Hiya! Sorry for the months of waiting . . . has the heart grown fonder, by any chance? If you have comments, don't hesitate to email me at matthew_lake@yahoo.com or AIM me at matthewlake309. Also, for those of you who are a little more visual, I have pictures of Lake, Jamie and Anthony that I have used in imagining them. Let me know if you want any of those returned to you. There it is . . . I hope you enjoy! I lost a bunch of email about the last time I posted a story, so if you sent me a note and didn't get a reply . . . that's likely why. My apologies if this is the case; I hate to appear rude.
BTW, the author holds a copyright for this and all previous chapters of Intolerable Cruelty. It is not to be distributed for profit or hosted, without permission, on profit-making websites.
Previously, in Intolerable Cruelty...
It was completely inspiring to eat cereal naked in the family room watching any damn show I wanted. Within seconds, the Gilmore Girls filled the screen before me. I let everything go and just gave myself over to Lorelai and Rory. When credits rolled on the third episode, I decided I'd had enough. Tossing the towel over my shoulder, I turned off the big screen and dropped my bowl and spoon in the kitchen as I made my way to my room. Tired as hell, I cast off the towel and dropped into my bed. There would be no dreams tonight.
Monday came quickly. I woke up late on Sunday and spent most of the day catching up on homework, then most of the evening catching up with the 'rents. The highlight of my day was seeing that Mark had accepted my friend request and scratched "Thanks for knocking before you barged in on my facebook, BiOtCh!" on my wall. I smiled at his wall post. It captured his sense of humor, the same sort of shit that he would deal out to any other guy, but it also referred back lightly to the previous day's encounter. I just had time to poke him and log off before my mom was harassing me to get the lights turned out.
When I filed into trigonometry a few minutes before the bell rang, Rutland was sitting at his desk in the classroom, looking over his lesson plan book. About half the class had arrived before me, and as I stepped past him to my desk, I offered my typical, "Hey, Coach!"
He looked up momentarily, nodding in response, and finished writing a note in the book. He was almost expressionless and seemed a bit distracted as he stood up, walked to the front chalkboard and erased some figures as more of the class poured in. I couldn't help but admire the way the fabric of his Dockers stretched across his tight globes, but I tried to push the thought from my mind. Still holding the eraser, he proceeded to the side chalkboard adjacent to my desk, finishing the job of clearing the boards. I waved to a few friends who were walking into class, and as Rutland turned to walk back towards his desk, he tapped me on the shoulder, recapturing my attention. "Hang back for a few minutes after class. I want to talk with you, Lake."
It wasn't a request, really, but it wasn't spoken authoritatively, either. It was a statement of what was to be, and although he didn't wait for me to respond before continuing on to the front of the classroom, I found myself nodding my head affirmatively, nonetheless. The bell rang, and the door to the classroom swung closed, as Rutland, now smiling, asked for the homework due today to be passed forward. Kids groaned, zippers tore open, books and notebooks slammed on desks, papers ripped and shuffled together, and my mind raced. Why did Coach want me to stay after class? And yet I knew. Like the image was burned on the back of my retinas, I could see the crumpled pile of nylon and cotton on my bedroom floor, the evidence of my theft and betrayal right where I had left it. I had been unable to touch Rutland's briefs or my own shorts tangled within them after kicking them off together.
Not that they had been forgotten. Hardly. There wasn't a moment that went by on Sunday when I hadn't wanted to hide them, bury them, burn them, destroy them. Except for those moments when I wanted to feel them, smell them, taste them and wear them. I was at war with myself, and while the battle was raging in my mind and my gut, I found that I couldn't get within arms reach of the whole cast off lot. Rutland's request that I see him at the end of class could very well be a reaction to finding his shorts missing, and his intention to ask me what I knew of their disappearance. I couldn't find any other conclusion for him to make than to see me as guilty, a truth I would try to deny. I began to practice in my mind the look of shock that I would express when confronted with the truth of my theft. I began to try to feel surprise, to somehow believe within myself that I wasn't already tried, convicted and awaiting my sentence.
By the time the class bell rang fifty minutes later, I half expected to see our principal standing in the hallway outside, ready to help Rutland with my interrogation, or to simply render punishment. But no words would come to me when the door swung shut behind the final student. I didn't move, I didn't pack up my things, I didn't breathe as Rutland walked down the aisle, passing the first, the second, the third desk in the row. Placing a foot on the chair of the fourth, directly in front of me, he casually lowered himself to the surface of the desk, putting us face to face, sort of. My face was actually more directly parallel to his bulge, and for once I wished that he had chosen the pleated front trouser so as to distract me from trying to map the terrain of his cock and balls from the rolls and grooves that his fly fronts had settled into.
"I think you know why I wanted you to stay after for a minute." My eyes finally, reluctantly, climbed the stripes on his polo up over his torso until they met his. His face was not hard. His eyes were soft blue pools. I felt time slowing down, and my gaze fell on his soft, full red lips, revealing perfect white teeth as he spoke again. I tried to concentrate on anything but what he was saying. "I think I know what happened this weekend, but," he paused. I couldn't tell if he was nervous, reluctant or just trying to find the right language, "well, I want to hear it from you."
I couldn't speak; my mouth was too dry. Alternately, I felt my eyes welling up with tears. One snaked down my left cheek, followed by a twin on my right. Two more followed in quick succession, and when I finally opened my mouth to breathe, I could taste the salt on my lips. My arms curled around my head as I huddled on the desk, deep sobs racking my body. The shame that I had felt for my betrayal and my disappointment in myself came flooding out as my body heaved with emotion. I felt a hand on my shoulders making gentle circles. "Go ahead, let it out," I heard Rutland, soft now, soothing. His tenderness towards me was unexpected given the topic at hand. It felt like I cried for hours, but I finally regained control, holding back my tears and looked up from the desk. Rutland was in a squat next to me, looking at the floor as he showed me comfort. At the turn of my head, he turned towards me and smiled.
