Date: Fri, 04 Feb 2011 16:17:52 -0800
From: h.schreiber@hushmail.com
Subject: Rock and a Hard Place chapter 2

Warning! This story is a work of fiction written by a legal age adult. Any
similarity between the fictional characters and any live persons is purely
coincidental. This story contains fictional descriptions of sexual activity
between consenting minor youth. If you are under the age of 18, and/or if
you are offended by this content, and/or if it is illegal in your
jurisdiction to possess or read such material, please leave now and do not
read this story as neither the internet host nor the author can be
responsible for your actions. Please, always practice safe sex; no
momentary thrill is worth your life.

This work is copyrighted (c) by Hans Schreiber. You may not reproduce this
story in whole or in part without the express written consent of Hans
Schreiber at h.schreiber@hushmail.com.


Rock and a Hard Place

Chapter 2

Sometimes, Wrestlers Cry

After wondering if things could possibly get any worse, I knelt down in
front of my injured team mate, brushing mom aside. I offered him my hand.

William sat up, holding himself and groaning loudly. He retrieved his
glasses and mounted them on his face using both hands. Then, he returned
his hands to his groin and moaned some more. "I feel like I'm going to
vomit," William announced, only seconds before he did just that, all over
me. He tried to stop his second regurgitation with his hand and it went all
over him. The rancid odor and pink viscous pool caused me to start gagging.

"Oh dear, oh dear," mom began again, "can you get to the bathroom to clean
up, deary?" She was speaking to William Henry, rather than to me. He nodded
his head weakly and started to stand. A third and final eruption overflowed
his palm onto my bare feet. He walked slowly, hunched over, down the hall
into my bathroom. I followed, holding my favorite Hurley shirt up to
prevent the disgusting pool of goo from dripping any further and gagging
along the way. Mom helped William out of his sweater and shirt. His ribs
poked out from his scrawny chest and sides, covered with a layer of
shockingly pale skin. She dampened a hand towel and started to wipe the
vomit from the front of his pants and he drew himself backwards, groaning
in pain.

"Oh dear, oh dear, I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?" Mom said.

"Yes, you hurt him. Again! God, mom, just leave; you're making things
worse. I'll take care of it. We'll cleanup in the shower," I said, harshly.

My mom looked at me in shock with her lip quivering, tossed the towel in
the sink, spun on her heels and stalked off. I stuck my head out the door
and called after her, "Bring us some clean clothes and leave them by the
door. Please. And see what you can do about the mess on my bedroom
floor. We'll put our soiled clothes out in the hall when we get them off."

I'd managed to get my own shirt off while mom was helping William and I
rinsed it in the sink. I turned the shower on and adjusted it to
warm. "Dude, I can't believe you hurled on my favorite shirt. It gives a
whole new meaning to Hurley brand, though. I hope it washes out."

William started laughing in an unexpected guffaw and snort fashion. I
expected him to have more of a snobby titter kind of laugh. I broke out
laughing with him, in spite of myself. If I didn't laugh, I'd have to cry.

Not thinking anything of it, I stripped naked, opened the door and tossed
my soiled shorts and boxers out into the hall. I turned around to offer to
put William's out also only to find him gingerly dabbing at the mess on his
pants. "Dude, that's not gonna work. Take them off and get in the
shower. Mom will wash them for you. Shower's big enough for two; Dig and I
share it together sometimes."

William Henry David Thames, III just stared at me wide-eyed, speechless and
then shook his head, no.

"Oh shit, no! It's not what you're thinking. Dig and I aren't gay. Really,
dude, you have to believe me; I'm not gay. Hell, Dig's definitely not
gay. We share showers after wrestling practice so it's no big deal for us
to share one here too, if we're in a big hurry or something. Honest, dude,
I rarely look at that gay shit on the net, I just kind of fell into it
tonight, you know? Haven't you ever been a little curious about other
guys?"

He shrugged, looked briefly at my genitals and resumed dabbing at his
crotch. "Methinks, the boy doth protest too much," he said.

