This story is a work of gay male fiction. It contains three parts. This first is intended to be erotic from a particular point of view, but it is not intended to describe anyone's real- life experience. It contains graphic descriptions of sex between teen-age boys, some of which is not exactly consensual. This is a fantasy world, guys! But it does express some real attitudes, thoughts, and feelings, and it could serve as a warning to some young dude not to believe too easily that dreams come true. The non-consensual section has been edited, as you will see, to fit the requirements of this site. In no way does the author ever condone or suggest one person forcing himself sexually upon another--yet it does happen, and this is a relatively mild instance. It should be remembered that in real life, rape is not sexy or entertaining, and it is often deadly, to the spirit if not the body. If this subject matter is illegal to portray where you are, or if you are underage in your jurisdiction, or if you think you may be offended by it, please do not read it. Parts 2 and 3, by the way, will be strictly consensual.
THE DEFLOWERING OF BRYANT
In the little southern burg I grew up in, there were exactly six traffic lights, counting flashing yellows, and no gays to my knowledge, flashing or otherwise. Oh, I heard occasionally about some old guy, maybe even in his thirties or older, who "acted queer" or was "such a sissy;" but there was no model for gay adolescence, and absolutely no one to talk to about my feelings and desires. I knew I had these feelings and desires. I also knew that they must always, at all costs, be kept to myself. So I became very closed up inside, never trusting myself to confide in anyone about anything real or personal.
I also became, of all things, the kicking specialist for our little high school football team. Not that I had a great interest in rough-neck sports. That explains the kicker part: I liked the idea that other players got penalized if they hit me, and that I had to be careful not to get hurt by playing other positions. But I chose the football team because: a) everybody who was anybody in our school played sports, and I wanted to be somebody, b) it seemed like a great disguise: who would ever think to look for queers on the football team, and c) the boy-watching was fantastic. I got to see every one of my teammates naked in the locker room every day of the season. They came in all shapes and sizes, mostly not too impressive really. Not all football players are very presentable in the shower, if you know what I mean. But nearly every guy has a few of his own personal best years in the physique department around high school age, and some of them were really hot hunks, especially the backs and the ends. (It turned out to be a great move for my own physique, which developed beautifully during that time; I had particularly great legs, but the upper body filled out nicely, too.) In the big open locker room and even more in the square tiled group shower where I spent as much time as was reasonably justifiable, I got in as much ogling time as I surreptitiously could manage.
My favorite subject was our starting quarterback, Allen, who was incredibly gifted in the physique department. He was the golden boy of the team, over six feet tall, blonde, tanned, and strong. If he even walked through the weight room, new muscles popped out all over him. A senior my sophomore year, he was my idol. I hardly spoke to him, so great was my awe for him. But whenever he went to the shower, so did I. Over a period of several months I was able to study the various parts of him so that I was gradually able to put together a mental picture of his naked body in all its glorious detail. I could enjoy that image at any time, especially in my bed flogging my log, imagining him near me, touching me. I could call up the memory of his smooth tanned chest, his long muscular legs, his broad shoulders, brawny biceps, and flat stomach. Most of all his rounded twin orbs of muscled bubble butt and his enticing crotch with its patch of light pubes and delectable cut cock and dangling balls. I would later find out that they were comparatively modest in size, but at the time, they were the Holy Grail to me. What I wouldn't give to get that meaty dick and those firm round balls into my mouth just once!
