Date: Thu, 07 Jan 1999 21:44:58 PST
From: Joseph Thoreau <jdthoreau@hotmail.com>
Subject: My Hero - Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER
**********

This story contains sexual acts between teenage boys. If this is not to 
your liking, then leave. Simple. If you are UNDER the age of consent for 
state / country / planet and all laws effective there, please leave now. 
Of course, I'm underage and I wrote it, so that's pretty odd, don't you 
think?

I wrote this story. I would be very appreciative if it wasn't changed in 
any way. You may post it to newsgroups, give it to friends, use it to 
line a birdcage, as long as I am accredited as the author and you do not 
charge for doing so. Thanks. 

The story is an odd mix of fact and fiction, inasmuch as I exist, the 
people in this story exist (names have been changed), but these events 
have not taken place outside my hormone charged imagination. This is not 
a story about sex. It is a love story with sexual elements in it. The 
sex takes a while to get to, so be patient. If you are just looking for 
something to jerk off to, you should probably move on.

If you like this story, mail me at JDThoreau@hotmail.com. If you don't
like it, mail me anyway and tell me what's wrong with it. Praise will be 
appreciated, flames will be ignored. Enjoy!

To Matt-For both the inspiration for this story and his constant support 
throughout the development of it. Thanks, bro. I love you. 


