Date: Thu, 12 Jan 2006 19:16:53 +0000
From: Pink Panther <pinkpanther2@hotmail.co.uk>
Subject: 'The Running Boy' chapter 10

The story below is a work of erotic fiction.
If reading erotic material is illegal where you live, please leave this page
now.
If you are under age to be reading this type of material, please leave this
page now.
This story contains scenes of sexual interaction involving under-age boys.
If this is not what you wish to read, please leave this page now.

Feedback is more than welcome and I always respond to it. It's great to know
that people are actually reading what I've written! The story has now
reached the halfway point. I would be most interested to hear what you think
of the story so far.
Please e-mail thoughts, observations and constructive criticisms to
pinkpanther2@hotmail.co.uk
I will reply as soon as I can.


                             CHAPTER TEN

"Martin, why did you use a condom?" I ask him.

He looks at me like I'm an idiot. "You've done it before; you told
me. I don't know the guys you did stuff with. I don't know who else
they'd been with either. Suppose one of them was carrying something,
you know, some disease or other; they could have passed it onto you.
I always use condoms; it's just too risky not to."

"Oh, right!" I respond. I feel like an idiot now. I could ask him how
he knows about all this stuff, but it's not important. It all makes
sense; that is important.

"If you go with anyone else," he says quietly, sounding very serious,
"particularly any of the senior boys, for Christ's sake don't let
them fuck you without a condom. You've no idea who they've been with
before. It's not worth the risk. Trust me!"

"Thanks!" I say absently.

He's set me thinking. I've never really thought about doing anything
with one of the senior boys. I just assumed they wouldn't be
interested in kids our age. But hell! Some of them are super fit!
They all have their own rooms too. We'd have to be careful, of
course, but it must be possible.

"So d'you think some of the seniors would be up for that?" I ask.

"Are you serious?" Martin replies. He's grinning like the Cheshire
Cat. "Fucking hell! Half the sixth form would jump at the chance of
going with kids like you and Jocelyn, Jocelyn especially; well, not
half maybe, but a good few of them would."

"Oh, right!"

"Go for it if that's what you want," he says casually. "Go and watch
some senior soccer or rugby matches; they'll soon notice you. Just
remember what I said."

"Yeah, thanks."

My mind's somewhere else. How does he know all this stuff? It's like
he knows things he shouldn't. I'd love to ask, but I'm not going to.
It doesn't matter. I've got something else to think about. Sex with
Martin was okay, but that's all it was, sex. We're not boyfriends;
we're not going to be boyfriends. He just wants to fuck me, that's
all there is to it. I've never even thought about having an older
boyfriend. Right now I'm finding it hard to think about anything
else.

                            0 o 0 o 0 o 0

It's our first race of the season. It's under fifteens so we've got
to run with the year ten boys. It's three miles too; I've only raced
that far a few times, like at the English Schools. The good thing is
that it's on our own course so I know it pretty well. Before the race
there's an atmosphere, like Alex and Philip don't want us there. I
try to ignore them; just prepare myself like I always do.

When the gun goes Phil and Alex set off at a ferocious pace. Deon
goes with them. I'm almost drawn into it too. Then I have a common
sense attack. It's much too fast. Maybe they're much stronger than
they've shown in training. If they are they'll beat me anyway. If
not, they're going to struggle later in the race. I ease back and let
them go. By halfway Alex and Deon are a hundred yards ahead of me,
with Philip starting to drop back. Three boys from other schools are
between me and them. This is where I've got to start working. Over
the next half mile I pick off the three boys in front of me. Philip's
still thirty yards ahead but coming back to me with every stride. The
other three boys will catch him as well the way he's going. Barely a
minute later I'm on his shoulder. I glance across as I run past him.
He is in bits! Alex and Deon are still over thirty yards ahead with
no more than a kilometre left to run. Little by little I close them
down. The gap's down to twenty yards when Deon breaks away. I'm past
Alex in a flash. He looks pretty bad too. Funny, I wouldn't mind if
Deon won this. My racing instincts tell me different. I catch him
with a quarter of a mile left. I actually could run past and go away
from him if I wanted to. I don't; it's not the way I race. I run on
his shoulder and wait. We're about sixty yards from the finish. I
press the accelerator and sprint for the line. It's no contest. Alex
finishes fourth, Philip struggles in eighth. He looks like somebody
hit him on the head with a shovel.

