Date: Thu, 23 Aug 2007 00:19:28 -0700 (PDT)
From: Nathan Bathory <nathanbathory@yahoo.com>
Subject: Sobbing in the Stall

Author's Note:
Feedback is much appreciated.


Sobbing in the Stall:
How me and Quenton Got Together


There was an abandoned bathroom on the third floor some of the male
students went to whenever they felt like relieving some tension.  I was
skipping Algebra II that day because my boyfriend had dumped me during
lunch in front of all our friends for a slutty whore and I was feeling
lonely and horny, a strange mix but desperately familiar to anyone like me,
who can't help but attract psychos and druggies.

What can I say about myself back then?  Not much.  I tried to stay in
shape, but you can only do so much when you're as short as I am.  My hair's
black and I let it grow out to about my chin.  I have a bit of stubble.  My
eyes are blue.  That's...  well, that's it, really.

I splashed water on my face in the mirror and thought about jerking off in
a stall.  The idea of getting my rocks off was making me even hornier, and
the idea that I was about to do it in public no less was making my pants
tight.  Looking back on it I can't really believe I had the cojones to do
it right there in the high school bathroom but I was a teenager at the
time.

I was going to slip into one of the stalls when I heard the noise- Moaning.

I froze, my hand on a door, and listened very carefully- Yep, moaning all
right.  Had I interrupted someone?  Was I brazen enough to slip into
another stall and beat my meat?  Was I stupid enough to knock and ask if I
could join in?

Well, frankly, no to any of the above.  I was scared shitless, and my
once-vibrant erection dwindled away to a limp noodle.  I hadn't even
thought there might be other people here.  I certainly never planned on
whacking off where others could hear me.  But, scared as I was, I couldn't
move.  And that was probably for the best.  Because as I began listening
more and more, the moans began to sound less like moans and more like sobs.

I listened with my heart breaking to some unknown man crying his heart out,
trying to muffle it, probably in his sleeve or his hands.  After
considering I could make my escape and leave the poor man be or I could
offer assistance, my conscience won after a brief but extreme fight with my
common sense.

"Hello?" I asked the bathroom-at-large in an awkward voice.  "Are you
alright?"

"Fuck off," an extremely familiar, extremely masculine voice said, thick
with emotion (and probably snot.)

My heart stopped for a moment.  Could it be who I thought it was?  Surely
not, I thought.  My worst enemy would never be in a bathroom stall crying
his heart out.  My ears tried to tell me I was wrong and I should probably
listen to the man and take off before he realized who I was, but
nevertheless my suicidal impulse to endanger my health made me step forward
blindly against his aggression.

"Only you sound like you're really upset," I said.  "If you need to talk-"

"I. SAID.  FUCK.  OFF," the voice came, sounding angry.

Ah, yes, my ears confirmed.  This definitely is the one.  You need to run
away quickly.

But he was crying.  Something had upset Quenton Travers so badly he had
hidden in an abandoned bathroom and sobbing, and whatever my personal
feelings for the pompous, arrogant prick with an ego the size of a
Winnebago I felt it was my duty as a good, moral person to be an ear for a
problem, no matter how badly I just wanted to go home early and jerk off.

Don't do it, my ears warned me as I opened my mouth.

"Look, you sound pretty bad.  A problem shared-"

The stall door slammed open.

"-is a problem reduced," I finished, my voice squeaking.

All six-foot five of the most popular wrestler in the school emerged from
the bathroom stall, still dressed in his gym clothes from last period.  His
eyes were bloodshot, his muscles were bulging, his face was angry, and the
blast of his presence was overwhelming suddenly.  It was as if I could feel
him standing there from three feet away, like I could feel that he was
alive and that his soul was burning.

"You," he said.

"Eep," I said.

I tried to run, but my body had been paralyzed with fear.  My feet felt
like limp noodles.

"Why are you here?" he asked, face terrifying.  He looked unshaven and
whiskery; His brown hair which was normally short and spiked was just a
mess, and his eyes were such a luminous dark green it was like looking into
a swamp or a frog, I couldn't decide.

"I had to pee," I said unconvincingly.

"You're always hanging around me," he said, voice hitching, terrifyingly
high for someone with such a deep voice.  "Always tormenting me."

"Excuse ME?" I asked, affronted.  "You're the one that always-"

"Do you know what day it is today?" he asked, cutting me off.  The
seriousness of his sudden question and his eyes boring into mine suddenly
shut me up.  I felt a strange shiver pass over my spine.