"Shut-up Shakespeare and just get in the damn shower, alright?"

"It would be highly inappropriate to expose my genitalia outside of a
medical setting and most certainly to a teenager of like gender," he
mumbled.

"You shitting me?" I said. "You get naked changing in gym class in front of
others, what's the difference?"

"I don't go to gym. I got excused from it," he said, peeking again at my
package and then glancing away quickly. "Unlike you, I have no interest or
attraction to other males of my species."

"Well, that's a load of bullshit," I bellowed. "Now you're the one who's
protesting too much. Take your goddamn, smelly clothes off and get in the
shower. We're both boys and it's no fucking big deal to be seen
naked. There's nothing gay going on here, but if it bothers you that much,
I'll wait until you're done, before I get in."

He started to cry. He was actually crying.

"Please stop that," he begged.

"Stop what?"

"Insisting I get naked in front of you and yelling at me and abusing the
Lord's name, and using that disgusting 'F' word. I hate it."

"Wow, I so don't get you. Where did you come from? Jupiter? Did a spaceship
come down and kidnap your mother and impregnate her with alien sperm or
something?"

His crying stopped and he flashed with anger. "Don't talk about my mother!
Ever!"

"Okay, okay. That was bad. I'm sorry. Shit, dude. I mean, sheesh, dude,
you're in pain and its sort of my fault and all, so if you want, I'll sit
in the hall while you shower if it makes you feel better. It's just really
weird and you really should get over it, you know."

He softened and said, "Yes, I am aware. I just have an embarrassing
situation involved with being naked."

"What? You get a boner? Well it's not like you haven't already seen me with
one. How could anything be more embarrassing than what just happened to
me?" I joked. I continued, "fu...u...udge, all guys do sometimes. It's no
big deal. Hel...eck I got one today during practice and my coach even
rubbed against it when he used me as a test dummy to teach us reversals."

"Oh, how positively mortifying," William gasped.

"Nah, its no big deal really. It happens; you just get over it. Look, I've
been a jerk and you probably don't trust me and I don't blame you. I
promise, whatever happens here, stays here. I won't tell anyone if you get
a boner. And trust me, if you go blabbing about what happened here tonight,
your parents will be picking out a burial plot."

He looked up and a faint smile creased his lips. "It is my intent to be
cremated?" He said, sort of smartass like.

"Yeah, well I could arrange that too," I said. He laughed and snorted
again. I joined in.

"Really. C'mon, I'll help you out of those messed up pants and you can
shower first. If you bone up, screw it. I don't care and you shouldn't
either. Will it make you feel better if I sit outside?" I offered.

He shook his head, no. I stepped closer and took the damp towel from him
and tossed it in the sink. I carefully unbuttoned his chinos and pulled the
zipper down. He didn't resist or stop me. Slowly, working together, we got
his pants off his hips with minimal pain and I held them while he stepped
free. He was wearing tighty whities.

"That explains why your balls didn't just slide away from the doorknob," I
said. "These things held them in place. That had to really hurt bad. My mom
nailed you hard when she burst into my room. I gotta get a fu... I mean, a
lock put on it."

"Thank you," he said, "for making a concentrated effort to honor my wish to
correct your language."

"Yeah, sure. You're kinda right, I need to clean it up. So, are you big
into religion or something?" I asked.

"I share my mother's deep conviction in the existence of a higher being,
yes." William affirmed.

"Are your nuts feeling any better?"

"My left testicle is mostly unaffected, my right one, however, still pains
me severely," he said.

"You want help getting those whities off or you got that part on your own?"

"I think I can manage," he said and pulled the elastic waist band out away
from his front, peeking at his damaged goods. He turned away and carefully
pulled the elastic down over his genitals and off his skinny, pale legs. He
did a couple little hop-steps to get free of them on the floor, and moaned,
"Oh my goodness."

"What?" I asked, genuinely concerned. Slowly, he turned to face
me. "OOOHHH, dude! Your right nut is way swollen," I said.

