Hello there. Thanks for tuning in again... I hope that readers continue to enjoy these characters and the direction of the story. I'll apologize upfront that there is less sex in this chapter, but what's happening here is critical character development and important as the story continues. I hope there's at least enough sex to get you off once or twice. :) If you have comments or suggestions, 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 the main characters that I have used in imagining them. If you email, I'll send you back pictures of Lake and Jamie. There it is . . . I hope you enjoy!
Previously, in Intolerable Cruelty...
"I'm not sure," I said honestly. "I mean, I think I am," I said vaguely. "A fag, I mean," still an incomplete statement. "I . . . I'm a faggot, Anthony," I said finally, decisively.
"I know you are," Anthony said. "I've been telling you that since the first time we met." He spoke the truth, and I suddenly realized that Anthony's use of the word had not been intended as insulting so much as appropriately descriptive. Anthony called me a fag because that's what I was. It was an essence of my being. I took a deep breath and said it aloud again.
"I'm a fag." I looked at Anthony, who seemed to be waiting patiently for me to connect all the dots.
"Enough conversation, little one." Anthony pumped his cock in his fist. "I need to blow a load. Now do your duty and suck some cock." He pushed my head back down, and I began to orally worship the thick column of meat between his legs. Anthony reached to the coffee table, picked up a remote and increased the volume of the porno. My own slurping and gagging was punctuated by the same sounds coming from the television, and Anthony's orgasm coincided almost exactly with that of some porn whore on the tube. As his shaft plumped inside me, cum racing up his cock, I collected his load in my mouth like the fag he had made me, savoring the flavor of him, and thankful for his gift.
Before too many moments had passed, Anthony had me padding naked across the floor to get him a beer. By the time I got back to the couch with it, he had tucked his amazing uncut prick and hefty, hairy nuts back into his boxers. Even soft, Anthony's equipment made a significant bulge in the thin cotton boxers, and I could feel the longing within me to see him, to expose him, to consume him. He pointed to the opposite side of the couch, where Kenny had been sitting, and I took a seat. The porn remained on, and I wondered whether the TV received any actual channels or if it was all porn all the time.
"So I hear you got a track thing this weekend," Anthony said, glancing in my direction. "That right?" He took a swig from his beer, then rested the bottle and his hand on the cushion between us.
"Uh huh," I responded. "Jamie and I both do. We're leaving Friday afternoon, staying overnight and we get back in the evening Saturday." I was excited just thinking about the trip, and my enthusiasm caused me to start babbling a bit. "It's going to be awesome. Jamie's got a really good chance to win his events, and I think the team could pull in a first or second place finish. Coach Rutland told me. . ."
Anthony listened for a moment before interrupting, "Yea yea yea. I get it." He smiled, just a bit, shaking his head. His free hand traced across his stomach, roaming slowly towards his chest. "You planning to blow Jamie?" I paused. I wasn't entirely sure how to respond. Of course I was going to blow Jamie, but I didn't know how to tell Anthony or how he would react. Fear filled me, and my breath caught for a moment in my throat.
"Look, little one," he said when I failed to respond. "I'm not your jealous boyfriend, and I'm not gonna get mad. I know there's no way a fag like you can survive on just this cock once every week or so," his hand cupped his bulge and when he removed it, I could see the outline of his shaft, now laying across his right thigh. "So, I'll tell you this. You can suck Jamie's dick, or any dick you want for that matter." He paused and established eye contact. "But I own your ass. Nothing gets between those sweet, smooth cheeks without my permission." He seemed incredibly serious suddenly, and when he asked me if I understood, I responded affirmatively without hesitation.
In that same moment, my hole, now Anthony's hole, reminded me of my recent anal orgasm with a tremor, a twitch, a subtle echo of the banging I had received, and I felt a longing to be filled again by him. Anthony tapped my knee with his empty bottle, and I knew it to be a cue that I should get him another beer. I carried the empty into the kitchen, and as I grabbed a replacement and started back, Anthony began talking again.
"Did you save out a pair of my drawers from the laundry?" he asked.