I thought about it for a moment.

"Wednesday?" I asked.

"NO!" he snapped, his chest heaving.  Sweat ran down from his face and
trickled down into his well-developed pecs.  "Think again."

There wasn't a whole lot that was noticeable about Septembers in general,
really.  I thought and thought and then suddenly a bubble appeared on the
very edge of my mind; someone I'd barely known, one of the only male
cheerleaders, I think, had died in my freshman year.

"Josh Crantz," I said solemnly.

Quenton bared his teeth at me in the parody of a smile.

"Him," he said.  He was very quiet, and sank back against the stall door.
"I...  I never got to tell him..."

A strange feeling then happened in my gut; As if I had been transported to
another world completely.

"What?" I asked, confused.

"You're such a fucking faggot," Quenton snapped.  "You're always so
goddamned proud of yourself and happy that you're weird.  You tell everyone
about your faggot boyfriend and how you took his dick up your ass, and I-
I-"

He sobbed suddenly, loudly and terribly, and hid his face in his large,
beefy hands.  His chest heaved with emotions.  As much as I wanted to kick
him in the nuts and leave, a part of me was still sore over my break-up
with Tony, and I felt a twinge of sympathy for him.

"What's wrong?" I asked.  "I can't stop being me, so tell me what I'm doing
to irritate you and I cna try and stop."

"Everyone accepts you," he said, and sobbed again.  There was a thickening
to his voice like molasses in his throat.  "I- I want that.  I want to be
able to be...  happy with myself."

"Why can't you be?" I asked.

He looked up at me with red-rimmed eyes and smiled another feral grin.

"You're the only one I can tell and who'll be quiet," he said.  He
hiccuped.  "And if you don't keep it quiet I deserve it anyway.  I...  I
liked... him. J-J-"

But he could not form the name with his lips.

"Josh," I said, face neutral.

He nodded, ashamed with himself.

"And then he died and I couldn't ever say it to anyone," Quenton said,
hands pulling at his hair.  He sounded practically hysterical, talking
fastly, wide-eyed, with his teeth gritted together.  "We grew up together
and hung out all the time.  How could I say it to anyone?  I couldn't.  I
had to keep it all in.  All of it-"

And he dissolved into tears once more.  It was terrible to watch.  I had
never before seen him cry and hoped never to again.  Before I could think
of what I was doing I stepped forward and leaned down next to him, touching
his shoulder with my hand.  It seemed to glow with warmth, the muscles
shifting underneath my fingers.  I patted him awkwardly, unsure what would
happen if I tried to hug him like I suddenly wanted to do.

He ignored me for a moment, and when the sobs died away he looked up at me
and met my gaze.

"How does it feel?" Quenton asked hoarsely.  "How does it feel to- to- be
able to tell the one you love how you feel?"

I smiled in a pained way at him.

"It feels nice when I can," I said.  "But Tony dumped me for a girl, so I'm
a little upset right now."

This was untrue.  I was actually still immensely hurt but I was going to
wait until I got home to bawl my eyes out.  Quenton's eyes glittered
strangely.  The crying had seemed to stop, or at least dry up
significantly, if we were focused on me.

"Which girl?" he asked.

"Betty," I said.  "Betty Newcastle."

"She's a slut," Quenton said baldly.  "Hopefully he'll contract something."

I laughed suddenly, loudly.  Quenton sniffed once or twice, and smiled at
me, staring me straight in the eye.  His gaze in mine seemed almost
electric.  I could feel a shiver run down my spine.  His big, warm hand
suddenly grabbed mine and I felt an extremely strong dose of hormones get
released from down below.  My heart started beating.

"Touch me," he said, using his other hand to pull me towards him.  Our
chests crushed together and I could feel his heat working against mine.  My
cock suddenly became achingly, agonizingly hard and my breathing had
started changing, my diaphragm seeming to work on its own.

"Are you sure?" I asked.  My lips moved over his as I spoke.  It was not a
kiss but it was.  I could feel his breath on my cheek as he stared me in
the eyes.

"Yes," he hissed.  "Look me in the face when you do it."

Again, the delightful feeling of his soft lips brushing against mine as he
spoke.  I swallowed suddenly, my throat dry, and he guided my hand down
between our bodies and onto the seat of his gym shorts.  His hand pressed
mine into his bulge, which felt monstrous and seemed to move on its own.  I
shakingly moved both hands down to the tops of his briefs and stroked him
through the thin vinyl.