After we've got showered and changed, Mike asks Alex and Philip to
stay behind. I figure it's going to be a bollocking for running like
a couple of idiots. I'm impressed. He could have bawled them out in
front of the whole team, but he didn't. He's talking to them on their
own, quietly, privately, so there's no embarrassment. That's special.
I don't think many teachers or coaches would do that.

                            0 o 0 o 0 o 0

So, I go to watch a rugby match and a soccer match. The rugby match
is okay, and there are some fit guys on the team, but at least half
the team wouldn't be my style at all; too big and heavy. Suppose it's
one of the really big guys that wants to go with me? That could be
difficult. I leave before the match finishes. The soccer match is a
different matter. Our team is awesome; we win 5 - 1. I'm not much of
a soccer player but I really enjoy watching the game. Better than
that, they're all fit-looking guys, every one of them. Some of them
are super fit; I get a hard-on just looking at them.

After the match I follow them back to the changing rooms, trying to
get as close as possible without making it too obvious. Wow! These
guys are so fit! They disappear inside. So now what? I can't go into
the actual changing room, or the showers. I get another idea. I
stroll past the changing rooms and into the boys' room. I go to the
urinal, unzip my trousers and take my cock out. It's rock hard and
throbbing. A couple of minutes later a couple of the soccer players
come in dressed only in their shorts. They are awesome! I don't want
to risk blowing it though; these guys have come in for a piss; they
may not be interested in me at all. I put my cock away and zip up. I
give them a little smile as I make my way out.

I need to give this one more tweak. It'll be at least ten minutes
before they come out of the changing rooms. I've got the book we're
reading in our English class in my blazer pocket; I can't remember
why I put it there, but right now it's going to be very useful. It's
a warm Saturday afternoon and I've got nothing better to do. I sit
down on the grass where I've got a good view of the changing room
door, get the book out and start reading. The visiting team leave
first. A couple of minutes later our guys start to drift out. I can't
take my eyes of them! Then it happens; one of them walks over to
where I'm sitting. Fuck! He's just about the fittest of all of them!
Shit! My mouth goes dry and my heart's thumping like nothing else. I
think I'm going to faint.

"Hi," he says, giving me a beautiful smile. "Thanks for coming to
watch. We always like to have supporters!"

"Thanks!" I stammer. Fuck! It's a good job I'm sitting on the grass
like this; at least the bulge in my trousers isn't too obvious.

"Are you a soccer player?" he asks, still smiling down at me. Beneath
the badge on his blazer are school soccer colours and a flash with
the word `Captain' on it. Wow!

"No, I run on the cross-country team." I tell him, barely able to get
the words out.

"Excellent!" he says warmly. "And your name is?"

"Ryan ., er, Ryan Crossley."

"Hi! I'm Jake Lawrence. I hope we'll see you again!"

He hurries off to join his team mates.

Fuck! I am so excited I don't know where to put myself! There's only
one thing for it. I put my book away, go back into the boys' room and
lock myself in one of the stalls. I drop my pants and have the best
wank in history. I cum all over the place just thinking about him.

                            0 o 0 o 0 o 0

It's our last training session before Oaklands. Mike comes into the
changing room to announce the teams. I'm as nervous as fuck.

"Okay," he says quietly. "`A' team: Philip will run first, Deon
second, Alex third and Ryan last."

Philip puts his hand up. "Sir, shouldn't Alex be on last? Is it
because we ran badly last week?"

Mike smiles. "It's because I think that's the order that will give us
the best chance of winning."

"Sir," Philip responds quietly. "Who have we got to beat, sir? Is it
St. John's?"

"We've got to beat every team that's there. St. John's are sure to
have a strong team; they always do."

"Will they have Marchant on last leg, sir?"

"I don't know; they may do. Don't forget they've got Richardson as
well. The other two are fairly ordinary but that's still a strong
side."

At least I know who they're talking about. Tim Marchant finished
third in the English Schools; Matt Richardson was sixteenth and won
the fifteen hundred at the Track and Field Championships in the
summer. He ran 4:09. That's eighteen seconds faster than I've run.
Fuck! I hope they don't put him on last! Mike announces the rest of
the teams. Martin and Greg are on the `B' team with a couple of year
ten boys. Adrian is on the `C' team.