"Just like you told me," I responded, motioning towards the laundry basket in the closet.
"Bring 'em here," he instructed.
Beer in one hand, underwear in the other, I returned to the couch and took my place again. Anthony took the beer from me, and took a long draw. "You want some?" he asked, offering me the bottle. I considered it before shaking my head no. He shrugged and took another drink.
"So, why did you pick that pair?" he questioned.
"They were the nastiest, Anthony." I spoke the obvious. "That's what you said to do." I wasn't sure what Anthony was getting at.
"But how did you know that this pair was the nastiest?" he pressed me.
Suddenly I got it, and I was embarrassed to tell him. I could feel the blood flow into my face as I blushed, and realized that I was unintentionally giving myself away. I cleared my throat to buy time before I responded.
"I . . . um . . . well, first I looked at them," my voice was quiet, but I knew I spoke the words out loud because I could hear them like they were being spoken by another. "And then I had to smell them to make up my mind." I looked at Anthony, holding his rank briefs in my hand, and admitted to him that I had inhaled the odor of this pair and, by extension, all of his pairs of used underwear. My gaze dropped to the stained fabric in my hands.
Anthony smiled and his voice registered surprise. "You smelled them?" I looked up, and knew that he was looking at me while I was examining his most private of garments. I shook my head yes. "And what did they smell like?" I stuttered, a bit; my words were as jumbled as my thoughts. Anthony waited long moments for me to produce a sentence before jumping in. "If you need a refresher, then go ahead," he motioned to my hands, "smell them again."
I slowly raised them to my face, inhaling gently as I held them a few inches away. Anthony's combination of scents consumed me. I could smell his sweat first, and then, more subtlely, his semen. Leaning in, I buried my nose in them and took a deep breath, pulling him into my lungs. I lost myself in my lust as my lips parted and my tongue made contact with the fabric, working to tease out a stronger sensory input. I was rewarded with the scent of urine and something deeper, darker, muskier--the indescribable essence of his manhood.
"That good, huh?" I heard Anthony and my arms jerked the briefs away from my face as I remembered where I was and the audience of one before me. Anthony pointed to my mid-section, and I looked down to find my dick standing at attention, as hard as it had ever been. I wondered what Anthony must be thinking to see me get off on just sniffing his used underwear. I felt myself blushing again. "It's okay, little one, but it looks like you're ready to go again." I smiled and he continued, "I mean, I know I can usually drop a load a couple times a day when I have a convenient hole. How often do you jack off, chilito?"
"Every chance I get," I responded without a pause. I laughed and Anthony chuckled. "Sometimes three or four times a day. Always at least twice," I clarified. I wanted to smell the briefs again, but I intentionally held my hands steady.
"Do you want to jack off now?" he asked.
I nodded. "Yes. I mean, the smell of you, it, well it turns me on."
Anthony thought for a moment. "Lay down on your back on the floor," he pointed to a spot in front of the couch, and we both stood up as I followed his order. I wasn't sure what was going to happen, but I was extremely hard and horny and up for anything in the moment.
Anthony slipped the boxers down his hips, and for the first time that day, I finally got to see him fully naked. I felt my cock jerk and a dribble of pre-cum pooled just above my pubes. Anthony straddled my chest, standing. The view above me was powerful, his strong chest above his thick meat and hairy balls; the trail of hair wending its way between his legs and fanning out across rounded cheeks, thickest where they met to form his tight crack. As if in slow motion, he made his way to his knees above me. He wasn't hard yet, but I knew I could remedy that in moments given the chance, and I wanted the chance more than anything.
Anthony slowly slid forward, knee walking. As his uncut cocktip dragged across my lips, my tongue reached out, seeking his shaft. Anthony laughed, "I don't think I'm up for more head, little one. Remember, I fucked Kenny before you blew me." His balls scraped across my chin and the hairy bag finally settled on my nose his cock flopping against my forehead. Around his massive equipment, I could see his brown eyes looking down at my face.