"You're sure?" I asked again.  My heart was beating in my chest.

"Do it," Quenton said.

Our foreheads were touching, and I could feel the sweat from his hairline
drip down my face as my hands pulled his shorts down and away.  I did not
look at what I was touching but felt it and smelt it, ripe in the air; It
was mammoth, seeming to match his gigantic body perfectly.  I slid my
fingertips up and down the smooth skin and felt veins and the remainder of
his foreskin.  He was circumsized, it felt like.

His eyes gazed into mine as our air commingled, warm, as we each gasped for
breath.

"Touch me," Quenton moaned.  "Look me in the eyes and touch me, and I'll
touch you."

Our foreheads did not move.  I was hard as a rock and his big hands felt
their way down my body and grabbed me by the crotch of my jeans.  He
unzipped my zipper faster than I ever had in my life, then reached into my
underwear and grasped my hard-on tightly.  His hands were warm and felt so
good wrapping around my dick that I groaned involuntarily.

"Does it feel good?" he asked.

I nodded, smearing our forehead sweat together.  I could smell him, that
overwhelming man-scent, and it was making my head light.  He gripped my
dick with his fingers and firmly slid his hand down.  My entire body
jumped, and I returned the favor, gripping his monstrous man-pole with my
hands and stroking at an even pace.  The bottom of my grip touched his
balls, which seemed to vibrate with heat.

He hissed and then kissed me, stroking my aching with pleasure cock faster.

"Oh God," he said, eyes gazing into mine.  I could not tear it away, no
matter how much I wanted to.  It felt as if we were seeing into each
other's souls.

"You're doing it so- ugh- good," I said, my body shrieking with pleasure.

He adjusted his grip, using his broad thumb to massage the very under-part
of the head, and with his other hand he unclenched my back and starting
feeling my balls, thumbing them and gently tugging them.

"Jeez-" he said, moaning as I upped my pumping pressure.  I was working his
shaft like an air-pump, moving my hand up and down faster and faster,
feeling the skin of his dick slide over the thick blood-engorged steel
underneath.  As I hit the bottom of his dick I tapped into his nuts with
the heel of my hand, moving them around a little.

His smell was all over me, in me, of me, his eyes were in mine, and our
hands were grasping each other's dicks, stroking away furiously.  Our
panting was in synch.

"Oh God, oh god," he said suddenly.  He did not look away but continued to
stare directly at my eyes.  "I'm coming, I'm coming, oh shit-"

His entire body trembled and shook, and his hands pounded away at my cock.
I continued to stroke him as he stroked me, and I could feel my nuts
pulling up against my body as he played with them with ever-jerky hands.

"I'm- oh FUCK-" I said, breathless, our eyes meeting.

My body seized up suddenly except for my hands as his trembled even more
mightily.  His dick swelled in my hands and he let loose a high-pitched,
keening moan as hot jet after hot jet came spewing out.  His hands
tightened, almost clamped around my cock, and when he kissed me and moaned
into my mouth it suddenly happened- My orgasm came and rushed over me like
a tidal wave, smashing me under it, sending wave after wave of pure bliss
through my nuts and into my dick.  I came harder than I had in years, it
seemed, and Tony had never made me come like that.

"Did you like that?" Quenton asked me after my vision had returned, staring
into my eyes again.

I nodded, breathless, shook up, and pleased.

"Good," he said, and he smiled.  "We'll have to do it again some time."

He got himself up to his feet and tried to clean himself off at the
bathroom sink.  I was still in a sticky pile on the floor, unable to move
or anything, feeling like that orgasm had dissolved my entire skeletal
structure.

"I'll see you around," Quenton said quietly, after he managed to make
himself look decent.  He nodded at me, stared deeply into my eyes, and then
stepped out of the bathroom.

And as for me?  I didn't know what to do.  I'd just had mind-blowing sex
with my arch-enemy, stained my only on-hand pair of pants, and was now
really late for (I checked my watch) Biology.  But I was happy.

Maybe that's all that matters.



"So what happened?" Olivia, a good friend, asked when I slunk in in the
middle of a lecture, looking red-faced but pleased with myself.  "You look
like the cat that ate the canary."

"I had sex in the bathroom with Quenton Travers," I said.

"You're such a terrible liar," Olivia said, laughing.

"I know," I said, smiling back.



I whistled the rest of the school day.