"Feel better?" Rutland asked. I wasn't sure why he hadn't dropped the boom, made the accusation and initiated the next step in, I couldn't even articulate in my mind what the next step would be, but I couldn't believe we weren't there yet. If my breakdown hadn't been an admission of guilt, I wasn't sure what would qualify.
Moving his hand away from my shoulders, he gripped the desk next to me and shifted himself into the seat. My palms found my cheeks as I pawed at my eyes, trying to erase the tears that wrote my confession. "You know, guys on the team think that the Coach is oblivious, that he can't hear anything. They forget where they are and what they are saying to whom, or maybe they just don't care." Rutland seemed to turn introspective for a moment. "I've heard guys make comments to you and about you, and I don't want you to pretend this time you don't know what I'm talking about." He paused. I nodded, hesitantly, not entirely sure what I was affirming or what was happening.
"I heard enough this weekend to surmise, well, enough to guess that you might be gay." He looked at me, and I looked back. I wasn't sure if my eyes were reflecting the internal mental whiplash I was feeling at this turn of events, but I still couldn't produce speech. I nodded again. His eyes were on me. I felt a mix of relief and apprehension. Relief from the momentary release of my emotions, and a new apprehension at what Rutland's insight about me meant.
"That nod," he continued once I hadn't picked up the conversation. "It means I'm right, doesn't it." Another pause. "You like guys; you're gay." I swallowed. Moisture was beginning to come back to my mouth. "You can talk to me, Lake. It's critical that you talk to me." The bell rang, startling us both, and intruding on the moment. Another wave of panic struck me.
"Shit. I'm late for composition." I started for my bag, I wanted to run, not to my next class, but away, far away. From Rutland, from school, from my life. I wanted to stuff the genie back into the bottle, because I realized that in this moment everything was going to change. As soon as I confirmed Rutland's suspicions, my role on the track team was over. In fact, Rutland might tell the guys to stay away from me, tell them that I was dangerous or mental or degenerate. I felt his hand on my arm.
"I'll write you a pass." His eyes captivated yet again. Pools of blue and I was drowning in them. "It's okay, Lake." We both breathed. "There's nothing wrong with being gay. I told you Saturday that I felt I could trust you with anything, and I meant it. I want you to feel the same way. To know that you can tell me what's going on in your life, and I'm going to try to be supportive and helpful. You're a good kid and you're great for our team, and you deserve that support and validation." I smiled, and I could feel the muscles in my face, so tense, resist the natural impulse.
"Thanks, Coach," I finally croaked, pausing to collect myself. "I mean, I didn't expect that you'd be cool with, well, with having a gay kid on the team, and being in the lockerroom, and being around you and the guys and stuff." The dam broke, and words spilled out with tension and catharsis. "I mean a few of the guys I know better know, and mostly they don't care. I mean nobody's been a real shit about it or anything. Sometimes guys say some things, but they don't bug me too much, I mean, it is the truth, I suppose." I laughed. "It bugs me more when they say shit like that to my friends, like to Jamie, because he's not. He's just a really cool guy, and like my best friend, and when guys say stuff to him, well, it's just not the same because it's a lie."
"Well, I think you're right on some level." Rutland was smiling too, now. A soft smile. "A guy calls a teammate faggot or cocksucker, or says 'blow me' or whatever, sometimes it doesn't mean anything, just two straight guys trash talking. Or sometimes, a gay guy and a straight guy, they're mature enough to see past what makes them different, like you and Jamie, maybe, and those words get thrown around as a tease or a friendly taunt, a way of showing closeness while affirming in-group and out-group status. But then there are other times, Lake. Times when guys aren't just being guys, they're being assholes, you know. Times when things can get rough and get out of hand. And you've gotta be careful, Lake, because sometimes guys will do things, just to be cruel, or just to prove their manhood to themselves and to their friends. And you've gotta be able to stand up for yourself. You've got to have the confidence and the physical presence to back that up." Rutland paused, reflectively. "Now Jamie, for instance, someone calls him a fag or says 'suck my dick', he can kick their ass." Rutland paused. "Right?"
I nodded. "I've seen guys back down with just a look from him. Even in his year, he's got more power in his arms and legs than most of them. You can tell just by looking at him."
Rutland continued, "Exactly. But you? Guys don't back down the same with you."
"Well, it's just because of what I am. And they know.
And I can't deny it. I am those things, I do those things." I realized the depth of my admission as the same look of realization crossed Rutland's face. "I mean, gay guys do those things. Generally. I guess, or they wouldn't say it. Plus, what am I going to do about it anyway?"
Rutland saved me. "Whatever they do, whatever you do, it doesn't give anyone the right to say those demeaning, degrading things to you." I just looked at him. "That's why I have a plan for you, Lake. We're going to give you some tools to work with, get you into a little weight training, and we're going to start today. Sixth period. You have study hall, right?"
"Yea," I affirmed, and Rutland stood up now, and stepped to his desk. He pulled open the drawer, grabbed a pad, and started to write quickly. "I'm giving you a hall pass to check out of study hall. I want you to check out and then meet me in my athletic office." I started to put my books away, zipped up my bag and stood. "Here's a hall pass to get you into your next class, too." I took them, and he looked up at me as I stood in front of his desk. "You're okay?"
"Yeah, Coach. It's just a lot of stuff at once, you know."
He smiled and I mirrored him. "You're a good guy, Lake. Go splash some water on your face, get to class, and I'll see you in a few hours." I opened the door to the hallway, and looked back for a second.
"Thanks, Coach. Thanks a lot." He smiled, and turned back to his desk, and then I was out the door, hearing the soft woosh of the closer easing it back into the frame behind me. I didn't look back.
Ten minutes after the bell rang to make the beginning of sixth period, I was standing outside Rutland's office. It had taken that long to check into study hall, then to check back out and make my way to the gym, even though I had hurried. I was a mix of emotions. Excited to see what Rutland had planned, relieved that my transgression hadn't irreparably harmed our relationship, worried that the truth of my theft might still come to light, shocked that he felt that even gay that I was still worth investing in, and honored that he cared enough about me to see me as a person beyond my role as track equipment manager.