"But I'm always up for a little ass-sucking. So gimme some tongue while you jack off, you little bitch." He ruffled my hair playfully, as he settled his hole above my head, and I stuck my tongue out, feeling tentatively at his hairy crack. His hand in my hair betrayed his urgency as he pulled my head up to meet his sweet spot, and I licked up and down with an increasing pace as I took my own cock in hand. Within seconds, the smell and taste of Anthony consumed me. My tongue burrowed into his most private place as I began to jack faster, my hips thrusting up to meet my pounding fist. A few minutes later, I was cumming hard, and I moaned my orgasm into Anthony's ass as I covered my chest and my stomach with jizz.
As I came down from my second orgasm of the afternoon, Anthony pulled back a bit, his ass coming to rest above my pecs. I could feel his balls on my chin, and the head of his soft penis on my lips. "Time to give it a kiss before I put it away for the night, little one."
I reached my hand around Anthony, my arm circling his thigh as I felt for the source of my desire. There was a reluctance to my movement as I realized that this kiss foreshadowed the end of my time with Anthony tonight. Rolling back his foreskin, I used my lips and tongue to give Anthony's head a long, sloppy kiss goodnight. A hope rose within me that he might also rise to the occasion if my kiss was good enough, but as quickly as the thought crossed my mind, Anthony broke away from me, standing up and then reclining back on the couch in all his glory.
"Put on your clothes, chilito. You're going home." It took me a moment to recover enough to get my ass off the floor and head to the pile of my folded clothes. My cum was still sticky as I pulled on my shirt, following with my underwear, my pants and shoes. Anthony watched patiently as I got dressed, then he called me back over to him.
"Here's the deal, Lake. I know you're not strong enough to keep from jacking off when we're not together. So I'm going to give you options." I stood in front of him, my shirt clinging awkwardly to my skin where it came into contact with my spooge. "You can shoot your little fag load, but only when you're eating a real man's ass or when you're breathing through my drawers." He reached to toss me the pair of his underwear I had left on the couch, and uncharacteristic of my inner fag, I caught them in the air, barely resisting the urge to immediately lift them to my nose.
"Look me in the eye and tell me you understand, little one." I caught Anthony's eyes, and he held my gaze.
"Yes, Anthony. I understand."
"Good." He looked away, and my eyes found his tool again, focusing there for long seconds until he continued, "now get the fuck out until next Wednesday."
Dismissed, I tore my gaze from Anthony's incredible physique and made my way to the door.
We were a few hours on the road to the track meet, and the bus was packed with boys and bags. The afternoon's missed practice had left the young men in my presence with an abundance of energy that would, on any other day, have been burned off on the track.
I found myself sitting on an inside seat, Jamie by my side, about four or five rows from the back. Sitting on the aisle allowed him to be more social, and allowed me to be more or less so as I desired. In the company of his peers, Jamie fell into the familiar role of class clown. As an underclassman, he didn't set the tone of the group, and he wasn't the alpha dog in this pack of guys. But his athletic prowess on the team and in his other sports earned him respect and appreciation and there was no doubt in my mind that he was the hottest, most masculine guy in my presence. It also didn't hurt that he was god-damned funny besides. And he wasn't the only one; I was able to make a few well-timed and appreciated comments myself.
Of course, teenage guys being teenage guys, there were only so many movies and video games and athletic events to discuss before the conversation inevitably turned to sex. After exhausting conversation about who would do Lindsay Lohan or Jessica Simpson, Mark gave a pretty convincing account of getting head from his girlfriend in the confessional at St. Theresa's during morning mass. I got caught up for a moment by his beautiful smile, incredible grey eyes sparkling just under a mop of dark, almost black, and perfectly gelled hair. It had been a long time since I had really looked at him and remembered just how strikingly handsome he was. His Gap button down clung to his tight chest in all the right places, and I considered how strange my circumstance that in just a few months I had gone from being consumed by fantasies of him, to barely giving him a second glance. It wasn't until he made eye contact with me the second time that I realized I was staring, and my gaze shifted away from his. I hoped that I didn't blush, or that in the fading light, he wouldn't be able to tell if I did.