	I've always wanted to play the hero. I don't know why. I guess it's
an ego thing. When I was a little kid, I would watch all the superhero
shows. I would dream about swooping down just in the nick of time to save
the day. I had no idea that eventually I would be given the chance.
	My name's Jeff Black. Cool, no? I've always thought that would be a
cool name for an alter ego. You know, such as: by day our intrepid hero
becomes Jeff Black, a mild-mannered reporter for the...nevermind. Anyway, I
just turned 17 and I'm a junior in high school. About time, too.
	I guess I should start at the beginning of my all-important junior
year. I wasn't the most social of people. I was a pretty troubled person. I
had a lot of issues, but I won't go into that at the moment. Suffice it to
say, I didn't have many friends. During my junior year, things started to
change.
	I started school in mid-August. They had been slowly moving the
returning date back since middle school. In first grade, we came back at
the beginning of September. In the eleventh, it was August 12. Conniving
bastards. What? Did they think no one would notice? My schedule was
typical. I had a couple of advanced placement courses. They weren't that
bad. The work wasn't really hard for me, just incredibly boring. I didn't
think I was going to enjoy most of them. AP Biology 2, AP
Pre-Calculus. Stuff like that could put me to sleep in a minute. The only
courses I thought I would enjoy were AP English 3 and Theater 2. I loved
literature. I'm a right-brained sort of person. I enjoy poetry, art,
music. Numbers do not hold much appeal for me. In fact, my English class
was the catalyst for this story.
	My first day began as countless others had before. My alarm ripped
me from the delightful warmth of my dreams. I stayed in bed for a few
minutes, enjoying the feel of the sheets against my warm skin. We were
still in summer, so I had slept in the nude. Somehow, I found the strength
to tear myself from my soft haven. I threw off my bedclothes and allowed
the sunlight streaming through the window to wash over me. I arched my back
like a tired cat and stretched. I gave a final yawn and greeted the day.
	I walked over to my dresser and extracted a pair of boxers. I
meandered into my bathroom and turned on my shower. By the time I found a
clean towel, the water temperature had become tolerable.
	I stayed in the shower a little longer than usual, relishing the
needle-like spray battering my skin. My morning shower was always one of my
favorite things. It's a great way to start a day. I turned the water off
and drew the curtain back. I blindly groped for a towel, eager to stop the
water dripping out of my hair from getting into my eyes. My hand came into
contact with the familiar sense of soft cotton and I was finally able to
wipe my face. I opened my eyes and found myself in front of the bathroom
mirror. Steam had caused the mirror to fog, so I wiped a peephole in the
reflective glass with my towel.
	I looked at myself in mirror, happily checking out my body. It had
been difficult for me, but a few years of hard work had made me moderately
happy with my body. I liked my bright green eyes and my thick brown hair. I
stood at 5'10 and weighed about 175 pounds. And that was muscle. I almost
thought of myself as kind of cute. Water was dripping from my longish hair
down my body, curling around my nipples, accentuating my well-defined chest
and stomach. I was quite proud of the fruits of my training.
	This had not always been so. When I was 12 years old, I had been a
weakling. Not many people are familiar with the old Charles Atlas
advertisements, but I read about one in a workout magazine once. They are
these old advertisements for body building. They talk about a dainty
98-pound weakling turning himself into a muscle-man. That was what I was
like: weak, frail, ineffectual. It so happened that one day, I was talking
to my Uncle Ray about it. My uncle is a really big guy. He's almost six
feet tall, and had this dark rugged quality about him. I expressed to him
my despair over being a tiny, pidgin-chested little geek. Lo and behold, it
turned out he had been the same way when he was younger. My father was
still a slight man, so I guess it ran in the family.
	"Man, you should have seen me when I was around your age. You think
you are weak? I was the scrawniest little thing you could imagine. Finally,
I got sick of getting my diminutive ass kicked and decided to do something
about it. A friend of your grandfather ran a martial arts studio in
town. Martial arts weren't very popular back then, so it was the only one I
had ever seen. Like I said, I was only around 11 or 12, so I didn't have
any cash. So I offered to clean up around the place if he would train me. I
don't think he really needed any more custodial help, but he agreed
anyway. Fast forward 4 years. By then, I was already well into puberty, had
been working out for years, and knew how to kick some serious ass. It did
wonders for me." With that, my uncle offered to take me under his wing.
	Ray had set up a sort of mini-studio in his spacious garage. He was
a pretty successful architect, so he was semi-rich. His house was pretty
large. He had some really expensive workout equipment, punching bags, and
plenty of protective mats on the floor. In the coming years, those mats and
I would become rather intimate.
	The changes in my body were slow in coming, but once they did, they
were quite noticeable. My muscles began to develop, my coordination and
balance improved, and I became more self-confident. Not truly and
completely self-confident, as I had a lot of issues. It's hard to talk
about, but I guess I should. The main one being that I was different from
most people. You know....kind of strange. Almost queer, in fact. You've
heard all the words before. Fag. Queer. Cocksucker. Well, it's true. Where
do I sign up?
	From my earliest recollection, I felt attraction for my fellow
man. Not the agape sort of platonic thing, but the "Big L." Amore. Hot,
heavy, pulsing, all out, oh yeah, who's your daddy sexual urges. I was born
that way, and I wouldn't change myself for anything. Don't take that to
mean it was an easy thing. Certainly not. It's actually quite disturbing
for a youngster to realize this about himself. You feel how you've felt all
your life. It feels so natural, so right. One day you realize the rest of
the world doesn't exactly see it that way. You know that if you let this
known, you could be ridiculed, rejected, even beaten. So you keep it all
inside. Hello, freakdom. It doesn't help being born into a religious
family. Now not only are you a freak, but you are a freak that's going to
hell! It took me a long time to reconcile myself with God, realizing that
He'd love me no matter what, not like my parents, who would no doubt have
kicked me out.
	Well, that was a quick tour of my diseased psyche. We all hope you
enjoyed the tour, now if you'll just follow me to the gift shop... Sorry. I
kind of use humor as a defense mechanism. I really think that my sexuality
was one of the reasons I worked so hard to build up my body. Part of it was
for protection, I guess ("You're a queer?! I'll kick your ass!") but it was
also a desire to feel good about myself. I know I couldn't change my
"deviant nature" (and who would want to?), but I could control my body. It
worked rather nicely. I felt better about myself. I was still troubled by
my solitude and the years of living a lie, but I was nowhere near as bad as
I could have been.
	The only person I was really close to was my Uncle Ray. I didn't
get along too well with my parents, and I didn't want to get too close to
anyone my own age. I felt that if I let anyone get close to me, they would
find out about me. Then they would tell everyone, my parents would find
out, I'd be kicked out of my house, and be forced to move to a big city and
become a male prostitute to make money. We wouldn't want any of that to
happen, now would we? So, I kept everyone at arm's-length. Everyone except
Ray. He and I bonded. I mean, nothing brings two people together like
beating the shit out of each other on a regular basis.
	Ray was married, but his wife was unable to have children. Being
childless, I think Ray took me as a sort of surrogate son. Hell, I would