Coach had left a note on his doorframe instructing me to change clothes and meet him in the weight room. I shucked my clothes and pulled on shorts and a t-shirt, barely slamming the locker door shut behind me, as I made my way from the concrete and cinder block locker area past the tile of the showers and through a hallway of glass brick that led to the pool on one side and the weights on the other. Pushing open the door, I was amazed, as always, at the optical illusions that the mirrors on each wall created, shifting and duplicating people and machines, making the room look much larger and much more populated than it was.
I took a moment to steady myself and get my bearings, picking out the real Rutland from his reflected doppelgangers. He was standing beside a bench press, carefully monitoring the activity before him. He nodded at me upon my entrance, and I started over to him, though his focus remained on his task. I could hear his encouragement, "Just three more, Zac. Two more. Come on," and then the machinery rose up slowly and tentatively, an extension of powerful brown arms, and accompanied by an extended groan, before settling onto itself with a clank of metal on metal.
"Hey, Lake." Zac nodded towards me as he sat and then stood up. I hadn't seen him in a while, and I was again taken by his strong features, high cheekbones framed brown eyes, a determined jaw set above a thick neck. The cocoa skin of his arms stretched over thick, mounded biceps, veins bulged out of forearms and meandered into masculine hands that could easily palm a basketball.
"Hey." I replied. His face and arms glistened with sweat under the room's bright lights, and he pulled off his clingy wifebeater, mopping his brow, then running it across his chest and stomach, casually catching his pits and arms before tucking it into the waistband of his basketball shorts, hanging loose on his hips, revealing the white band of a jockstrap hidden underneath. The baggy shorts gave no hint of the treasure I knew to be hidden inside, and I was immediately transported back to the drive-in, to the moment when Zac had caught me brazenly checking out his dick while we stood pissing next to one another. I honestly hoped his recollection of the night wasn't as vivid as mine.
"Well, great. I didn't know you were friends," Rutland said, looking first at Zac, then to me.
"Not friends, exactly," clarified Zac.
I felt prompted, and so I added, "Yeah. Zac's a friend of Jamie's; we've hung out a couple of times, together. Played video games. You know the drill."
"Cool," said Rutland. "It's good that you guys know each other a bit, at least. It'll make things much smoother. As you can see, Lake, Zac is well into a strength-training program, as he prepares for the upcoming baseball season."
"I'm gonna make captain," he boasted.
"Maybe," I interjected quietly, without thinking. Jamie was always saying the same thing. Zac's eyes drilled into mine, and I tried to soften what I had said. "I just mean that Jamie wants to be captain, too." Silence.
"Well, no one has been chosen to be captain yet, guys." He turned to Zac. "Plus, you keep training and showing leadership, and let the decision about captain work itself out." He turned more to me as he continued. "Zac is taking human physiology this term, and had talked to me about overseeing an independent study that incorporated his strength training planning and progress. While I think that's valuable, I think a much better opportunity is for Zac to continue his own program, but to mentor you, Lake, at the same time. Essentially, I've asked Zac to work with you, craft a strength program for you, teach you proper form, how to use the equipment, and basically act as your personal trainer. I'll check in from time to time to supervise, of course. Zac will get additional course credit, and, Lake, you'll get the physical benefits and experience that you need to address the circumstance we discussed this morning. It's win-win, gentleman. What do you think?"
I was astonished. This was so much more and so much less than what I had expected. I had thought I would be working more closely with Rutland, and was looking forward to the opportunity. In that respect I was disappointed by what I had just heard. But I also knew that, realistically, Rutland couldn't devote the amount of time to my progress that Zac could. And Zac was basically a good guy; even Jamie had said so, although not so much recently. And just looking at him gave me all the evidence I needed to know that he knew about strength training. Even though things were rocky for the moment between Zac and Jamie, I thought I could at least give it a try. I mean, if we avoided talking about baseball and Jamie and just focused on our work, what could go wrong? "That sounds, awesome, Coach!" My enthusiasm was real.
"Yea," Zac said at almost the same time. His excitement level did not seem to match my own, but Rutland barely noticed.
"I'll make the permanent arrangement for you to be excused from study hall, and to be here Monday, Wednesday and Friday, Lake, as you work out side-by-side with Zac." Rutland was all smiles, but Zac was a bit harder to read.
"Sounds good, Coach." he said and I agreed. Rutland looked at his watch.
"Well, we have just enough time, I think, to highlight some of the major muscle groups for Lake, especially the ones that will form the focus and framework for your future work together." He paused, thinking. "Zac, would you mind modeling for us?"
Zac smiled wide at that, pulling his arm into a bicep flex. "I'm always happy to show off these guns."
Coach continued enthusiastically, "There you go! And we'll make this exercise into a quiz for you, Zac, to see if you can name the muscle groups I'm highlighting. This should be child's play, but pay attention, Lake; you may be quizzed next. Now let's all face the mirror so that we can see." Rutland positioned Zac out front, standing a bit behind and to the side of him. I stood at his other side until Rutland told me I could have a seat on the weight bench just behind me.
Rutland began by using his hands to trace along the tops of Zac's upper arms. "We'll start easy . . ."
"Biceps," Zac interrupted. He turned to smile at me. "They can never be too big, Lake." Flexing again, his muscle strained. "The ladies love to hang on these, dude."
"Charming commentary, Zac," Rutland responded with a raised eyebrow. "But maybe you can hold those tidbits of knowledge until it's just the two of you." An almost undetectable blush creeped up Zac's chest until it reached his face, but it didn't wipe away his goofy grin.
"Will do, sir," he responded; our eyes met in the reflection, and Zac winked mischievously. "I got a lot more I can school this youngster with where that came from." He laughed, and Coach couldn't help smiling, as well.