He examined it closer and groaned. I knelt down and pulled his socks off
for him, gathered all the clothes and tossed them into the hall. He was
gently rubbing his swollen right nut. It had to already be double the size
of his left one and there was some purple discoloration. "It feels
feverish," he said.

"Yeah, I'm sure it's enflamed," I explained. "You should ice pack it."

He made a sour face at that suggestion.

"I know," I said, "I'm just saying you should."

Then, my attention was drawn to his dick and I pulled back my focus to take
in the entire package. He is small. Maybe 3 to 3 1/2 inches and his dick
takes a sudden, sharp turn sideways, a little past midway. I've never seen
anything like that on anyone's dick before and I've seen my share of soft
ones in the team showers and at camps. He barely has any pubes, like the
amount I had back when I was twelve or thirteen.

"Why is your dick like that?" I asked. I worried it had gotten injured by
the door as well.

"My internet research indicates I may suffer from a condition known as
Peyronie's disease. I have procured some medication from the internet that
should rectify the matter."

"That sounds dangerous. Have you shown a doctor or your dad?" I asked.

"Most certainly not," he said, giving me a strange look, as though I'd said
the stupidest thing on earth.

"You should. Maybe my dad could check it for you since he's a doctor," I
offered.

William shook his head no and said, "We should proceed to shower or the
water will turn frigid."

"Yeah, right. Go ahead. I'll wait."

"Although it violates my realm of comfort, I will relent and allow us to
share the space in order to preserve the hot water. It would be most
impolite to selfishly consume the hot water, leaving you in the cold."

I snickered. "It's really not a put on, is it?" I said, finally getting
it. "You really can't help talking like that."

"Talking like what?" He asked, stepping into the shower. I followed him and
pulled the glass door shut. I knew we wouldn't run out of hot water. We
have like three massive water heaters in our house and would never run out,
but I didn't volunteer that information.

"Like, using the big words and stuffy sentence structure. You have to
notice, no one else talks like that."

"Well, it truly is a learned pattern of conversing," he said. "I have been
encouraged by my mother to elevate myself above the common contemporary
man. I suppose it's as annoying to you as your base, degrading language is
to me."

"Tell you what. I'll keep trying to cut out the cussing, if you try to talk
a little less sophisticated. Deal?"

"Deal dude," he said, smiling and drawing out the "dude" nice and long. I
laughed. He laughed with me again until it hurt his sore nut and he hunched
a bit and moaned. "Don't make me laugh so much, it hurts."

"Sorry. Do you want me to wash your back and legs? It doesn't look like you
can really bend over." I tried hard not to stare at his swollen nut and
bent dick, but I really had a hard time not to. It was like looking at a
car wreck. It's gruesome but fascinating somehow.

He tensed, stared at me briefly, shrugged and then slowly turned his back
to me. I lathered up and rubbed his shoulders, neck and down his back to
just above his flat, pale butt cheeks. He was thin, but not in a healthy or
athletic way. He was simply scrawny. Slowly, the tension left his body and
he sighed. I'd never touched anyone like that before and it felt nice. I
actually enjoyed the feeling of my soapy hands rubbing against his skin. My
dick actually started to swell a bit. I looked down and mentally scolded
it.

I returned to rubbing his back and shoulders and then moved down and
actually soaped up his butt for him. He looked backwards, suspiciously, at
me over his shoulder and then quickly looked away again. I turned him into
the water spray and rinsed the soap off. Standing now on his side, I could
see his penis sticking straight out and the leftward bend was even more
pronounced now it was stiff. My own dick stirred again and started to
swell. Again, I commanded it to quiet down. It disobeyed, however. I'll
need to punish it later.

He moved his hands over his privates and turned away.

"Don't worry, I got one too. I think it's just our teenage hormones going
whack. I'm not having any gay thoughts about you, so don't worry about
that," I said, stepping out of the spray and into his view. "See? I'm all
boned up again."