have been happy to make the arrangement official. My parents and I
basically ignored each other, and Ray was the only person who ever showed
any interest in me. He was always asking me what I was doing in school,
what was going on in my life. When I would master a martial arts technique,
he would smile and congratulate me. If I would bring him an English paper
with an A on it, he'd give pat me on the shoulder and tell me he was proud
of me. On occasion, when we were working out or sharing a joke, I'd see him
get a certain smile on his face. He would turn away quickly, but I would
see him look at me from the corner of his eye. I always believed he was
getting a little misty-eyed.
	I wanted so much to tell him about myself, try to relieve the
burden of having this secret, but whenever I'd try, I would chicken out.
You have to understand, Ray was like my life-line. He was the only person I
had who I thought truly loved me. I wouldn't do anything to endanger that.
So, I bore the burden alone. I know, if I had been born 600 years earlier,
I'd have made a great martyr.
	Ray trained me in many different styles of martial arts, taught me
how to handle myself in any situation. Through the training and the working
out that went with it, my muscles became defined. I wasn't huge, but I was
cut. I was pretty happy. Well, happy with my body, at least. I didn't
exactly have a happy life, but I definitely think it was a whole lot better
than it would have been without my uncle.
	By the time I had finished drying myself, the mirror had returned
to normal. I slipped my legs into my airy cotton boxers and attempted to
force my unruly hair into some semblance of order. I was finally able to
part my long brown hair down the middle. That looked okay. I brushed my
teeth and rinsed with Listerine. I gave myself a final look in the mirror
and headed out of the bathroom. I stood, boxer-clad, in front of my closet,
trying to decide what to wear. I settled on a simple black T-shirt I bought
from Gadzooks and a pair of blue jeans. I slipped on some socks and my
trusty pair of Nike ACG boots, grabbed my wallet and keys, and was ready to
leave. I threw my new backpack over my shoulder and headed out the door. I
didn't have to say goodbye to anyone. My father had already left for work
and my mother slept in until about 11 a.m. I threw my backpack into my old
broken down Mazda and headed for school.
	I never really found classes to be very exciting. By the end of my
first day, I knew that this year would be no exception. The only thing that
kept the day from being a complete loss was my new English class. I walked
into second period, and knew automatically that it was going to be
interesting. The walls were covered with different sorts of posters, the
desk crowded with clutter. The room had been tastefully decorated to look
like a mess, but still look good. The only thing more colorful than the
room was the teacher. I knew from my schedule that her name was Mrs. Estes.
She was very interesting. She looked to be in her fifties, but she had the
energy of a teenager and her eyes sparkled with intelligence and good
humor. She had graying black hair, worn up, and wore large glasses. She was
wearing a long, loud, blue dress and had bracelets lining both her arms. As
was the custom, she began the class by taking roll. Afterwards, she sat
back and looked everyone over.
	"I trust everyone had a good summer?" That provoked a variety of
responses, most of which sounded like "too short."
	"Oh, that's the way it is. It seems like the older you get, the
shorter summers become."
	I'm not really a smart-ass, but I tend to have problems holding my
tongue. It's like I always have a witty remark on the tip of my tongue.
Sometimes, it slips through. I looked up at her and said, "Wow, really? So
how fast did it pass for you?"
	I would have regretted it had she not looked me straight in the eye
and said, "Are you kidding? I didn't even leave. I just watched my last
class leave, took a nap, and all you people showed up."
	Everyone in the class laughed and I made a good first impression to
boot. Go me. The rest of the class passed smoothly. Mrs. Estes's easy
manner and quick wit kept us all captivated. She told us about her summer
and we all had a nice informal class discussion on how ours went. The bell
rang and we all got up to walk out. I had chosen a seat in the back, so I
was one of the last ones to leave. As I was walking out, she stopped
me. "Oh, Jeff?"
	I turned, fearing she wanted to talk to me about what I had
said. "Ugh, yes ma'am?"
	"Thanks for breaking the ice today. That was pretty funny." I gave
a nearly-silent sigh of relief. "You know, a sense of humor is often a sign
of a high intelligence. I hope that means you will be doing well in this
class this year."
	"I don't think that should be a problem," I said, feeling
comfortable. "I'm a right-brain kind of person."
	"Good. At least I know it won't be boring with you around."
	She smiled at me and I returned the favor. I walked out feeling
good. This class did look promising.
	The next few weeks passed like that. Most of my classes were
boring, but English was great. I enjoyed Theater, also, but it couldn't
hold a candle to English. Mrs. Estes had a way of keeping the class
exciting while we were learning at the same time. It's rare that a person
is able to pull that off. Usually a class will be either boring and packed
with facts, or fun and you don't learn anything. Mrs. Estes was a great
teacher. On more than one occasion, she asked me if I could come by after
school. It was no problem for me. I had stopped working during the week. I
had worked as a waiter all summer and that had allowed me to buy my car. I
still worked weekends to make some spending cash.
	Mrs. Estes would consult me on lesson plans, ask me questions about
what she was going to teach. She would ask me if I liked a certain activity
or a certain piece we were going to study. It was cool, made me feel
important. She was a really cool person, and we got along amazingly. We
were a lot alike. It eventually became a daily routine. I would come by
after school, help her with some things, or we would just talk. Sometimes
it would be for five minutes, sometimes an hour. I grew to love our
conversations. We would talk about the weather, talk about how pretty the
leaves were when they changed color, or speculate about the nature of
existence. I think that made me a bit happier also. I was still training
with Uncle Ray, but now I was able to exercise my mind as well.
	The first six weeks ended around the end of September. I received
my report card, and was very pleased with it. I did better than I usually
did. Two days after I received it, my uncle and I were taking a break in
the middle of one of our training sessions. We were in his the garage
drinking bottled water. The conversation had reached a lull, so I was
looking for something new to talk about.
	"Oh, did I tell you? I got my report card back the other day."
	He finished his bottle. "Oh, really? How'd you do? I'll bet you did
good, like always. I don't know where you got your brains. Can't have been
from my side of the family. I never could do well in school. Only thing I
ever liked to do was draw."
	He got up to throw his water bottle away and I did the same. "Yeah,
I did really well this time. I got straight-As. If I keep this up, I could
graduate in the top ten percent of my class."
	He turned to me. "Are you kidding? That's great! I'm so proud of
you!"
	Before I knew what was happening, my uncle had grabbed me in a huge
bear hug. I stood there, shocked for a moment, before gaining enough sense
to return the embrace. He finally let me go, and I was able to breathe
again. He smiled at me and walked over to the punching bag, ready to resume
the workout.
	It's hard to describe what I felt at that moment. Ray was my
primary role model, the only person like that I had ever had in life. I
felt so proud that he cared about me so much, that he loved me enough to
hug me. We continued our workout, but I couldn't concentrate. I watched Ray
go through all the techniques and could only think of one thing. If I could
only accomplish a single thing in life, I knew what it was. I wanted to be
just like him.