"For now, maybe identify how you isolate and work the biceps." Zac responded with nothing short of a concise textbook description for the proper course of training one might use to target the upper arms. Impressed with the response, Rutland's barely tan hands traced across the flesh of Zac's dark triceps, and the process repeated with Zac naming the muscle group and talking about training it.
I was mesmorized by the ballet of man-on-man. Strong peaches and cream hands methodically tracing tight brown-sugar lats and pecs, abdominals and obliques. Attack and parry, question and answer, hand and glove.
Rutland and Zac pushed back and forth. Time passed and with barely a pause until a necessary moment when Zac dropped his shorts, as Rutland's hands highlighted glutes and thighs and calves, Zac responding precisely to each challenge, oblivious to the artful contrast of the pure white jockstrap on his firm brown skin. The student-teacher exchange was entirely non-sexual and one of the most erotic things I had ever seen. I took in as much of the information as I could, and recorded the experience for playback again at a later time.
I was brought back to reality when Rutland finally stepped away, Zac reclaiming his shorts. "Now it's your turn, Lake. Step up here where Zac was." He pointed and I began to move. "Zac, I want you to assess Lake's physique as it relates to the muscle groups we just highlighted."
"No problem, Coach," Zac said as he positioned himself behind me, tugging at my shirt. He was eager to continue showing off his knowledge as Rutland took the seat I had vacated. I pulled it off and the ballet began again, this time intensely personal, this time in reverse. I watched in the mirror as dark hands traced my flesh, Zac's deep voice behind me. As fingertips traced pecs, I felt my nipples harden, and as they drew near obliques and abdominals, another hardness became like steel. This was agony for me, erotic torture, and Zac was an entirely unwitting accomplice. In the mirror's reflection, I could see that Coach could tell some of the physical impact that Zac was having. My jockstrap was barely able to keep the evidence of my arousal contained. When Zac tugged at my shorts the way he had at my shirt, I saw panic flood my eyes in my mirrored reflection. If I dropped them, the evidence of Zac's impact on me would be obvious.
Rutland must have seen my panic, as well, because he stood up, checking his watch again. "Actually, Zac, it looks like our time is almost up. We better let Lake get changed back into street clothes and get checked back into study hall. I don't want to have to write another hall pass."
"Thanks, Coach!" I said, retrieving my shirt. "And thank you, Zac! I really appreciate what the two of you are doing to help me."
"No problem, Lake." "See you on Wednesday, dude." Coach and Lake's responses overlapped, and I stepped back, beginning to trace a path towards the door. Coach continued to talk with Zac, "Wednesday, you can just teach the basics of each machine. Focus on form, and I want your written training plan in my email before the two of you get started on Friday. Got it?"
"Got it. No problem, Coach." Zac responded.
That was the last of their conversation I heard before the door shut behind me. After throwing my t-shirt into my gym bag and shucking my shorts, I wasn't surprised to see I was still hard. I checked the time, and realized there wasn't enough to take care of my boner, so I pulled my pants on over the jock. "Better safe than sorry," I heard myself advise. It was a new strategy, one I hadn't employed in some time, and I mentally committed to practicing it more often. I raced to my locker and back to study hall, beating the bell by just two minutes.
Carrying the bag of starter blocks out to the track, I had started to place them when I heard Jamie's voice behind me. He was facing away from me, though close enough that I could hear what was being said as he, Ryan and Joe talked and stretched.
"Well, then she asked me to flex for her, so that she could see my muscles. She said it was so hot it made her wet. I told her I didn't believe her, so she let me see her pussy. My face was like inches away." Ryan and Joe were rapt with attention, "and she smelled like perfection. And then I played with it, and I went down on her for like ten minutes, dudes." Jamie's voice continued. "I bet if you wanted, you could still smell her on these fingers." Jamie held up his extended index and fuck fingers, and used them to faux-fuck a hole he made with his other hand.
"You're a sick perv," Ryan laughed and shook his head, and while Joe's face initially screwed up in disgust, he was soon laughing, too, at Jamie's gross-out humor.
My reaction was decidedly different. My usually efficient set-up slowed to a crawl as I felt despair wash over me. My physical reaction was even more confusing, as I felt like my body cavity was entirely hollowed out, empty, void, but I could also feel blood pumping into my cock, not giving a full-hard on, but I could feel my dick rising. Despite it all, I wanted to hear more.
"So did she suck your dick?" Ryan asked.
Jamie gave an affirmative "Ah-ha."
"Did you cum in her mouth?" Joe was insistent.
Jamie shook his head, "No. But she totally polished my knob. Dudes, her lipstick was all over my piece. After she sucked me, I was really close, and she said she wanted to see it shoot, so she gave me a few strokes and I just blew everywhere. It was like I hadn't shot in months." His boasting was prideful, and the guys he was sitting with seemed impressed, even Joe, despite his earlier demeanor.
"Did you fuck her?" Joe interjected, challengingly.
"Not yet," replied Jamie, a hint of disappointment creeping in his voice, "but we've only been seeing each other a few weeks."
"No shit, dumbass." Ryan directed his comment to Joe.
"Like you've ever touched a pussy, let alone got your dick in anyone's mouth." He shook his head dismissively. "With a hot girl like Mandy, you take what you can get when you can get it, you know what I mean?" He and Jamie exchanged fist love.
"Seriously, dude. I'm willing to give it some time. Knowing that in a couple of months, weeks if I'm lucky, that I could be tapping that cherry pussy. Well, it's worth the effort." The three of them stood up, and started to walk to the track.
"I have, too, seen a pussy. . ." Joe began, but Ryan cut him off.
"Yeah you have. Your momma's. When you came out of it." Ryan and Jamie broke down laughing as Joe turned bright red.
