Date: Mon, 7 Apr 2014 03:42:21 -0400 (EDT)
From: DJAkeeba@aol.com
Subject: Tragedy in the Blood, Chapter 3

This story is about male/male relationships and contains graphic
descriptions of sex.  You should not read this story if it is in any way
illegal due to your age or residence.

This is a work of pure fiction. This story is the sole property of its
author and may not be copied in whole or in part or posted on any website
without the permission of the author.

Questions and commentary can be sent to djakeeba@aol.com

----------------------

TRAGEDY IN THE BLOOD
by Steven H. Davis

In Chapters 1 & 2, we met 15 year old Rick Spivey, who detailed his life of
moving around and parental abuse until he landed as a freshman at Polk High
School in San Antonio after his mother joined the army and he was adopted
by Tynah, his maternal grandmother, and Rex, her angry alcoholic husband,
who was haunted by his experiences in three wars.  On the third day of
class, he met shy, haunted Taine Maxwell, also 15, who had moved to San
Antonio with his Formula 1-racing father Sylvester after the tragic death
of his mother.  They met awkwardly and shared a moment at lunch, when
Taine, who had a low appetite, opened up and smiled and joked with Rick
before giving the voracious teenager his uneaten food.  We pick up the
story as Rick walks home from school...

Chapter 3

I might have mentioned how I tend to zone out sometimes.  It was about a
1-1/2 mile walk from Polk High to my new home at Rex and Tynah's house, and
I honestly don't remember any details from that walk.  My head was swimming
with what I saw after lunch.  I got through biology and history without
much effort, alternating between thinking about my lunchtime encounter with
Taine Maxwell and my dread of 5th period P.E. class.

I was 15 years old, and the Puberty Fairy had yet to sprinkle me with her
magic dust.  We hadn't stripped in P.E. yet, as the first day was
orientation with Coach Carruthers and the second day was basically a study
hall as we waited to get our official Polk High School gym gear.  But this
was the big day, and I had already seen enough armpit hair under my male
classmates' tank tops, muscle shirts and T-shirts to know that showering
was going to be an enormous embarrassment.

I had a few soft, downy hairs in my pubic area, just above my
still-undersized boy parts, but nothing to write home about, and my armpits
were completely smooth.  I felt like a child who would soon be humiliated
in a room full of grown, hairy men, and -- after we ran around the gym like
idiots for half an hour playing basketball -- that's exactly what happened.

As I stripped down for the compulsory shower, which was held in a large,
open space with showerheads lining the walls, I lowered my head and scoped
out the competition.  Just as I feared, I was surrounded by enlarged,
hairy, pubescent cocks and swinging hairy balls, while my own bald nubbin
and almond-sized nuts in a bare scrotal pouch made me look like a baby.
Why was I even in high school yet with this pitiful lack of equipment?  As
I looked around, though, I found one person worse off than myself.

He was a fat, sweaty kid named Paul, and his thimble-sized organ made me
look like a champion of manhood.  He sat, quiet and embarrassed on one of
the A-frame dressing benches, hurrying to dry his giant, soft frame with a
clearly inadequate towel so that he could get dressed before anyone
noticed.  Just then, Rolando walked over to him.  Rolando was a fat, hairy
Hispanic kid who boasted a furry chest, stomach, legs and what seemed to me
a gigantic uncircumcised hairy dong.  He strutted toward Paul, stopped
before him, and said in a booming, heavily-accented voice:

"Hey Paul!  Paul!  Why is your penis so small, Paul?"

I had never seen anyone blush all over before, but Paul's shame turned his
fat body into a striking facsimile of a pink elephant as the embarrassed
redness covered his paunchy frame and Rolando's big hairy dick mockingly
swung inches from his face.  I looked into his eyes, and could see them
brimming with tears.  He put down his head and didn't answer. As Rolando
strutted away, I saw tears falling between Paul's pudgy feet.

The exchange filled me with rage, but -- being as I was a skinny freshman
and Rolando was a giant sophomore (who had probably been held back a grade
or two) -- I said nothing.  And that made my anger be replaced with shame
and guilt.  Not only did I have the body of a little girl, but was acting
like one, too.

That was when I heard a commotion from the door of the locker room.  Coach
Keith, a squat, powerful young coach who had clearly played some football
in his time, was barring the door to a baggily-clothed student struggling
to get out of the shower area.  I couldn't see his face, as his back was
toward me, but I easily recognized the cap, army jacket, cargo pants and
Jegs sneakers.  It was Taine.