A few other guys shared their sexual adventures to hoots and hollers as others egged them on. Finally, a tall, lanky hurtler named Joe shared in detail his most recent conquest of a girl in my class, followed later that night by her older sister who was home for the weekend from college. Running his hand occasionally through his longish blond hair to keep it out of his eyes, he held everyone's attention except for some of the freshman in the front of the bus who couldn't have heard him anyway as he told about getting head from the younger sister and pussy from the older.
The experience clearly advanced his status among his teammates, and using his leverage, he began to push other guys to surpass his achievement with their own stories, a highly unlikely prospect in this group of high school guys. After mercilessly picking on Kevin and James, both who were unable or unwilling to relate an escapade of significance, Joe's attention turned to Jamie.
"What about you, dude," he said, finger drilling into Jamie's shoulder. "Aren't you dating that sweet piece of ass Mandy Jenkins?"
Jamie knocked his hand away and I could feel him bristle next to me as other guys laughed or commented lewdly on Mandy's appearance. Jamie just ignored him, but Joe wouldn't back down. "What's the matter, J? Is she just a tease? The kind to get you all worked up and then send you packing with a case of blue balls?"
"Shut up, dude," Jamie was firm and a touch aggressive. "It's none of your business. You need to leave it alone!" Of course, his response just opened the door for more harassment from Joe who was enjoying growing support from some of his admirers.
"Settle down, fella," Joe laughed, turning to Austin and Al, two of his compatriots. "I didn't mean to question the purity of your intended." Then he said under his breath, but loud enough for everyone to hear, "even if she was the school bicycle until she started going out with you."
"You need to fucking drop it. . ." Jamie said, his anger building, but before he could continue, Mark chimed in with his own smart ass comment.
"Maybe he can't decide which pussy he likes better, the one he's dating or the one sitting next to him." When Mark said it, the blood drained from my face. I felt ashamed and embarrassed and helpless at the same time. I felt like his comment was retaliatory for catching me staring a few minutes earlier and I regretted even looking in his direction. Anger rose in my throat, but it wasn't directed at Mark, it was directed internally. I was angry because I was suddenly a liability for Jamie. His kindness, his generosity towards me had been thrown back in his face, and it was all because I was just a transparent fag in the company of these real men.
Jamie, on the other hand, didn't internalize anything, and his voice started to rise, "I said shut the fuck up you asshole." This time he was talking to Mark, and he started to get up out of his seat. My instinct was to grab onto him, both to pull him back and to hold him close, but I was frozen in place.
"Why are you getting upset, Jamie?" Joe continued to escalate things, inviting an altercation. "Did that hit a little to close to home?"
"I think you mean homo," Mark chimed in, getting laughs.
At that comment, Jamie was out of his seat, quickly covering the distance between Mark and himself. In seconds, he was holding Mark's shirt in his two fists, their faces inches apart as he yelled, "I said don't go there, shithead, unless you want a piece of this. . ."
Before he could continue or Mark could respond, Rutland was pushing them apart, breaking Jamie's hold on Mark. "What the hell is going on here, gentleman?"
"Nothing," spat Jamie. Mark just shook his head and sat down.
"Jamie, Mark," Rutland gave each of them a harsh look in turn, "this is not what it means to be teammates, and I won't put up with it." He turned to take in the entire gathering of athletes. "You all need to listen because I'm only going to say this once." He paused for effect. "As long as you are on this team, as long as you represent your school, you will conduct yourself with the highest standards. You will show respect to yourselves, to one another, and to me." He looked pointedly at Joe before continuing. "I will not tolerate your petty testosterone-driven trash talk," shifting his gaze to Mark, "or your insecure macho homophobic bullshit." And most of all, he said, his gaze resting on Jamie, "I will not allow you to let your short-fused temper override your basic common sense." He waited, his eyes shifting to assure that everyone was taking in his lecture.