"Apologies to those of you that have missed out this time; sorry, but
three teams is all we can take. Keep working at it; your chance will
come."

I'm so in awe of this guy, the way he always finds the right words to
encourage people like that.

"Right lads! A nice steady three miles with eight one-fifty metre
strides to follow. I want you all nice and fresh for Saturday. Let's
go!"

The run is steady too; Mike makes sure of that. Since that business
at our first race things have changed a lot. Philip and Alex have
been really friendly; I'm even starting to like them. At the pace
we're running there's lots of chat, lots of good natured banter. This
is how it should be; Mike's worked his magic again! Pretty soon we're
back at school.

We start our strides. I'm the best of everybody at this. I don't even
have to try hard; it's just the way I run. As we set off on our fifth
one, I realise that the senior soccer team has just finished playing
a practice match. They're strolling back towards the changing room
right past where we're running. Out of the corner of my eye I see
Jake, dawdling along watching us. Wow! When I reach the finish I have
to wait a few seconds for everyone else. We jog back to the start. We
pass Jake again. I glance across and smile. He smiles back. Double
wow! We complete our next stride; I turn round and look up. Jake's
disappeared into the changing rooms.

Five minutes later we've finished. We make our way back to the
changing rooms. We're not in the same room as the soccer players, but
behind the four changing rooms is just the one set of showers and the
drying area. We haven't been running that hard so I don't really need
a shower, but it's too good a chance to miss. I strip off quickly,
grab my towel and trot through. I might have missed him, of course.
He could have been in and out by now; he might not even bother having
a shower. I hang up my towel and go into the showers. He's here!
Naked he looks even fitter. He's much smoother than most of the
senior boys; some short fair hair on his calves but his thighs, chest
and tummy are still totally smooth. His cock's a bit longer than
Luke's but about the same thickness; it's the most beautiful one I've
ever seen. He's got big balls and his pubes are really thick. He is
gorgeous! I look across at him and smile. He smiles right back. We
can't do anything now; there are other kids about and anyway I've got
to go to prep. But it will happen soon; I'm sure that Jake knows that
too.

                            0 o 0 o 0 o 0

The journey to Oaklands takes well over an hour. We arrive about half
an hour before the under thirteens race. Conditions are perfect. The
temperature's in the low sixties, ideal for distance running, with
watery autumn sunshine and no more than a very gentle breeze. I trot
over to the start and finish area to find Mr. Jones. He greets me
like a long lost son.

"So what leg are you running?" he asks.

"Last," I tell him.

He raises an eyebrow. "That could be tough!" he says.

"Yes, sir. I know."

I rejoin my team mates; we walk round the course. Everyone's pretty
quiet. We all know how hard this is going to be. We return to the
pavilion where all the results are done. There's a large board with
the team declarations on it. We check out the St. John's team: Ellis,
Richardson, Smith, Marchant. I remember Smith. He's the kid I ran
against last year. I beat him by twenty five seconds. Alex ought to
slaughter him. I hope so; I'm going to need every second he can get
if I'm going to hold off Tim Marchant. We check the program. The
course record is thirty one minutes fifty two seconds and was set six
years ago. The lap record is seven minutes twenty six; that's stood
for nine years. Those are tough targets.

Mike takes me to one side. "If things go to plan, when you take over,
we should have a pretty decent lead. Don't hang about, but don't go
mad. Run just within yourself. When Marchant catches you, which he
probably will, he'll run straight past. I'd hope that will be
somewhere in the last half mile. You have to have enough left to get
on his shoulder and stay there. Remember he'll have had to work very
hard to catch you. He'll be very tired; he may crack if you keep the
pressure on him. You may be able to out sprint him in any case."

I nod. "Sir."

It's all I need to say. I know what I need to do; I've just got to
make sure I get it right. It's not going to be easy; I'm not used to
running on my own out in front like that. It's time to go.

The first leg goes pretty much as we expected. Philip has a solid run
and brings us in second, a couple of seconds behind Farnwell College,
with St. John's about fifteen seconds further back. Now it's Deon's
turn. He goes straight into the lead as Farnwell fade out of
contention. About halfway round Richardson starts to close him down.
I look at Smith as he trots across into the changeover zone. He looks
the part, but he's still pretty small. I hope Alex can get me a big
enough lead.

