Disclaimer: This story is basically a fantasy involving humiliation, mild violence, and sexual activity between teenage boys. If you find such material offensive or in violation of the laws of your state/country, please don't read any further.
(c) Art M. Hill ArtHill579@aol.com All rights reserved (2004). If you enjoy this story, please email me.
The "new Joe" makes his first public appearance...
I called Bob first thing on Saturday morning to let him know how sorry I was to have missed our first exercise session. There was no one home so I left a voice message, hoping that he was not too angry about my no-show.
I had a lot to think about over the weekend. My "discussion" with dad went better than I could ever have hoped. Probably because, after the long daily commute and late hours on the job during the week, he was exhausted on the weekends and just wanted to sleep or relax. Mom was always complaining about dad not wanting to fix anything around the house when he got a day off. But I think I could understand how he felt. At the same time I blamed him for not being home more often to encourage me to be more manly and to get into sports when I was younger. Then, maybe I wouldn't be the butt of so much ridicule and bullying now.
In any case, I had cooked up an elaborate story, which I hoped dad would buy, about why my looks had changed so drastically. I said that since I was in the drama club at school (true) I was practicing for a part in the fall play (not true). It was an adaptation of "Grease" and everyone had to wear wild costumes. To fit the part, I had to dye my hair pink (definitely not true). As soon as the show was over I would let my natural color come back and even let the mohawk fill in. The white stuff on my face was grease paint that I had to wear on stage. I had decided to wait till I got home to wash it off, and that's why it looked like it was dripping...
"Why didn't you tell me about this last night, son. I wouldn't have been too happy but I wouldn't have been so pissed off either."
Like I said, I was amazing myself by how creative I was becoming with my lies. I was not happy about this and decided I had to keep working at getting out from under the influence of Mike, Jimmy and their buddies, and try to patch things up with Terry and Bob. I felt that they were the only real chance I had at changing my life for the better, and becoming something of a "normal teenager." I was quickly becoming an emotional wreck, not just from the escalating bullying from Jimmy and Mike, but also from the increasingly elaborate lies I had to tell to my folks and to Terry and Bob, whom I still had to face on Monday.
I think dad just barely bought the story I told. I had thoroughly rehearsed it, trying to anticipate any questions he might ask. My only real worry now was that he might call the school and check out my story. They were, indeed, sponsoring "Grease" this year, but my part in it was behind stage, so there was no way I would be wearing any costume.
"Now, Joe," he said, "what about the drinking and drugs?"
I was treading on dangerous grounds again. "Okay dad, all the guys smoke weed. It's just a recreational drug for them. I was hanging around with some guys yesterday after school and they were smoking. I guess some of the smoke got on my clothes. I swear dad, I never consciously took any drugs." (Yeah, I was duped into taking them!) "I do admit that I had a few beers and I guess I shouldn't have. But all the guys do it, and if you don't join in they consider you a dork."
"I don't care who considers you a dork. I don't want you touching alcohol until you're old enough to make an informed decision. That's 18 in my book, son."
"Okay, dad, you're right. I won't do it again. If they offer me a beer again I'll just ask for a Coke. Everybody drinks that."
[I've given you a summary of this conversation, which actually went on for at least an hour and would bore you to tears...and probably make you stop reading this story!]
I also did a lot of thinking about my attraction to Mike and Jimmy and their group over the weekend. I was having more and more erotic feelings about them. I had masturbated, using images of them degrading and mocking me; I had developed a fetish for their motorcycle boots; and had even got off when I was forced to hand over my pay check to them, and when they creamed my face.
What was worse, was that all these things involved their domination over me, which was clearly growing. They had now progressed to violence in the severing whipping I had received yesterday. At the thought of the whipping I winced, since my backside was still tender and painful from the leather belts they had applied so liberally to my back and butt. I smeared more lotion over the welts, which somewhat decreased the burning. I had kept the red condom they had slipped over my cock and last night, in spite of my pain, I put it on and ejaculated almost immediately, hardly touching my cock.
All of this led me to face the fact that I was very confused about my sexual identity. Maybe I was bisexual; maybe I was gay. I was attracted to a number of girls at school (not that they would go out with me), but my masturbation fantasies all involved the hunky jocks that strutted around with so much arrogance and self-confidence, and seemed to be automatically popular and always the center of attention. Terry and Bob were jocks but they didn't act like them. They were friendly and kind, even to me. Maybe that's why I had no sexual feelings for them but only admiration. Jimmy, Mike, and their buds, however, fit the typical jock mode plus they were "bad boys" who took special delight in pushing around and taking advantage of the school wimps. And of all the wimps, I seemed to be the one they had picked out for their special attention and torture. Lucky me!