"Boys are not welcome on my field. You are men, and you will either act like men or you will find something else to do with your time. Because this is the only time I will give second chances. Got it?" Some guys responded more eagerly to affirm Coach Rutland than others, but ultimately everyone agreed to his conditions. "I'm glad. Now you guys exchange apologies, and every one of you get ready to kick some ass as a team this weekend. Alright?" More spirited agreement followed this statement, as Joe, Jamie and Mark exchanged reluctant apologies, their fists meeting in mid-air as they made peace, at least for the moment. I knew from my experiences with Jamie that regardless of what he was made to do by Coach Rutland in the moment, he would neither forgive nor forget the comments that had been made.
I spent the rest of the bus ride in quiet contemplation, still kicking myself mentally for provoking Mark and embarrassing Jamie. Other guys talked quietly in twos or threes, but the social atmosphere that had prevailed in the first hours of the trip never returned for the final thirty minutes. I was incredibly relieved as the bus pulled up at the hotel and we started to climb off, until I began to wonder if Jamie would want to change roommate assignments to protect his masculinity now that our association had been called into question in such a public way.
Despite my nerves, hotel check-in was mostly uneventful. Guys pulled gear off the bus, and by the time we were paired up in the lobby, Rutland was stepping away from the desk with 14 sets of key cards in hand. My fears about Jamie having a change of mind with regards to our rooming situation were short lived. He never hesitated as he took the key and pulled me along with him to our room. Rutland gave us just enough time to drop off our belongings before we had to be back in the lobby for dinner, and before I knew it, our whole team was gathered around one large table at Shoney's, and a number of the guys were thrilled to be enjoying the all-you-care-to-eat experience.
Jamie sat across from me, and almost as far away from Mark and Joe as he could. Rutland was near the center of the long table, and dropped in and out of various conversations as he built rapport with his team. Most of the dinner conversation revolved around tomorrow's meet and the fun that guys were going to have in the hotel that night.
Joe got a laugh and scored points with his peers when he asked Rutland if he could watch the pay-per-view porn in his room. Rutland played it off, telling him that the channels were already blocked in his room for obvious reasons. Jamie trumped them both by suggesting that if all else failed, there was always Showtime late night. There was a friendly camaraderie among the team members with the exception of the occasional glare exchanged between Jamie and Joe or Mark or a few of the guys who had vocally supported them on the bus. Feeling my moment of humiliation had passed, I just wished that Jamie would let it go and forget the comments that had been made on the bus. My hope was that if he could forget, perhaps I could, as well.
By the time some of the team members were getting up for a third or fourth go at the buffet, I was done and required a trip to the boy's room. Excusing myself, I made my way to the cash register and discovered the alcove in which the restrooms were tucked away from view. I pushed open the door to find a small, rather spartan space. A large stall took up most of the room on the wall with the door, and on the facing wall, a pedestal sink was placed next to a urinal. The white porcelain on white tile might have been blinding except for the grime that seemed to have built up over years of use that exceeded the efforts to clean up after it.
Finding myself alone in the facility, I still took my piss in the stall just for the privacy aspect, since there was no modesty panel shielding the urinal. Tucking myself back into my pants, I stepped to the sink, listening for the automatic flush to kick in and hearing the stall door swing and bang, swing and bang until it found equilibrium.
As I waited for the water to warm slightly so that I could begin soaping my hands, the door behind me swung open, and Mark pranced, more than he walked, through, the door swinging shut behind him. Our eyes met in the mirror, and then mine dropped to the soap dispenser as my hands found water and soap and began to work up a lather.
Mark took a position next to me. His jeans were already low on his hips, and he just pulled his boxers down with them to flip his soft dick over the top. I could hear by the force of spray that he started peeing immediately, and I tried to focus my attention on my hands and the soap and the sink and the running water. It's not like I hadn't seen his prick before the way he showed it off every damn day in the lockerroom. Truth be told, I was as infatuated by the way the small of his tan back transitioned into the firm white mounds of his buttocks as I was with the wriggle of flesh that arced proudly out of his thick, dark pubes. Thinking about what I was trying not to see made me own dick plump inside my pants.