"Fuck you," Joe was not used to being the negative center of attention. "Fuck you both." He took off running, and Jamie and Ryan had another good laugh before they took to the track and started their warm-up lap. As Jamie rounded the first curve, we made eye contact, but I broke it almost immediately. I was sick; I was fuming, and I couldn't deny or understand my anger and resentment towards Mandy and Jamie. Rather than thinking too hard, I channeled my distress into swing after swing of the mallet as I pounded the blocks into the track. Harder and harder I hit with each set until my intensity left my arm hurting. Jamie passed my general location several times as he warmed up, and I wondered if he could see that inside I was at a full boil. Before I blew up or destroyed equipment, I decided to head inside to try and cool down.
Jamie found me in the equipment cage after his shower, beads of water submitting to gravity and trailing down the contours of his chest and shoulders. My cock, which had never fully flagged after I got a halfie earlier, instantly hardened. No matter my confused emotional state, my body still responded to Jamie's body in the same way.
"Want to grab a bite? I'm famished." He was casual in his request, just a pal asking another to hang out, but he was also tentative, as if he was feeling me out. I couldn't help the feelings of abandonment and anger that washed over me. "She asked me to flex for her. My face was inches from her pussy. You could still smell her on these fingers. Her lipstick was all over my piece." Four sentences played over and over in my head. My rational mind certainly understood that, as a friend with benefits, I was a lower priority than a budding relationship. And yet, I still personalized his choice to go with, to be with, Mandy as rejection. Allowing her to do the things for him that I had been doing, that I loved doing, and that I wanted to continue doing, felt so threatening. He just stood looking at me, his eyes like saucers above a half-smile, his head cocked just a bit to the side.
A thousand caustic responses almost crossed my lips before I heard myself say, "Sure," surrendering to the fact that, even as hurt as I was feeling, I could not refuse those beautiful eyes. I felt my own stomach rumble once the thought of food moved to consciousness.
"Meet me outside; 10 minutes, dude," and then he was gone. I hurried to secure the equipment that I'd dragged in. I did a pass of the locker room, collecting an armful of towels, and tossing them in the cart where I would find them later in the week when I stayed late to do laundry.
I grabbed my backpack, locked the cage and headed out the door. A few minutes later, Jamie and I sat next to each other on high stools at a little homegrown tacqueria a few blocks from school. The stools sat up against a counter that overlooked the busy street in front of us, and mine was tilted just slightly towards him. We had ordered up front, grabbed these seats and now waited for our food. In his truck on the ride over, Jamie had shared a few lighthearted anecdotes about his day, and he asked a few questions to elicit a response, but I was brief in my responses. In fact, our exchange was entirely superficial.
Now, sitting together, we were quiet, and as I shifted on my stool, our knees touched, and I swear I sensed Jamie jump as he turned a bit away, just enough to break our contact. I searched for something to say, but everything that crossed my mind felt forced. This was not how it was with Jamie; we had never had trouble finding words or comfortable silence. What we had in this moment was neither. What stood between us now was entirely foreign, at least to me. The closeness that I had felt to Jamie just days ago, both physically and emotionally, seemed to have evaporated.
"You were really hammering at those blocks, today." He cast me a glance, smiling. "I thought you were making them permanent." His voice was light, but I could tell he was uncomfortable. I still didn't know what to say, and I was scared that if I opened my mouth, I might regret what came out.
"Is it because you overheard what I was saying to Ryan and Joe?" He was searching now. "I mean, Ryan said he thought you might have heard."
"Yeah. I heard." My voice wavered just a bit, and I thought he might not have noticed. "I mean, I wasn't trying to listen, believe me, but you were right there. And it was, well, it was just hard to ignore."
"You know that Mandy and I have been going out, right?" I nodded. "You didn't expect? I mean, you didn't think it would happen? You've heard me talk about her right, about how hot she is? I know that you've at least been around when Zac and I were shooting the shit about her, and that was months ago."
He was calm and there was a hint of disbelief in his voice.
"Well, I thought you'd only gone out a few times." I searched for words. "I thought it was just a few dates. I didn't think things would move so quickly."
"What am I supposed to say?" he ventured, finally. He was looking straight ahead, out the window at strangers walking past on the sidewalk, cars crossing in both directions. I couldn't tell if there was a defensive tone to his question or my own belief that he had something to be defensive about. I imagined that right now felt much like beginning a game of Frogger from the frog's vantage point. Danger lurked from every direction, and I was entirely unsure how to find my way to safety, but I knew my goal was not to end up squashed in the way that I had Saturday night.
"What do you mean?" It was a passive-aggressive response; I knew what he meant, but I didn't care. In that moment, I wished I could just retreat.
"Well, you're not talking, and so I'm not talking, and so I expect that you think there's something I should say. . ." His speech was rushed, like word vomit, like once he started he had no control, or that if he slowed down, he might forget what he was going to say or lose his nerve to say it. ". . . and I think you probably think I should be saying 'I'm sorry,' I guess for whatever reason, probably because I decided to hang with Mandy after the meet or because I've gotten more involved with her."
I did think he should be apologizing, that he owed me that, but I didn't have a chance to say it because as soon as he paused for a breath, the server was setting a tray of food down between us, and asking if we needed anything else. Jamie said we were fine as I reached for an open bottle of Jarritos. The glass was cool and frosty on my hand and the bubbles burned at my tongue, as I swished and swallowed the fruit punch soda.
"A guy friend would get it." He shook his head; he still hadn't touched his food or drink. "A guy friend knows that plans sometimes change unexpectedly when your girl enters the picture. Girls take some maintenance. You gotta take 'em out, show 'em a good time, pay 'em some attention. If you don't make those investments, you're never gonna get the payoff." He reached for a taco and peeled the paper back, forming a cuff. "A guy friend would be happy that I was getting some pussy. You saw how Ryan was; even an asshole like Joe can appreciate that when a friend gets some tail, it's something to celebrate." He bit into his taco, chewed, swallowed. I took another sip of my soda. "I just feel like you're acting more like a girl friend, getting all jealous and stuff. A guy friend would know that what I did Saturday or a week ago or a month ago or with any girl has nothing to do with him, that it doesn't change anything. But I can tell, well, just from how we are now I can tell that it's changed everything." He took another bite, still not looking at me.