The strange thing is that now my response to their contempt for me was to be sexually attracted to them and to actually get turned on by their abuse. I knew that I had to try and keep them from knowing this or they might turn even meaner. They were absolutely straight and probably had no tolerance for faggots--something they already called me. Shawn felt insulted when he caught me sniffing his boots, and had challenged me to a boxing match at Mike's. He was pushing it too, taking every opportunity to remind Mike that he was itching to KO me. Shawn frightened me because of his hostility and aggressiveness. I could see us in the ring. Being so outclassed, I might come out with a broken nose or a fractured jaw.
Monday came before I knew it. I got on the bus to face Terry, but had to prepare him by wearing a baseball cap. "Uh, Terry, I have to apologize for not showing up on Friday. You know how much it means to me, practicing with you guys. Something came up and I just couldn't make it. I left a message with Bob. Did he tell you?"
To my utter surprise Terry reacted very calmly. "Yeah, he did, dude," he said. "No big deal. We figured you couldn't make it for some reason. I can tell you are really serious about wanting to work with us. We'll start again real soon. How's that?"
I almost cried. These two guys really were friends. They trusted me and I didn't have to make up any false explanations. My admiration for them doubled at that minute as did my determination not to let them down again in spite of Mike's threats. I had to find a way.
Then I had to explain the other unconfortable change in my life. "Uh, Terry, you're not going to believe it but I changed my hair color--and I mean really changed it."
"What do you mean, dude? What's the deal?" (oh-oh, I did have to make up another false story!)
"I colored my hair pink. I did it on a dare, like the mohawk. I have to stop doing that because I aways lose. I wanted to keep my word, so I did it. Now I'm so embarrassed that I don't even want you to see it, much less the rest of the school." At that moment I took off my cap.
Terry burst out laughing. He laughed until there were tears in his eyes. Just as I was starting to get hurt he said: "I'm sorry, dude, I don't mean to laugh but you do look ridiculous. Just be prepared for a real razzing when you get to school."
"I know I screwed up again," I said. "You'll probably never want to speak to me again or be seen with me, and I don't blame you."
"Listen, dude," Terry said, still laughing, "it's your life, and your hair. That doesn't change anything about our friendship. I'm sure Bob will feel the same. I would never be caught dead in that kind of haircut myself but, hey, it's not my life, it's yours."
Once again I felt like crying. Actually I felt like hugging Terry because he was more understanding than I could have hoped. Suddenly I felt a great weight taken off my shoulders. I was still afraid of the reaction I would get at school, but I approached my fate with a great deal more self-confidence. I still had friends who would stick with me.
My fears, of course, were fully justified. The reaction to my pink hair was even more extreme than the mohawk. There was almost universal laughing at the entrance to the school and all kinds of mocking comments. "Told ya, buddy," said Terry, as he headed for his first class. "Good luck; I'm sure you'll survive. See ya at lunch." And with that he was gone, leaving me alone with my amused classmates.
I found the same reaction in the halls and in my classrooms. Wherever I went, heads turned and giggling and laughter followed. Jimmy, Mike and their pals must have already spread the word that some of the guys were calling me "Pinky" because this was the way I was constantly greeted. My teachers all frowed their disapproval, one of them sending me to the principal's office.
"We don't have any dress codes here, Mr. Crawford, other than not baring your privates," Principal Donaldson said, "but I must say you are really testing the limits. I want you to know that I strongly disapprove of this hair style and color you've chosen to adopt. When I have time I will call your parents and ask them to have a serious talk with you. Is that understood?"
"Yes sir," I said humbly. "I did it on a dare and now I'm sorry I did. When it grows in again I'll let it grow natural, I promise." Then I thought with horror about Jimmy's remark in the bathroom the other day that the guys wanted me to change colors every month! How would I explain that to my folks? Well, I would face that problem when it came. Otherwise I'd go crazy. Let me get through this first.
Going to lunch I found my way blocked by Chris McKiernan, tight end of the school football team. "Hey Crawford, or should I say Pinky, what do you mean lookin' like a freak. This school's got a good image in the league. It won't take many fags like you to make us the laughing stock of the competition. You better stay out of my way, pussyboy, or I swear I'll pull that pink hair of yours out by the roots."
I was almost cowering. This dude was seriously big and muscled. I said nothing as he scowled at me. Then he pushed roughly past me, almost knocking me on the floor. About a dozen students had been watching this little drama and smirked at me before going off whispering to each other and laughing.