"No hard feelings, man," he said, startling me from my internal thought process. Without thinking, I looked to the man that was addressing me, and my eyes tracked from his piss stream over the terrain of his tight body and his chiseled features to his eyes, which were focused on mine. His smile was intoxicating, and I imagined leaning in to press my lips against his, to feel the warmth of his breath on me as I drew close. "Are we cool?" I snapped back to reality again, shaking my head more to gather my wits than indicate agreement. But Mark interpreted my response as he liked and chuckled.
"Sweet, dude. I don't like bad blood," he continued. At this point, his stream had slowed and he began to milk the last few squirts and then to shake the final drops from his three or four inches of cut meat. "So tell me, Lake. Would you blow me?" He was more stroking it than shaking it at this point, and I could see he was half hard. Paranoia rushed in, fueled by my humiliation on the bus. I had no intention of giving him more ammunition for the next time by admitting my desire to suck him dry. And as my competing emotions hollowed me out inside, anger rushed in to fill the void.
"Fuck you, asswipe. If you want head, why don't you go find Joe." I slammed the faucets into the off position and reached for the paper towel dispenser, a scowl covering my features. I wanted to get done and get out as quickly as I could.
"Shit, Lake," he exclaimed, "what is your fucking damage?" He flipped his boxers up and repositioned his jeans, letting his button down fall back into place. I didn't have the sense to think about the fact that he could kick my ass in a second, as testosterone continued to flood through me.
"My damage?" I enunciated slowly, placing significant accent on the first syllable of 'damage'--I was dramatic like only a teenage queer boy can be. "My damage is that you were a total piece of shit to me on the bus today in front of everyone." I fed the fuel of my anger knowing that if it were to dissipate, pain and tears would replace it. I couldn't bear for an asshole like Mark to see that weakness and so I kept talking. "My damage is that I have to deal with your homophobic bullshit and that of every other ignorant jerkoff in our high school every fucking day and it just gets tired, Mark." I felt like I couldn't stop talking even though my brain was screaming for me to shut up and exit stage left. "So yea. I'm gay, okay. Is that what you wanted to hear? I'm a fag. You figured it out, Nancy Drew. But that doesn't mean Jamie is. He's the straightest dude on the team, but he's also my friend and he treats me like a human being. And that makes him more of a man than you'll ever be."
In that moment, I lost it, and as tears started to flood my eyes, I turned on my heel and stormed out of the bathroom. I couldn't go back to the table, so I turned the opposite direction and ran outside, falling into a slump against the side of the building. Sobs started somewhere deep inside me and racked my body as they raced to the surface. It seemed like I was squatting there for hours, but it was probably more like minutes. And then the well of my anger and sadness seemed to run dry, and I regained control of myself.
Wiping the tears from my eyes with my sleeve, I looked up and took stock of my surroundings. The parking lot in front of me seemed deserted. As I looked back towards the entrance, I saw the one thing I wanted to avoid. Mark stood just outside it, a lit cigarette in hand, so clearly looking away from me that I had no doubt he was being intentionally, and quite possibly respectfully, avoidant.
He raised the cigarette to his lips taking a breath, releasing a plume of smoke. He looked in my direction and smiled. It was a genuine smile, reassuring almost, and it confused me. He held the cigarette out to me. "You want a drag?" He stepped closer to me slowly. I didn't know what to say, and I didn't want to rant again, so I just stayed silent. He filled the void. "I know. Ironic for an athlete to be smoking." He was conversational, neutral, just a guy talking to another guy like he hadn't heard me go off on him or seen me crying seconds before. "But fuck it. Since I steal 'em from my dad, I only have one every few days so I figure it's not gonna kill me, ya know." He took another puff, holding it out to me once more.
"No, thanks," I said gently and steadily, shaking my head. He dropped it at his feet and pressed it out with his shoe.