I felt tears in my eyes, and I didn't want to respond.
I reached for a soft taco, distracting myself.
"Well?" I could hear the frustration in his voice.
"I know I'm not your girl friend," I said. This time, my voice was defensive. Avoiding, I picked at the edge of the taco, freeing a piece of flour tortilla, tasting nothing. I knew Jamie had a point. What he said, I knew intuitively. I had known it in the moment it was happening. I had known it as I observed my own reaction.
Not literally, of course, dude." He looked at me finally. "There's no mistaking you're a guy. But if you're gonna be one of the guys, if you're gonna be one of my guy friends, we've got to figure something out." He finished his taco and wiped his hands on a napkin. "Sometimes I think maybe it was a mistake. I mean, I love getting off with you, and that you get off on making me feel good. And I really like that we can hang out, too, and just be like regular friends. But I've been honest from the beginning that I like girls, and as much as I like getting head pretty much whenever I want it, I'm not giving up girls. So it's either, I date girls and we have this friends with benefits thing, or I date girls and we don't have this friends with benefits thing. But either way, girls are going to be a major part of my life. I just need to know how much you want to be a part of it, too."
I tried to imagine a life without Jamie. Not just without him sexually, but without him altogether, without the feeling of friendship and closeness that I had come to value in the past few months. Jamie had become one of my best friends, whatever I was to him, and his assessment was so stark, I think I finally saw that the choice he was giving me was not a choice at all. I did start to cry then. Silently, and just a few tears. Of course, I would take what he was willing to give. Perhaps more clearly than he had ever done before, he had laid out the terrain he was willing to cross, and those boundaries which he never would. I could never say that I had moved forward in this relationship without knowing exactly what I could expect from him.
"Sorry." It came from somewhere deep within me, and I could barely hear it myself. Not because it wasn't true, but because it was so hard to admit to myself that I needed to be willing to share Jamie or I would lose him altogether. "I'm really sorry." Louder this time. I set down my taco. "I'm sorry I reacted the way I did, and that I've been a shit today. I just didn't realize, I mean I guess I was so focused on myself, I wasn't really paying attention to what was going on with you."
"So this is it, Matt." He was still serious, and I couldn't recall the last time he had called my by my first name. "You're gonna need to be okay when I talk about Mandy or any other girl. I don't want to have to censor myself all the time because you're being sensitive. I mean, I need you to be where I go when I just need to relieve stress, not to be a source of it."
"I know. I'm sorry." I didn't know how else to say it or what else to say, but tension began to dissipate between us.
"I got head from her first last week, you know," he looked over to me, to gauge my reaction. I wondered if this was a test. It hurt less to hear him say it this time, and I wasn't sure if it was because he was telling me directly himself or if it was our preceding conversation, or just my inevitable habituation to hearing him talk about sex with others, "just a couple of days before the meet. She had rubbed one out for me a couple of times before that, but last week was third base." His smile was so broad it looked to be stretching his face.
"It was awesome?" I didn't want to ask; I didn't want to know. But I needed to ask for his sake.
"Of course, dude." Jamie punched me in the shoulder. "I mean, she was right there, doing me. It was a trip." I think I could see him reliving it in his mind. He leaned in to me just a bit, and I followed suit. "Truth be told, Lake, you're better with the technical details; there's a lot you could teach Mandy about going down. But to see myself in her like that, fucking her mouth." Inhale. Exhale. "It was beyond incredible." Jamie picked up the second of his tacos and tore into it. I finally comprehended the back-handed compliment that he had given me in his telling. I give better head than Mandy. I busted out in a full grin, my spirit renewed a bit.
"Sweet." The word hardly described the lascivious image that was painted for me, and I again found myself unexpectedly aroused at the thought of Jamie with Mandy. But at this point, I didn't find myself fighting jealousy as he shared a few intimate details.
"Even still, it's not like you won't get your fill of me." He turned toward me a bit, opening up his body language. "You know I need more than a blowjob once a week. I mean, how many times did I unload in you this weekend?"
"Three." It's not that I kept a running mental tally of Jamie's orgasms, but I could remember each time vividly, and I had relived the weekend already several times in my mind.
He busted out laughing at my response. "You're right, I suppose," he confirmed. "And that was in just 36 hours." His eyes were smiling, and things were beginning to feel right between us again. "I think I've got enough mojo . . .," he cupped his package to emphasize the word, ". . . to keep up with demand." He was smiling at me now, flirting. He reached towards me, his fingers tracing my arm, and then he gave my left nipple a pinch and a twist. It caught me totally off-guard, and as I jerked back and slapped at his hand, we found ourselves laughing together and just enjoying the moment.
"Plus, Lake, you know what I haven't been able to get out of my mind?" He smiled coyly. I hoped that he was referring to the same thing I couldn't get out of mine--the moment in the hotel when time slowed, and my mouth found Jamie's sweet, tender hole. The way that I held onto him, sucking and licking and tasting the very center of him. That thought alone made my dick drool.
"I think I do." I was coy in return.
"I never expected that, Lake. At first I was freaked, I mean, I had never even considered that could happen.
But when it did, holy shit, it was beyond awesome. It preceded maybe the most intense cum of my life. And the last few days, it's what I think about all the time."
"Um, it worked for me, too," I was intentionally understating, but my delivery conveyed the truth of my excitement. Seeing Jamie's enthusiasm mirror mine was an incredible turn-on. I could feel myself leaking more in my briefs. "I mean, just being with you in that way made me shoot."
"A lot," he emphasized, "as I recall," and we both broke up laughing.
We both sat for a moment, taking it all in. A lot had happened between us in the past thirty minutes, and that came at the end of a very stressful three days. My world was changing faster than I could comprehend, and it felt good to take a moment and just be near Jamie, to know that he would continue to be an anchor for me, even in the midst of that change, even as he was a part of it.