In history class I ended up once again with Jimmy directly behind me and Mike next to him on my left. "Hey Zits," he said, "how's it hanging--your pink sack, that is!" I heard muffled laughing from the two as the teacher entered and class began. Once again Jimmy pushed his booted foot through my chair and applied pressure to my ass. Although I was still a bit sore, I automatically lifted it as he pushed it further and further under my ass. "You like that pussy? You like feelin' my boot rubbin' against your pussy-ass? Yeeeeah, sure you do. Feels good, doesn't it? Makes you want to throw a boner."
After he started massaging my ass crack, I began to respond again by wiggling my butt against his foot to increase the erotic feelings I was getting. What had happened to my resolution not to encourage them? Actually I couldn't help myself.
Jimmy lifted up his other boot which made it even worse. He was now cupping my ass, rubbing the lug soles of his boots against my hips. I began to sweat and my cock was getting so hard I was afraid I would have a spontaneous emission. This, of course, was what he wanted. Apparently he made a little wager with Mike that he could make me cum right is the middle of class.
Since we were at the back of the room no one could really see us, least of all the teacher who was droning away about his lesson. Getting bolder, Jimmy slouched down in his seat and extended his long legs until his boots were almost in my lap. He pulled my desk back all the way against his and finally was able to put his feet in my crotch. He felt my boner and knew it would just take a little more to send me over the edge. In the meantime I was doing nothing to stop him.
I could now see his boots and the bottom of his jeans wrapped tightly around my waist. I could feel the warmth of his jeans and of the muscled legs underneath. His boots had found their target, my bulging cock that was sticking out so much that he could squeeze it. He alternately applied pressure and then released it, massaging my cock in the most sensual way. I was almost tempted to help him by grabbing his boots and pulling them deeper into my crotch to get the entire shaft of my cock. I could here him (and Mike) laughing quietly behind me. Finally after one more prolonged squeeze, my cock blew in an intense orgasm which released gobs of hot cum. I had to hold my hand over my mouth to keep from audibly groaning in pleasure.
Jimmy quickly removed his feet from my lap and put that innocent look on his face. In the meantime, an enormous stain was spreading across my brown slacks. You could even see the cum on the surface of my pants as a shiny, slick mess that couldn't be missed. And next period was lunch!
As class ended I got up, holding my books in front of my crotch. Jimmy and Mike also got up, both with big grins on their faces. For my part I blushed shamefully thinking about what I had let Jimmy do to me.
"Well, Zits, now we know for sure you're a faggot," Jimmy said. "Did ya like feelin' my big boots massagin' your ass and then wrapping around that faggy little wiener of yours? I guess ya must have if that stain is what I think it is. Now since I don't like bein' around faggots unless I need 'em for something, get the fuck out of my sight before I kick you in the nuts--if you got any, that is! By the way, I don't want you carrying your books in front of you like you're not proud of your fag jizz. Carry 'em under your arm like a normal guy."
"But Jimmy," I protested, "then everyone will see the stain on my pants and know what happened."
"That's not my problem, Zits," said Jimmy, "but it's gonna be yours if you don't do what I say."
Resigned to be humiliated again, I walked down the hall to the cafeteria with my cum stain in full view, waiting for the sarcastic remarks to start. Amazingly everyone was so busy talking or going to class or lunch that virtually no one saw or commented on my "accident." A few girls looked funny at me but they must have been too embarrassed to say anything.
Both Phil and Tod were ahead of me in the cafeteria line. Both of them pointed to me grinning and telling the cashier that I was going to pay for all three lunches. I didn't say a thing, but pulled several bills from my rapidly shrinking store and handed them over. "Thanks, Pinky," said Tod. "We knew we could count on you when we forgot our lunch money."
"Oh, by the way," Phil said in a loud voice, "what's that big stain on the front of your pants? Looks like you just missed the little boy's room!" They both laughed and even the cashier kind of snickered, asking the assistant to take over so that she could wash her hands. At that moment my face almost matched the color of my hair.
I had been forbidden by Jimmy and Mike to associate with Terry and Bob anymore, and I was afraid to directly defy their command right in front of them. So I found myself walking over to the table where the other punks sat pretty much in isolation. I'll have to say that they were very welcoming. "Take a seat sweety, love that hair, but the clothes have got to go. I'll go shopping with you some time."
I happened to glance over to where Jimmy, Mike, and company were sitting. They were once again laughing their asses off. Then I shifted my gaze to Terry and Bob on the far side of the cafeteria. Their mouths were open in amazement, touched, perhaps, with the beginning of scorn. I had to make things right soon.
(to be continued)