I was never aware that Allen noticed me, though now I realize I was, myself, one of the hotter guys on the squad. His occasional glance in my direction was no more significant than the way he looked at the plumbing. But one night after a long practice right before the opening of the season, something changed. There had been a good bit of horseplay in the locker room that evening, a lot of pushing around, laughter, and towel popping. There was a sort of high-T chemistry in the air, perhaps because our opening game was so close. Allen was laughing and joking with a group of other backs and taking an unusually long time getting to the shower. For a moment I saw them whispering conspiratorially, laughing, and I even thought, glancing over at me at the end of the bench. But I thought nothing much of it--a senior in-joke apparently that they didn't want overheard. Finally, I went ahead to the shower, unable to wait any longer for any of the pretty boys to go ahead of me. All four of the backs showed up a few minutes later, though, still looking at each other, at me, and laughing nonsensically. Two were black guys, Tyrone and DeShawn, the other was a white guy, Jeremy; all were starters as well as seniors and so above me in the social hierarchy. The three of them left quickly, leaving Allen and me alone, the last in the shower. He seemed to be taking his time, standing with his head under the water, allowing it to sluice over his admirable rippling skin. He stood full frontal to me, head back under the torrent, eyes closed, and let me stare openly at his gorgeous cock and balls, his sculpted chest. Then turning, he gave me plenty of time to enjoy gazing at his lovely backside, so much so that I became almost entranced, forgetting where I was for a moment in the presence of such a magnificent work of art. Suddenly, Allen turned around abruptly and his eyes met mine. There was a hint of a smile of triumph behind them. "So what are you looking at?" he asked, not challenging or unfriendly, but as if amused. Of course when he had turned, my eyes, formerly fastened upon his marvelous butt, refocused clearly staring right at his pubic patch before I thought to shift my gaze. I stammered something inane in reply. "It's OK. I know you've been staring at me all spring and summer. I guess I'm a little flattered. I just wonder what you really want, Bryant." (He did know my name!) He walked over next to me now, dripping wet, and leaned nonchalantly on the tile wall next to my shower head. My divinity, naked and dripping wet, right next to me in the shower! He looked me straight in the eye. "You aren't really satisfied with just looking, are you? You want to touch, right? Maybe even get your mouth around it? I'm right, aren't I?" I was blushing deeply, too mortified by this unfamiliar directness on such a subject even to deny. But Allen went on, smirking with his senior confidence. "I thought so. Well, tonight's your lucky night. I'm free for awhile. Just meet me under the visitors' bleachers in fifteen minutes, after everyone is gone." I began to stammer in protest, but he interrupted. "Just be there. I'm counting on you. And strip down for me. You're going to get a treat tonight."
With that he left the shower and sauntered out into the dressing room. I heard voices for a couple of minutes more until the other guys left. Then I came out myself. Allen was just slipping into his sneakers. He gave me a knowing look, slammed his locker, and went over to the coach's office to rap a bit about the coming game while I hastily dressed and slipped away.
The field by now was dark and deserted. The moon was about three-quarters full, though, and I could see that no one was about. I walked around to the visitors' side, telling myself all the way that there was no way I was going to go through with this. Underneath the stands, the shadows were deep. It took a few minutes before I could see clearly enough to go under, but when I did, I found I could see well enough to avoid the steel girders. The ground was paved with cement underfoot and pretty well cleared of debris. At about the twenty yard line, there was a big concrete platform about four feet high, maybe six feet by eight on top, with girders going out from both ends. I stopped there and hesitated. This was crazy, and I knew it. What could this formidable older dude have planned for me? Then I had a vision of his cute cut dick, pink and sassy and dangling beneath those fluffy light pubes. And he wanted me naked, too--what could that mean? Could he be wanting to suck me, too? I started taking my clothes off, spreading them onto the concrete slab. In a moment I was naked. I hopped up on top of my clothing to await my destiny.
It was still quite warm outside, and just a waft of stray breeze came across underneath the bleachers, cooling my skin and tousling my pubes. It was a very quiet and private place. I had heard of other players having occasional trysts here with girlfriends. I heard nothing but the summery mating sounds of nearby insects and distant tree frogs.