He looked at my dick, now well past half mast and bobbing.

"Okay. I see," he finally said, but didn't move his hands away from his
own. "Does yours hurt?" He asked.

"What, my balls? No, why would they?" I asked, thinking of his sore one.

"Not your testicles, your penis," he explained. "Does it hurt when it
achieves an erection?"

"No, why would it? Does yours?"

"Yes, always," he said.

"Shit dude. I mean sheesh, you gotta get that checked out. I'm making you
talk to my dad tonight about it," I said. Then I inquired, "Do you jack
it?"

"If that is your cretin expression for masturbation, the answer is no, it
hurts me to stimulate it to orgasm," he said. "I rely entirely on nocturnal
emissions for relief of excessive sperm buildup. Besides, self stimulation
is not acceptable behavior for a good Christian youth."

"Wow, dude. You're seriously messed up. You gotta get that fixed," I
said. "I can't even imagine going without jacking."

"I suppose you're correct in your assessment on my need to seek qualified
medical advice. Do you think your father really would assist me in this
delicate matter?" He asked hopefully.

"Of course," I said, "he took the hypocritical oath, you know."

"That's Hippocratic Oath," William Henry corrected.

"I know, I just say it that way to mess with my old man," I joked.

He smiled again, but didn't laugh. We finished up quickly after that and
got out and dried. I retrieved two sets of my clothes from the hallway and
I helped him dress. My clothes didn't fit him well, but the boxers I
provided definitely felt better on his sore ball than his tighty whities
had. He admired himself in the mirror. "I feel like part of the 'Screw
Crew,'" he said, chuckling. "My mother selects my attire, normally." I
snickered along with him, even though I thought he had a long way to go to
look like part of our crew.

When we came out of the bathroom, dad was just coming home. Mom had called
him and sort of filled him in, so we all went into the family room to
talk. He looked tired after a long day at the hospital dealing with
seriously ill and dying people. I hardly saw him anymore. After helping out
as a coach when I was eight, he hardly ever attended another sporting event
for me, let alone coach one. Mom was busy with a lot of charity work and
was gone a lot too. She didn't get sports, especially wrestling, so I
mostly travelled to and from games and practices with arranged rides from
other parents. I missed my mom and dad.

"So, short version please, what's going on?" Dad got right to the point, as
always.

"Well," I started.

"This nice young man came over to study with Kyle," mom interrupted, like
usual.

"We were planning on working on our debate file," I added.

"Well, whatever, get to the point," dad said, leaning back and rubbing his
neck.

"We went to my room and I had sort of a bad day at school, so I was..."

"He was screaming at his friend like a maniac," mom interjected.

"No, I wasn't. That's an exaggeration, like usual. I just raised my voice a
little. We were arguing a bit," I said.

"A bit?" Mom objected, "I thought World War III was breaking out."

"C'mon, mom, that's ridicu..." That's all I got out when mom took over
again.

"Well, regardless, I was frightened for poor William here, because I know
how strong Kyle is from that awful, brutal sport he does." She patted
William on the bare knee and he pulled away, embarrassed. I don't think
he'd ever worn shorts before and I'm pretty certain no woman had ever
touched him on the bare leg.

"So, she busts in my door without knock..." I jumped in, but got cut short
again.

"In my concern, I rushed into his room, but I didn't know poor William was
right by the door and the doorknob, unfortunately, hit him in the uhh, the
umm." She made waving motions across her lap and then finished, "Sensitive
boy parts."

"And mom hurt him so bad, he threw up all over us." I pointed to William
and myself.

"It was not my fault he got injured, it was yours," mom shouted at me.

"Mine? You're the one that came crashing in my door like a craz..." I got
cut short again.

"If you hadn't been screaming at your friend..." she started, but this
time, I cut her off.

"Okay, it was my fault. Everything's my fault," I shouted back. "I had a
terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day and I was in a really shitty
mood, and I picked a fight with William and it's my fault he got cracked in
the nuts. Okay, are you happy?" I started pulling at both eyebrows and
gritting my teeth.