"Where do you think you're going, Mister?" said Coach, with the tone of
someone who had seen this situation before.

"I'm going to my next class," Taine replied softly.

Coach crossed his arms in front of his chest and continued to bar the
doorway with his muscular frame.

"Not without taking a shower you're not," Coach retorted.

Taine's shoulders slumped, and he squeaked out "I'm cool," then tried to
get around Coach Keith.  The coach slammed an arm across the doorway,
shutting off Taine's exit.

"You're not cool," the Coach said.  "Do you know how many complaints I get
from teachers about you kids coming into their classrooms sweating and
smelling like animals?  Get in the shower now."

That was when Taine did something strange.  He tucked his head and tried to
slip past Coach, as if he was invisible and could somehow pass through
solid matter.  I couldn't see his face, but I imagined that it was probably
bright red by this point.

Taine's escape attempt seemed to enrage Coach Keith, who grabbed Taine with
both arms and pushed him back into the locker room.  By this point,
everyone had stopped what they were doing to watch the drama, even Rolando
and Paul.

Coach was in a frenzy, tearing Taine's hat off his head and throwing it
against the wall as he stalked forward, backing the terrified Taine toward
the shower area.  Taine held up his hands in a feeble attempt to ward off
the Coach's attack, but it only seemed to enrage Coach more.  I was almost
too horrified to notice Taine's soft, medium-length hair with its natural
highlights catching the overhead fluorescents.  Everyone seemed rooted to
the spot, not sure quite where Coach Keith's temper was going to take this.

"Please," Taine whimpered, "don't!"  He seemed to shrink into himself then,
as if willing himself to disappear from the shame and fear of this assault.

Coach reached for Taine's jacket, pulling it open and ripping it from his
shoulders, exposing Taine's thin frame, looking so vulnerable in a thin
brown cotton t-shirt, sleeves charmingly rolled in 1950's greaser style.  I
struggled to get dressed, thinking that maybe I could stop this shocking
series of events.

Before I could finish, Taine ducked and made a break for it, but Coach
wrapped his arms around Taine's ribcage from the back and stripped off his
t-shirt with one violent yank.

By this point, Taine was whimpering "No... no... no..." over and over
again.

I tugged on my jeans and pulled on my sweater as Coach was wrestling with
the shirtless Taine.  The steam from the showers was obscuring my view, but
I saw Taine fall onto his back, Coach pinning him to the ground as he
ripped the Jegs from Taine's feet, tosssing them behind him.

The bell rang, and students began to flee the locker room.

I stood rooted to the spot as the bell broke my silence and I screamed...

"STOP! STOP! STOP!"

Coach looked up from Taine's prone, crying frame and glared at me.  He
looked psychotic, demonic...  I didn't know what it was about Taine which
had provoked such rage.

"You shut the fuck up!" Coach bellowed, pointing directly at me.  "Get the
fuck out of here and go to your next class!  He's got to LEARN!"

To my embarrassment, I cowered in fear, pulling my bookbag from my dressing
bench and holding it protectively against my sweater.  I wanted to help,
but I was paralyzed by fear of this crazed, raging man.

I looked down at Taine as I hurried from the locker room.  His face was
contorted in hurt, shame, embarrassment, a million different emotions
crossing his beautiful, tear-streaked face as he looked at me, clearly
wishing he was dead, and whispered "GO."

My heart breaking, I fled the locker room, but paused at the door to see
Coach, now standing and pulling off Taine's cargo pants and checkered boxer
shorts.  I closed my eyes, wanting to see, but NOT wanting to see... not
like this... and ran to the office, tears pouring down my face.

I was late to 6th period, but I accomplished what I wanted.  I alerted the
office, and -- from what I heard later -- security burst into the locker
room just as Coach heaved the naked Taine into the steaming showers,
screaming obscenities until the guards restrained him and pulled him from
the room.

After school, I walked home, and -- like I said before -- I don't remember
much of the walk.  My mind was full of warring images.  Dicks everywhere.
Taine's anguished face, Paul's shame, Rolando's strutting.  I was angry,
hurt, confused and ashamed.

But what I was most ashamed of was that most of what was going through my
mind was the sight of Taine shirtless.  He already had full hair under his
arms, long, dark and silky, almost like an Asian person, though he had no
Asian heritage which I could determine.  He was otherwise hairless but for
a thin and tantalizing treasure trail leading from his belly- button -- a
cute and shallow "innie" -- to parts unknown.