"I don't fucking care if you're gay, Lake." He said it quietly. "I was giving you shit on the bus because I give everyone shit. I mess with Kirk because he's got a fat head, and Joe about his fucked up teeth, and Will because he can't get twat for the life of him, and I guess you because you're gay. But you're also my teammate, and that means something to me." He was thoughtful and careful with his words. "I guess I just wanted to treat you like one of the guys." He smiled at me, and I smiled back tentatively, understanding him maybe for the first time. "I also like you--I think you're pretty cool. And funny," he paused and I felt myself leaning towards him in anticipation of what would follow, "for a fag." He busted out laughing and finally so did I. This time, instead of anger or tears, my emotions came pouring out of me in almost painful gales of laughter. Mark and I almost busted a gut. We didn't hardly pause to breathe until we heard the team coming out the doors of the restaurant.
"I wondered where you two had wandered off to," said Rutland with little amusement in his voice. Most of the guys had passed us on their way back to the bus when he continued. "You can't just wander off, guys." His tone was paternal, but not angry. "At least without letting me know where you're gonna be. I'm responsible for you this weekend, alright?" We both offered up apologies as he clapped us on the back, taking a position between us and guiding us toward the bus. "No harm, no foul this time," he said, "but you've gotta tell me this. What was so funny back there?"
As I boarded the bus, I ended up sitting in the front with Coach Rutland and Mark, all other seats being taken. I tried to search out Jamie's eyes, but he was deep in conversation with a pole vaulter named Ryan. Ryan was brown haired, well-built, muscular and had a small but distinct scar that marked his chin on the right side. Along with a small patch of hair he allowed to grow just under his bottom lip, it made him more rugged, more masculine, more attractive.
The trip to the hotel felt long as Mark and I bantered with Rutland and tried to avoid his questions about our interaction outside the restaurant. I was incredibly relieved when the bus stopped at the hotel and Rutland stood up, clearing his throat in preparation for making a few announcements.
"Guys, quiet down a minute." He waited for a few lingering conversations to end before he continued. "It's seven forty-five, and the pool closes at ten. So you've got about two hours to swim. Then I want lights out by eleven. We're meeting in the lobby tomorrow at eight in the morning. I don't want anyone to be late. Final thing. You guys need to behave tonight. Be quiet and respectful in the hallways, and try to keep it down in the rooms. If I get a call from the manager, I'm gonna be pissed and you're gonna find yourselves running laps come Monday. Does everyone understand?" He got a few laughs and a few nods, but folks were at least smart enough not to back talk.
With only a couple of hours of pool time available, the guys virtually flooded off the bus to get changed into bathing suits and get into the water. I hung back in the lobby for a minute so that I could touch base with Jamie, but he continued right past me towards the room, horsing around with Ryan and Jared. I wasn't sure what was going on with him, but I was definitely getting the sense that he was avoiding me. I wasn't quite sure what to do, so I found myself sitting alone in the lobby for a moment, taking stock of my situation. I retraced the immediate past in my mind, searching my memory for the first signs that something might have been wrong. Of course, it was boarding the bus. Immediately it struck me that Jamie must be upset because he had found Mark and I acting all buddy-buddy when he left the restaurant with the team. Finally not entirely absorbed with my own experience of the last hours, I recalled the anger and the glares, even over the dinner table, that Jamie had continued to direct towards Mark and Joe. I realized that my shifting allegiance must have seemed strange, bordering on disloyal; I needed to provide some sort of an explanation of my recent behavior to Jamie so that things could get back to normal.
Satisfied with my plan, I shook off my distraction and looked around. A pretty girl with shorter blonde hair and bright white teeth was sitting on the couch adjacent to mine. She wore a stylish summer dress over jeans with heels. Her hoop earrings swayed with every slight move of her head. She wore lip gloss and eye liner to excellent effect. Looking to be in her mid-twenties, she seemed familiar to me, in a way, but I could not quite place her. Our eyes connected for a moment, and she looked at me earnestly. I smiled back awkwardly. I decided it was time to go, and I shifted in my seat, leaning forward just a bit.
"Excuse me." She cleared her throat. "Are you here for a track meet?" She was friendly, and her eyes fluttered. "I'm here to meet someone," she continued, filling the void of my silence, "and I thought he'd be on that bus." She pointed out the window at our bus. "Troy Rutland. He's a coach--maybe your coach? Do you know where he is?"