Suddenly, there was movement at the edge of the bleachers, and a masculine outline appeared. Slowly and quietly, the figure began to move underneath. With his shape branded into my mind as it was, I knew instantly that it was Allen. He could not see as well as I, though, so he moved cautiously. In a moment, he was right next to me, and now he could see that I was there. "I thought you'd be here," he said, and placed his hands right on my bare knees. A current of electricity ran up my legs and exploded in my crotch at his touch, and my dick suddenly inflated to raging hard-on like an airbag in a head-on collision. "Did you follow all my instructions?" His hands now slid up the outsides of my thighs to my hips and then my waist, checking that I was not wearing anything. His touch sent a flurry of chill bumps all over my body. Now I could feel Allen relax beside me, and I could actually see his dazzling teeth glow in a grin. "I promised you a treat, so here it is." He pulled his tee shirt over his head, placing it beside me, and then he stepped out of his shorts and underwear in one easy movement. He turned and leaned against the concrete, spreading his legs. "Here it is, what you've been wanting. I've just washed it, and I can't do a thing with it! Have a go at it."
I hopped down from my perch and turned to face Allen. He was still grinning. I put my hands on his hips and stared at his shadowy crotch. Sure enough, his enlarged dick was rising excitedly toward me. He took my hands and moved them inward so that they folded around his genitals. His cock firmed up stiffly at their touch. Then he put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me down to my knees before him. I felt his firm, rubbery-headed cock brush my cheek as he pushed it toward me. His muff of pubes rested under my nose like a furry mustache, smelling of soap and maleness. I kissed and licked the base of his pole, then leaned back and took the head of it into my mouth. This was my first taste of cock, and I loved it! Allen moaned with pleasure above my head, which he now held in his strong hands, guiding it back and forth on his slimy organ.
He began to verbalize encouragement, a little too loud, I thought. "Yeah, man, suck that cock. Take it in deeper. Suck me good," and so forth. I was loving hearing his voice, but wishing he would be more cautious. But suddenly, I heard movement from the other side of the concrete buttress, and I realized we were not alone! Shapes began moving around the block from both sides at once. Oh, shit! We're dead in this town! were the only words my shocked brain, instantly turned to panicky mush, could form. Here we were, both naked as grocery store chickens, with rock-hard erections, me kneeling at Allen's feet slobbering all over his enflamed organ. I stood in dread, nothing else to do. I heard laughter, male laughter. Then I realized Allen was laughing, too.
Gradually, the light began to dawn. I could make out three new shapes, surrounding me closely. I recognized the voices: Tyrone, DeShawn, and Jeremy, Allen's buddies. From the light coloring of Jeremy's shape and the uniform darkness of Tyrone and DeShawn's, I became aware that they also were naked. Then I felt my heart drop down into my feet. I knew the enormity of my predicament. It was not Allen and I who were caught, but only me. I had been set up.
Still, I had some vague hope. Maybe all the guys were into having sex together. Maybe this was a regular group thing that I was being invited into. For a moment I was optimistic that this could possibly turn into a fantastic sex-fest with four of my prime ogling subjects. My hopes were soon dashed, however. I was going to have sex, all right, but not the way I had dreamed of it. The three newcomers were still laughing, poking Allen on the shoulders and biceps, but now congratulating him on being right about me and luring me right into their trap, and suggesting that I was about to be taught a lesson on what happens to faggots in their town. I looked desperately into Allen's eyes, but he looked right through me with an indifferent shrug. "I told you I had a special treat for you. I think you'll enjoy it. And whether you enjoy it or not, you're going to remember it for a long, long time."
Jeremy and DeShawn grabbed my arms from either side, but in any case, there was nowhere for me to go. "I'm wet and ready," said Allen, "so I'll go first. Lean on the block and spread 'em," he instructed me. Then he slipped out past DeShawn and moved around behind me. I didn't move, stunned, so Jeremy and DeShawn pushed my arms down onto the block, cool concrete covered by clothing, and held me there. I felt Allen's rough, quarterback hands grab my inner thighs and lift, spreading my legs wide apart. Then the hands pulled my butt-cheeks apart roughly, and I felt a finger locating my asshole.