"Don't talk to your mother in that tone," my father said sternly. William
was staring down at the Persian rug, saying nothing and obviously very
uncomfortable.

"Well, I'll say you had a bad day. Mr. Thomas called me from the
school. The lunchroom proctor reported that you stole a candy bar." Mom was
almost gloating, it seemed to me.

"What?" My dad exploded. "You stole? You have enough money for anything you
want. You have no need to steal anything. That's outrageous and so
embarrassing. I know Mr. Thomas personally."

"I didn't take it because I couldn't pay for it; they won't let wrestlers
buy or eat them," I explained.

"So you admit you stole it?" My mother chirped.

"Yes, I did it. I was starving from my stupid diet to make weight, and it
isn't even working. I got tempted and I took it, okay? I'm sorry. It was a
stupid mistake. I didn't even open it, though. I gave it back," I admitted.

"This isn't something we need to air out in front of your friend here," my
dad said. "I don't know what's come over you, but this is not who you are
or were raised to be like."

"I know the problem," my mother jumped in, "it's that horrible sport you've
gotten into; boys in their underwear rolling around and fighting with each
other. It's just not right. It's just disgusting and unnatural. And that
awful group of friends that you refer to by that awful name. People are
talking."

"You don't know," I objected. "You don't know anything. How could you?
You're never fucking around and you've never even come see me wrestle
once."

SMACK!!!! The stinging on my cheek didn't register for a minute, until I
saw my mom clutching the offending hand against her chest. I jumped
up. Fury was blazing in my eyes. I felt the veins in my neck throbbing and
my face was red hot.

"I'm outta here. You don't give a shit what I have to say or what's going
on with me. You only care about yourselves and your fucking
reputations. Screw you!!"

I bolted for the door. My dad reached out and grabbed my bicep as I
passed. I easily jerked it free from his grasp and fled out the door. Tears
were streaming down my face as I ran barefoot down the sidewalk. The guard
at the gate on Oak Street said something to me, but I ignored him as I
turned and ran full speed up into the foothills. I loved exploring these
foothills as a boy and I knew exactly where I was headed.

When I reached the dirt road, I slowed and carefully picked my way. The
rocks and sticks hurt my feet. I made my way off the road along a small,
almost hidden trail, which I knew by heart, to the big log by the brook. I
sat on the log and soaked my feet in the cool water, and sobbed. When I had
no more left in me, I wiped my eyes on my t-shirt and blew a couple snot
rockets into the weeds. "Fuck 'em all," I said. "Who needs 'em."

I don't know how long I cried. The moon was out and high in the horizon by
the time I calmed down. I reviewed my surroundings in the moonlight. I
remembered back on the times Dig, Bodie, and I played cowboys and Indians
and army out here in these woods. I remembered when I was about eight and
played "I'll show you mine if you show me yours" with Cindy up the
street. I saw the remains of the rope dad once tied to the big oak tree on
the opposite bank. Those were great, carefree times. I didn't worry about
things then or how I should act or how I needed to be a certain way. I just
was whatever I was, no expectations. I had my parent's attention and
approval then. I didn't have to keep proving myself or doubting myself. I
didn't have to fret over things that didn't seem right, but that I couldn't
keep myself from thinking and doing. Back then, I never felt guilty when I
jacked off or ate a cookie or skipped a homework page.

Finally, I remembered with great satisfaction, the first time I came here
to experiment with something Bodie told me about called "whacking off." His
cousin had taught him about it and he explained in great detail how to do
it and what it felt like. I was eleven at the time. I told mom I was going
to pick wild berries, like I sometimes did, and then I scurried to this
very spot. I sat on this same log. I made certain I was alone, pulled my
shorts and undies off, and stared at my little, hairless pecker, standing
up tall and twitching. I fondled my little balls, rolling them around in my
fingers. Then I took my quivering little pecker between my finger and
thumb, just like Bodie had demonstrated using one of his fingers and
started stroking.