I felt his hand against my side above the hip and it slid a few inches up my body and towards my back. It was a gentle touch, kind and affirming, and it snapped me back to reality. I looked over at him, looking at me, and we both smiled.
"Well, maybe, if you're ready to head out, we could both stop just thinking about it, and give it another go. Make sure it wasn't just the surprise of it, and that we both liked it as much as we thought we did." My eyes flashed down his body, and I could see that he was aroused, though maybe not as much as I was.
"Yeah. That sounds like a great idea. Let's go." I gathered up the remains of our food and slid out of my seat. Tossing our waste and dropping off the tray, I followed Jamie out the door, my eyes glued to the clingy jeans that molded themselves to his tight ass, an inch of boxers rising above the band. I couldn't wait to peel down those jeans and bury myself once again in that ass.
Jamie was steel hard in the front seat of his truck; he pulled my hand over to feel the hard ridge snaking across his right thigh as soon as my door was closed. Feeling his hard-on gave me one of my own, and I continued to run my fingers back and forth on his shaft as he pulled out into traffic. He moaned and looked over at me, smirking.
"Dude, I'm so fucking horned up." He winked at me, his voice soft. I assumed we were headed to his house by the general direction he seemed to be driving.
"How much farther is it?" I didn't know why, but I was almost breathing in pants as we came to a red light.
"Too fucking far, Lake." His hands left the steering wheel and came to rest on his waistband for a moment before he popped the closure and pulled the two front panels apart, my hand slipping to the seat beside him.
I could see printed cotton boxers, his thumb hooked into the wide waistband. And then, he was lifting a bit off the seat as he tugged them down, revealing bush and root, and finally working his hard shaft free. "I can't wait, dude. Get your mouth over here."
"God damn you're hot, Jamie," I said as I released my seatbelt and leaned over the seat towards him.
My left hand settled against his abs, thumb and forefinger curling through his thick pubes and around the base of his shaft. My right fingers snaked into the band of his boxers, pulling them back just a bit as my mouth covered Jamie's familiar cockhead, my tongue swirling around the spongy flesh before flicking at the slick juice that was already leaking out of the piss slit. Breathing in the scent of Jamie's masculinity, my tongue continued to tease the head, returning often to the source of his seed until I felt his hand on the back of my head, pushing down as his hips bucked up to insure as deep a penetration as possible.
"Holy fuck it feels awesome when you take it deep." I wasn't expecting the intrusion into my throat; the angle was odd, and I hadn't braced myself for it, so my initial physical reaction was to squirm as I gagged around his shaft. He let me up, and I got a breath, before I felt him, again insistently, pushing my head down. His cock, now lubed with whatever it found deep in my throat, found an easier entrance this second time, and I was able to hold myself steady, arching my back a bit uncomfortably. His hand, fingers firmly tracing the back of my head, was somehow comforting, and I held him deeply inside of me long enough to wonder if he could feel the hot tears flooding my eyes and dampening his pubes where they fell.
Jamie's hand left the back of my head, and I felt my body pull away from his a bit as the truck cornered until just three or four inches remained inside my mouth. I slipped my right hand forward to begin jacking the other half, already slick with my spit, and it followed my head up and down as I formed a vacuum and initiated a series of quick strokes.
I heard and felt Jamie's moan, and I pulled up to work intensely on his cockhead again for a moment, lavishing attention on the glans with my tongue and working the piss slit like an addict in search of a fix. I was so intent on sucking and licking that I didn't notice that the truck had stopped, been placed in park, and turned off until I felt his hand again on the back of my head. I immediately steadied myself to take him deep, and was surprised to feel him ruffle my hair.
"Hey, dude, we're home." My comprehension dawned slowly, and I sealed my lips around his dick as I pulled up and off, sitting up next to him. The back of my hand swiped at my mouth as I swallowed the mix of saliva and pre that immediately pooled together around my tongue. "While I'm tempted to just let you, um, finish me here," Jamie smiled at me as he reached down, shifting his hips as he maneuvered his tool back into boxers and pants, "and I'm pretty fucking close," his voice was lower and it seemed an aside and more of a simple personal observation made out loud as he zipped and fastened them, "I think I'd rather go inside and let you take a crack at my," he smiled sheepishly, "well . . . crack."
I exaggeratedly rolled my eyes, shook my head, smiled, and opened the passenger door, climbing out with a groan.
"What? What did I say?" Jamie asked with cloying innocence.
"That was such a bad pun, I don't even think I want to anymore." I laughed and stepped quickly towards the door as I heard the driver side door slam and his steps speed up in my direction.
"Maybe you won't have a choice once I get my hands on you." He was laughing now, and so was I as we tore through the house towards his rooms. He almost caught me before we hit the stairs, and my decision to take them two at a time gave me a slight edge as I kept, but did not increase my lead. I wasn't sure if Jamie was throwing the race, and I didn't care as I threw open the door to Jamie's room just as he overtook me, grabbing me in a bear hug and pulling both of us down onto the sofa there. I could hardly catch my breath between the physical exertion of the race and the laughter that was rocking my body, and I could tell that Jamie was in a similar state. Our limbs remained entangled together as we slowly regained ourselves.
"I won't let you up until you say you're gonna do it," there was still laughter in his voice, and it was clear he was still playing with me. I began to struggle against him, pulling at his arm and twisting in his grip. We wrestled like that for a few minutes before my hand, looking for leverage, slipped down his abs and settled on his still erect dick.
"You haven't calmed down, any, have you?" I teased.
"That's why I need it, dude." He was theatrical, exaggerated. "If you leave me like this, I could, well, I could die." Suddenly, he stiffened, then fell back, releasing me, his body entirely limp except for the throbbing mound in my hand.
"I can still feel your pulse, you goof," I said, giving his dick a good squeeze and rolling off him onto the floor. That made him giggle, and he gave up his act, his eyes opening. I reached across the floor and pushed the door closed. I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, and we looked at one another for a minute across the room, resting pleasantly.