What captivated me most were his nipples.  They were larger than I'd seen
on a guy (granted I hadn't seen many), and captivated me with their
uniqueness.  My own nipples were small dark nubs, darker because of my tan
and barely the size of a dime.  Taine's were lighter, creamy beige, and at
least the size of nickels.  I wanted to kiss them.  In fact, I wanted to
kiss him all over, and comfort him from the anguish I saw on his reddened
and crying eyes.

And this made me feel even more ashamed, as if I would be preying on his
weakness.  But how could it be wrong if it was meant with love?  I didn't
know, but I just felt as if it was, and I vowed then and there to be
Taine's friend, and that's all.

-----------------------------

Taine didn't come back to school the rest of the week, and I looked for him
in the halls all day Thursday and Friday.  Coach Keith didn't come back to
school ever, for which I was secretly pleased.  I was hoping he'd be fired
or arrested, but word was that he'd been transferred to an administrative
post at the school district's Central Office, and I only prayed that he
wouldn't try to mess with my academic records, knowing I was the one who
turned him in.

That weekend, I took my new friend Kirsten to see a horror movie at the
local mall.  Because it was rated R, and the theater checked IDs, I had to
have Rex drive us to the mall and buy our tickets.  Now, normally I would
have been incredibly embarrassed about this on what was supposed to be my
first official high-school "date", but if you haven't figured it out by
now, I was far more interested in seeing Hollywood's latest horror offering
than I was in impressing Kristen.  As it turned out, I shouldn't have
worried.

Kirsten didn't seem to object at all to Rex's chaperoning, and my adopted
dad was relatively sober that day and seemed pleased that I was going out
with a girl.  "I was beginning to worry about you," he grinned, obviously
impressed by Kirsten's firm young physique and large tits which were barely
concealed by her tight, thin pink sweater.  The term "sweater- puppies"
floated through my mind as I gazed nervously across her ample chest when we
were seated in the theater.

The movie began, and it was a good one.  Scary, funny, with the best
special effects available at the time.  Kirsten held my hand, squeezing it
tight when the first jump-scare came along, and by midway through the movie
she was burying her head in my neck and nuzzling those... okay, those soft
and fuzzy sweater-puppies against my bare arm.  I grew bold by the 3/4 mark
of the film, sliding my arm around her shoulders and holding her close.

That was when she tilted up her face and kissed me softly.  I won't lie, I
felt a stirring down below, but it was somewhat offset by the creepy, slimy
feeling of her strawberry lip-gloss, which seemed to me like pouring syrup
on perfectly good salmon. I kissed her back, of course, but soon
disentangled our lips and pulled her head down on my shoulder to see the
rest of the film.  I could smell her soft, clean auburn hair, and I nuzzled
it with my nose, far preferring that fresh, rainy scent of her shampoo to
the overpowering strawberry gravy on her lips.

By the time the movie ended, I think she got the message, particularly
after she rested her hand on the crotch of my pants and began rubbing my
half-staff.  As soon as she touched me, I jerked as if electrocuted, and my
not-very-impressive bulge soon retreated into non-existence.  Her hand
retreated, but I kept my arm around her, she kept her head on my shoulder,
and I let her.

After the movie, I sat on the iron railing of a bike-rack outside the
theater as I waited for Rex to come and pick us up. Kirsten stood between
my legs, and at barely 5'3", I had to bend down to nuzzle her hair, which
had quickly become my favorite part of her.

"I liked the movie," I said.  "Did you?"

She smiled at me, parting her moistened strawberry-pink lips to reveal
pearly-white dental work.

"I liked you," she said.  Then she took my head in her hands and bent me
down to her lips.  We kissed again, and she pushed herself close to me,
stroking her fuzzy sweater against my groin, which responded in spite of
itself.  I parted my lips, suddenly curious, and her soft pink tongue
darted between them, licking and sucking at my own.

Before I knew it, our tongues were dueling in our mouths, going from one to
the other.  She tasted sweet, like bubblegum and experience.  I probably
tasted like coppery fear, but she didn't seem to mind.  Finally, she pulled
back, and I raised my head as I saw Rex's car turning into the parking lot.

Kirsten smiled at me, seemingly in dreamland.

"That's better," she whispered.

-----------------------

Thank you for reading Chapter 3.... To be continued.

I want to thank Cole for his advice and encouragement.

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