I saw stars. Then I fell backwards into the
hot bubbling water.

I was momentarily stunned, but the sharp sting of the
chemicals in my eyes brought me back to life. I stood up,
sputtering and spitting out blood and pieces of teeth.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" I screamed.

"GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU FAGGOT!" he yelled back.

I was in shock. Sky leapt out of the water, almost slipping
on the tile floor as he ran to the wall and angrily ripped
his towel off from a hook.

I stood there as my eyes filled with tears, half from the
pain, half from the shock.

"Sky, I'm... I'm sorry, man," I stammered. "I just
thought... I thought this was what you _wanted..."_

"SHUT UP!" he hissed. "I told you, I don't want any of that
faggot crap!" He was literally shaking with rage.

I began to sob, quietly. I hadn't cried in more than five
years, since my great-grandmother had died in '63.

"Sky, I swear," I choked. "It's not a big deal! It's just
between us -- just us guys. Nobody has to know, I promise!"
Like brothers, I thought.

"BUT _I'LL_ KNOW" he bellowed. "You just want me to be a
fag, like you! I'm no fuckin' homo, goddammit!"

"I never said you were," I wailed. "Sky, I swear to god,
I'm not a homo, either! I still like girls! I'd love to
fuck one right now, as a matter of fact. But I just
thought..."

He angrily waved both fists at me. "You thought wrong! Just
get away from me!" he screamed. "Go with your fuckin' queer
friends. Go suck your own dick, for all I care! Just stay
the fuck away from me, Wil!"

With that, my best friend in the world turned and stormed
out of the room, leaving me alone with the bubbles, the
water, and the stinky chemicals. I sat down on the steps
and cried.

In the six years I'd known Sky, I'd never seen him so
incredibly angry. He was right. I was totally fucked-up. I
had seduced my best friend into doing something he never
wanted to do, something he hated. I'd crossed some
invisible line, gone too far, and destroyed our friendship.
Fuck, fuck, FUCK! How could I be so stupid?

I lay my head down on the concrete edge of the pool and
quietly wept. The sounds of my sobs echoed on the tile
walls, while the bubbles continued to percolate. I felt
like my heart had been ripped out of my chest.

Slowly, I pulled myself out of the water, grabbed my towel,
shut off the switch and staggered down the hallway. I got
to a mirror above one of the sinks in the bathroom, and
took a good close look at my face. I winced. Yep,
definitely a chipped tooth on the bottom, and my lower lip
was cut pretty badly. I could still taste the blood in my
mouth. Looked like a big bruise on my chin, too. Shit. I
wiped off my mouth with a paper towel, and grimaced with
the pain. I'd have to tell the folks I fell off a diving
board or something.

I pulled on my clothes, zipped up my jacket, and headed out
into the cold Florida night.

Two minutes later, someone else turned the lights out,
opened the door, and left in the opposite direction.

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