After a moment, Jamie twisted around, his knees on the edge of the couch, his hands on the back, leaving him in a bit of a squat. Balancing upright, he reached down with both hands to pull off his polo in one fluid motion. Slowly, he tossed his head to look at me over his right shoulder, making a serious sexy come-hither model face that made one corner of my mind wonder if he wasn't getting private lessons from Tyra. Putting weight again on the couch back with his left hand, I saw the waistband of his worn jeans loosen as his right hand popped the clasp. Tossing his head and intensifying his gaze, his hand slowly tracked around his torso to his back where it slowly trailed downwards across his oblique to his hip, pulling the material of the low-rise down a bit, as well. I felt myself leaning forward, rolling up onto my knees as I watched this sexy-as-hell teen god display the altar of his body.
"Resistance is futile, bitch. I know you can't say no to this." His voice was sultry, and he punctuated the statement with a wink. His hand pulled the bands of jeans and boxers down revealing just the source of his deepening crevice before his hips began to gyrate side to side, his hand tracking back to the front along with his gaze. I could barely see fingertips curling around the inside of his leg, and I expected he was cupping his turgid shaft through the denim as his hips began to roll forward and back, into a slow hump, accentuating the curve of his full mounds with each backstroke.
I began to crawl across the floor towards Jamie on hands and knees, enjoying the show. In my mind, I heard Jennifer Gray and Patrick Swayze, "How do you call your loverboy?" "Come here loverboy!" There was no need to ask, "and if he doesn't come." Just the feeling of my own jeans against my cock as I crawled made me realize I was already hard as a rock and nearly ready to myself.
Jamie's intimate moves were even hotter up close than they were from across the room. His half-squat positioned his ass perfectly at face level once I was on my knees behind him. My hands came to rest gently on his bare skin, just above the commingled bands of jeans and boxers, as my body matched his body and motion. He slowed, and I could hear him draw breath as my lips kissed the exposed origin of his cheeks, my hands tugging at his trousers, pulling them down slowly.
My lips and tongue traced the path revealed by the surrendering garments, and as I smelled and tasted and kissed my way south, I could recall having seen Jamie's ass from many vantages. At a distance, his ass was powerful and strong, smooth, clean lines and curves forming a glorious valley. In greater proximity, the crevice yields a curl of brown hair occasionally escaping the depth with ever-greater frequency as the line wends towards the apex of the legs. In more intimate moments, kneeling between his spread legs and working over his magnificent cock or balls, I had seen the hole, the most private part of him, peek out shyly, but only for moments. And just a once or twice, consumed by lust as his hips had pounded my mouth like a twat, his ass had spread obscenely just within my sightlines. In all of these remembrances, the object of my attention had been something other than that which consumed my field of vision and my desire in this moment. In this moment, I wanted nothing more than to commune again with this singularly beautiful part of Jamie, to become fully aware of it in the same way as I had with every other part of his body. Jamie made it easier for me as he leaned forward, pushing this precious part of him towards me, the motion opening him slightly like a tulip at dawn.
As my tongue crossed over the ridges of his hole, tightly closed, I felt and heard him take breath, and I circled, digging in for a moment, my hands slipping up to draw his cheeks farther apart, allowing me more access and greater depth. I rested there, sucking and licking at him, tasting soap and sweat, working from cheek to cheek, pausing to circle and zero-in on the hole itself, before moving away, teasing and tasting a new path.
I finally, intentionally, drew myself back, to get a first fresh look at this part of Jamie that he was sharing with me in a way that he had never with another person. It occurred to me that it was in a way that he might never again. Certainly not with Mandy, and that made me smile. The expanse before me was just as I expected from my earlier experiences and so much more perfect than I ever could. A few details had escaped my earlier distracted gaze, such as the darker pigment of the skin in the deepest recesses of his valley and the way that the short, curly hairs, now pasted to his flesh with my saliva, were dark and thick around his hole, and seemed to thin and lighten as they worked their way up and out.
"Oh my god, Lake. Don't stop." Jamie was leaning his chest on the back of the couch now, and I could see his arm moving in the familiar motions of cock-stroking. His words were delivered in a pant, and I dove right back into his sweet spot, licking and sucking some more as I tried to give him what he wanted--which was, in this instance, the very same thing I wanted. As I attacked his muscle with my rigid tongue, I thought I could hear him whimpering, and I redoubled my efforts, scraping my teeth across his left cheek in a faux bite and then sucking at his right cheek like a Dyson. And then, as I zeroed in once again on his hole, I felt my whole body quake as an unexpected orgasm shook me. I grabbed onto Jamie's hips, never denying my tongue its pleasure as I pumped volley after volley of my semen into my briefs.
Just as quickly, Jamie turned to face me, his right hand coming to rest in my hair, holding my head steady, his other hand stroking quickly. Seconds later, I felt the first shot of his load splash hot against my cheek, it's thick consistency running slowly down my face. I opened wide, and caught the next two shots in my mouth, one on the center of my tongue, and then Jamie was wiping the last few dribbles onto my chin and across my lips.
Spent, he released my head and flopped back onto the couch, his red cock slowly deflating. I reached up to my face, using a finger to collect the semen that had missed my mouth before it dripped onto my school clothes. Jamie watched as I shoveled sticky finger after sticky finger into my mouth, willingly taking his jizz--all of it--into myself.
He smiled as I swallowed. "I love that you're so fucking twisted, dude." He pulled one knee up to his chest, and his dick and balls shifted. "That was better than I expected, Lake, better than I remembered." I could tell he was enthusiastic, even though he channeled exhaustion. "Could you go warm up the shower for me? I don't think I can get up yet." His flirty smile was something I realized I couldn't deny. I climbed up off the floor and headed to the bathroom to do his bidding.
If you'd like another installment, please let me know at matthew_lake@yahoo.com or AOL IM me at matthewlake309. If you're looking for romance, drop me a line. I'm in the market :). Thanks again for reading!