Now I knew that this was not really sex in the way I understood and desired it, even with these guys. It was a raw demonstration of power and superiority, intended to humiliate me. I would have been only too glad to be fucked by all four of these sexy guys, anytime they asked. But tonight, they were not going to ask.
...[In turn, Allen, Tyrone, Jeremy, and DeShawn force themselves on Bryant, making him suck each one's cock, and then assaulting his anus. When he cries out with the initial pain, Jeremy socks him in the jaw, telling him to shut up and splitting his lip. The description of these actions is omitted because of their non-consensual nature.]...
When DeShawn pulled out of me, I just sagged onto the cement flooring in a sobbing heap, my asshole still screaming and my gut still sore inside. The four assailants grabbed up their clothing from both sides of the cement block, slipped them on quickly and quietly, and hurried away, taking my clothes with them and leaving me there naked and ravaged. I lay there crying on the cool cement for a good quarter of an hour, unable to think what to do. When I finally pulled myself up carefully, I could tell that there was a dark little puddle on the cement--semen and shit and blood. I had to get myself cleaned up, I realized, and get some clothing, and assess the damage. So I headed back to the locker room. It would be locked up by now, but we all knew how to get in through a side window, as many of us had been doing from time to time all summer to get in extra time in the weight room.
Long before I had limped across the field, I saw the lights on the in the locker room. Someone was there. I crept up to the corner of the window and peeked in. It was none other than my macho-guy friends, washing up after their dirty deed. They were no longer so jubilant and amused with themselves, but were pretty cowed, really. I saw my clothes on a bench. I moved over into the shadows to wait until they left, which only took a couple of minutes more. They came out and went their separate ways, much subdued from their former bullying selves. As a matter of fact, this episode did in their friendship. The four had little to do with one another from that point on, to the bewilderment of the whole team and all of their friends, who never understood what had happened between them.
After they had left, I slipped in the window and headed for the shower. I had to turn on lights in order to check myself out. I was a pretty sorry sight, face and rear. The gunk oozing from my butt was light brown now, not red or dark. I was still in misery, but starting to come into grips with reality. I decided to hit the shower and try to wash my attackers out of me.
I hardly got under the warm water before I heard the door open, the outer light switch on, and Coach Howard's voice call out, "Hey, who's there?" I could not make my mouth open to answer. I was in shock. He stood at the shower room door. "Chapman, didn't you just leave a while ago?" Pause. His eyes took in my downcast face with red eyes, swollen cheek, and split lip, then the thin stream of discolored water flowing from my feet toward the center drain. "What's up, Bryant?" I found I could not speak or look at him. I just stood there. I think I may have started to cry again, helpless now that the jig was up.
Coach crossed the tile in his Nikes and turned off the water. I felt his hand on my chin as he lifted my head to look at my face. "Well, that's not so bad. It wasn't like that when you left before, though, was it? So you've had an encounter outside, huh?" Then he took my shoulders and turned me around, and he saw the source of the darkened runoff. For a moment he also was silent. Then he said quietly and more gently than I've ever heard him speak, "I need to look at this, to see how bad it is, if you need a doctor. OK?" I nodded once, and he led me out to the P. T. table outside his office and helped me onto it, still dripping wet. I pressed my face against the vinyl and just lay there, naked backside exposed. But after what I had been through, I guess I was now beyond humiliation, or perhaps in shock. In a minute, I felt a gloved finger gently poking at my butt hole. He spread my butt cheeks and investigated my insulted sphincter. He lubed his finger and gently inserted it two joints deep and circled slowly, re-enlarging the opening, but so much gentler than Allen had done. I flinched, but compared to the violations I had received earlier, this was no big deal except for it being Coach, a nice guy, but after all a grown-up man, at least twenty-eight, and an authority figure to boot. "The bleeding was all from the outside, right at the entrance. That's the tight part, the inside is pretty flexible. They didn't stick any rough foreign object in there, did they?" I shook my head no, then rolled onto my side facing him.