Deon battles all the way; he's still in the lead as they head towards
the change over. Then Richardson turns on the power and sprints past
him. I can't understand why he's not on my leg. Alex doesn't
disappoint. He takes the lead within the first hundred yards and just
goes further and further away. As he approaches the changeover the
gap has grown to well over half a minute. He's run a blinder!

I've got to do this now; I really have. Tim Marchant's a class runner
and he's a year older than me, but I can't give away a lead like
that. The temptation is to go off like frightened rabbit. I remember
what Mike told me.  Run just within yourself. After the first hundred
yards I'm into my running and feeling good. If I hate running through
the mud, days like today make up for it; conditions couldn't be
better. Tim Marchant will have to run well just to catch me. Onto the
bottom of the course; I can't remember ever feeling as good as this.
Mike and Philip run across towards me.

"Great running, Ryan!" Mike shouts. "You've still got over twenty
seconds! Keep it going up the hill; make him work hard to catch you!"

I make the turn at the bottom of the slope. As I start the climb I
ease back just a touch. I remember what a killer this hill is; it
just goes on and on. If Marchant catches me, he catches me. From
twenty seconds down we'll be near the top of the hill at least before
he gets to me. The important thing is to have enough left to respond
when he goes past. We're about five hundred yards from the finish
when I hear him behind me. A few seconds later he runs straight past,
just like Mike said he would. I fasten onto him like a limpet. This
is it now; him and me, only now he's the hunted and I'm the hunter.
He's doing everything to shake me off; I'm having none of it. We make
the final turn. He tries again; I stay right with him. I thought last
year was intense but this blows it away. The noise from people
shouting us on is defeaning. Fuck! It doesn't get better than this! I
leave it as late as I dare, barely sixty yards from the line. I hit
the turbo-boost and leave him for dead. It's my best sprint finish
ever.

Tim Marchant crosses the line and collapses in a heap. We've won by
two or three seconds. I know I've run well. He must have run one hell
of a time.  All sorts of people are congratulating us, including
Jonesey who's lost his voice shouting me on. This is awesome. It's
exactly what I came to Langstone for. In the excitement I almost
forget about our other teams until I see Greg crossing the finish
line. We've won the `B' team prize too. Mike is shaking hands with
the St. John's coach. They give each other a hug. Moments later it's
our turn to shake hands with the St. John's kids. The only one who
looks pissed off is Matt Richardson. I guess it's because he knows
they screwed up.

After about half an hour all the times are set out on the same large
board the team declarations were on.

Langstone: 31: 37  (Walters 7:57; McInnes 7:55; Paxton 7:49; Crossley
7:56)

St. Johns:   31:40   (Ellis 8:11; Richardson 7:39: Smith 8:27;
Marchant 7:23)

Both teams have broken the old course record and Tim has broken the
lap record. We're the first team ever to have all four runners under
eight minutes. Wow! I know the conditions were just about perfect,
but those are still amazing times. There's still a great buzz going
on when the presentation starts. The guy that runs the event says
it's the best race they've ever had and one of the most exciting
races he's seen anywhere. We collect our medals and the team trophy
and stroll back to the minibus in an atmosphere of total euphoria.
Mike ruffles my hair.

"You did that perfectly," he tells me. "You knew you'd got him; you
just waited and waited. Then you killed him off. It was almost
arrogant. in the right way, of course!"

We set off on the journey back to school.

"Sir, do you know their coach then?" Philip asks.

"Oh yeah! Ted Bayliss and I have been racing each other since we were
kids. He's another stalwart of club athletics. You've got to respect
guys like him; without them club athletics wouldn't exist. He cocked
it up today though; they should have won."

"Why, sir?" Philip asks.

"Tell him, Ryan," Mike says.

"They should have run Richardson last."

"Yeah, man!" Deon chimes in. "He went past me like I was running
backwards!"

"What else?" Mike enquires.

"Smith second, Marchant third," I suggest.

"Just about spot on," Mike agrees. "If they do that; I can't see us
beating them."

He's brought us back down to Earth. Sure, we all ran really well
today and it was a great win, but it could easily have gone the other
way. He just wants us to know we've got to keep working at it.