I put my daydream on pause, stood up off the log, and pulled my shorts and
boxers off. I draped my shorts over the log to sit on, just like I'd done
back when I was eleven. I grasped my warm boner, which has now grown to be
5 1/2 inches, by my thumb and one finger and started stroking it the same
way Bodie had shown me when I was little.

I drifted back into my memories, recognizing the familiar feelings stirring
in the head of my penis just like that very first time. I switched over to
rubbing the sides of my dick for a slightly different sensation like I used
to do as a young boy. The feelings heightened and expanded. My cares and
sadness faded, forgotten in the building euphoria of an impending orgasm. I
felt like I was eleven again. I tickled my balls, and stroked my dick, and
kicked my feet. I tilted my head back and stared at the stars, smiling from
ear to ear. The tingles spread to my butthole and ran up my spine.

"Don't stop when it starts feeling weird or scary. Don't stop 'til you get
the BIG feeling," Bodie had told me. "How will I know when I get the big
feeling?" I'd asked. "You'll know," Bodie said. He'd been right. When it
happened, I knew.

Suddenly, my anus started involuntarily tensing and relaxing, then tensing
again. I leaned further back and pushed upward with my hips, extending my
legs out straight and stiff. The powerful, uncontrollable spasms, started
with my anus, pulsed up through the base of my dick, through my sac and
along my bulging shaft, in an irreversible and customary pattern.

My mind washed blank as the familiar explosion overtook me from head to
toe, shaking me. The warmth of the thick, white ejaculate on my belly
coaxed me back into consciousness. After one small spurt, came a simple
bubbling of the magical white fluid, with the accompanying muscle spasms
and shudders. Eventually, I came down off the sexual high and slowly milked
the remaining juices from my rock hard bone, in a gentle fashion. I thought
about poor William not being able to jack off and having painful
erections. I felt genuinely sorry for him.

I reflected back on my very first orgasm again in clear detail. I
remembered the experience just before climax when I feared the unknown,
almost ready to abandon my quest. I recalled falling over the edge of that
mental cliff, losing control over my body as the blissful tingles radiated
through me. I remembered shaking and squeezing my little dick between my
fingers as it twitched and danced with newfound pleasures, never before
known to my young soul. I remembered how I'd slipped into the recovery
phase and slumped exhausted, off the log onto the soft, cool grass. I'd
lain there on my back, arms and legs sprawled out, panting and grinning
uncontrollably over the new experience. I smeared the clear, slimy
substance that had oozed out over my sensitive little pecker.

Once again, I lay down on the grass, staring up at the stars. I felt small
and insignificant as I stared into the vast universe. Sadly, I remembered
why I escaped here. I realized, I was no longer eleven and carefree. I
curled into a ball, pulled my knees to my chest and sighed sadly, willing
myself not to cry anymore. Wrestlers don't cry. The moon had climbed high
into the night sky and I realized it was quite late. I wondered how angry
and upset they would be when I returned for worrying them.

Slowly, I rose and walked toward home steeled for whatever new battle lay
ahead. A chilly breeze caused me to shudder as I entered the gate code. The
house was dark. The door was locked. "They must be out looking for me," I
thought, "I better get in and get my cell phone and call them."

I went around to the back, pulled the spare key out from under the fake
rock and let myself into the back door. My feet were freezing and the
warmth of the rug felt nice. I walked upstairs to my bedroom to retrieve my
phone, but passing the guest room, I noticed a faint light on. I moved to
the doorway and peeked in. Someone was in the bed breathing heavily. I
moved closer and was confused at finding William sleeping soundly in the
bed.

I shuffled back downstairs and across the house to mom and dad's room. I
carefully opened their door and they were in bed sound asleep. I can't even
describe the level of pain, hurt and anger I felt. They weren't looking for
me. They weren't the least bit concerned. They were peacefully sleeping and
had locked me out. They'd taken care of William but didn't give a damn
about me. Wrestlers do cry, I guess, when it hurts enough.