"I can't tell you who it was."
"You don't have to. Because I know who it was. I knew they were up to something when they left here. I just didn't know what. But I heard the "Q" word being tossed around about somebody." He was quiet. "Bryant, I've been dreading something like this. I know what an intolerant place this is, how tough it is for you and a few other young guys I know around here. I'm sorry you found out this way."
I looked up at Coach appraisingly. This was surprising, open talk to me. He was looking down at me kindly. I realized suddenly what a handsome guy he was, and not really so old at all (actually, in his prime, I now know). His long lean face had a serious expression that suited it. His brown hair was a little tousled, appealingly so. His white knit shirt stretched tightly over his muscled chest, broad shoulders, and swelling biceps. Coach was a pretty hot, very masculine dude, and I was lying naked in front of him at his waist level. Suddenly, to my utter amazement and mortification, my unruly young teen dick, not having learned a thing about self -preservation from my asshole's earlier punishment, and still unsatisfied, turned into a raging red boner right before his eyes. He couldn't have even pretended not to notice. But he just chuckled and shook his head. "What did they do, set you up?" I nodded, blushing deeply. "And obviously they satisfied themselves with no thought for you, huh?" Another nod. "Straight guys are such pigs," he said contemptuously, pausing long enough for the enormity of what he was saying to sink in. Then he continued, "This is between you and me, right? None of it ever happened." A nod. "I can't undo what they did. But I can help with this part." And with that he pushed me over onto my back, leaned down on his elbow, lifted my dick with one hand, and took it into his wide, authoritative mouth!
To this day, it was the most heavenly blow-job I have ever had. I felt a thrill the full length of my body, but centered in my throbbing sixteen-year-old dick. If I had not been in shock already, I would have gone into it at the very thought of Coach blowing my horn like this. And he was masterful. Man, I couldn't help thinking, the suck-off I'm getting beats all hell out of what Allen and the others got tonight! If they only knew! I went into sort of a coma of rapture, absorbing deeply every exhilarating neural sensation. His hand massaged my balls and tantalizingly fondled that sensitive space beneath them. Normally, I would have been like Jeremy--I would have blown like an oil well after about three strokes of such heightened pleasure. But for some reason, after the events of the evening, though I was really primed for an explosion, it had been postponed for so long by then that it took awhile to bring me off. Coach was patient, taking to his task with skill and focus. At last, I felt the creek arising. "I'm coming," I gasped simply. He pulled back and finished me off manually, milking a huge load of cream out of my organ onto my belly. I couldn't look at him, so I closed my eyes, panting. Then I felt a towel swabbing my stomach. Coach carefully and gently dried me all over, rolled me over again and dried my backside, then caressed and massaged it, finishing with my battered but appreciative buttocks. I drifted into another world, heaven I think. When he had finished, while he was putting the towel away, I sat up, now not at all shy about my nakedness or his presence, but deeply happy and grateful.
"You OK with this?" he asked.
I nodded. "Thanks. I'll never tell," I answered simply. And I never have.
"I don't want you quitting the team because of tonight. I need your leg. Plus, I like having you around."
I was quiet for a moment. "I guess I would have quit because of those pricks. I still don't know how I'll deal with facing them. But now I won't quit the team. I'll stay for you."
I still wasn't looking at Coach. I just got up and gathered my clothing and started to put it on. "We have a lot to talk about later, don't we?" asked Coach. I nodded. "My place, any night after practice," he said. "I'll be looking for you." I nodded again. Just for a moment, I looked at him and met his kindly gaze, wordlessly conveying my thanks, my admiration, my joy. Then I turned and walked out of the building, and into my new, adult life, feeling braver and more hopeful than I had ever felt before.