"Yeah, yeah. He was on the bus," I responded. "I thought he came in with us." I gazed quickly around the small lobby as if we might have both just overlooked him. "I'm Matthew Lake. I'm the manager for the team."
"I'm Rebecca," she extended her hand to me and I leaned forward to shake it firmly, thinking she'd never know I was a fag from my handshake. "Nice to meet you, Matthew Lake." She said my whole name and smiled warmly. When she did, it was as if another light came on in the room. She was so radiant I could barely take my eyes off her. Words would not come, and it felt like I stared for a long time. And then she was standing up quickly, and I turned to see why.
She stepped around the coffee table in front of her and almost ran into Coach Rutland's embrace. They hugged, body to body, and I could see that Rutland's eyes were closed as he leaned in to her neck and inhaled, taking her in. I watched as his lips found hers and they kissed, first gently, and then deeply. I think, sensing my eyes on them, she reluctantly pulled away, but not before he could kiss her twice more on the lips and once on the forehead.
"Oh god, baby. You are a sight for sore fucking eyes," I heard him say quietly, and it was clear that in that moment he only had eyes for her.
"Me too, you, Troy," she whispered. She was still holding him, her hands on his shoulders. It was so clear that they were mutually in love, I was immediately jealous that they had what I did not. "But we have company." She parted from him a bit and gestured towards me. "I was just getting to know your equipment manager, Matthew, when you came in." It was like Rutland saw me for the first time, and he suddenly seemed self-conscious as he immediately let his hands drop to his sides. Hers slowly followed his lead, though she found his hand and held it in hers.
"Lake, this is my fiance, Rebecca." He smiled at her when he said her name. "I think you've seen her picture in my office. She is a psychology doctoral student at the U," he said referring to the research university in town. "Being that we live so far apart, we only see each other every other three weeks or so. So this weekend track meet is a really fantastic coincidence."
"Oh, yes," I said, "I remember now. It's just . . ."
"My hair," she interrupted in mock admonishment. "I look so awful in that picture, Troy." She laughed and shook her head at him, but she wasn't really mad. "Why won't you replace it with something newer?"
"I love you in that picture, Rebecca." He turned towards her, and it was like they were alone again. I wished I could disappear. "That was the first picture that we had taken together."
"Regardless," she stopped him. "I'm sure Matthew doesn't really care about the picture or our long distance relationship, honey. But you are such a polite young man." She said it to me as she smiled again, and it was like the first time. Her smile held power.
"I'm gonna go find my swimsuit and hit the pool." I was more than ready to make my exit and leave them alone. "Again, it was really nice to meet you. See you later, Coach."
"Alright, Lake," responded Rutland, distractedly. Even as I slipped away, I was forgotten.
I passed the pool on the way to my room, and saw that indeed everyone else on the team seemed to have already arrived. The splashing and yells echoing off the tile walls made me step a little faster so that I could join in the fun sooner rather than later.
I was glad that our room was just down the hallway from the pool, and I quickly slid my entrance key into the slot and turned the handle, pushing into the room, letting the door close behind me. The light was on, and Jamie's bag was open on the bed, some of his gear strewn across the bedspread. I could tell he had very quickly changed into his swimsuit because his clothes were flung in a pile against the wall. I could see the band of his boxers in the pile, and before I could even process the knowledge, they were in my hands and I was inhaling his scent through them. They smelled lightly of him right down to the Eternity he wore like a second skin, and I could tell they were put on fresh that morning. I breathed in once more and tossed them back onto the pile of his clothes.
I had barely grabbed my own duffel when there was a knock at the door. Wondering who was there, I threw it on the bed alongside Jamie's and took the few steps to the door, to release the latch and allow entry. When the door swung towards me, I found Mark standing in the frame. His wet hair looked almost black as it jutted out carelessly here and there. Drops of water clung to his smooth chest, and a white towel was wrapped securely around his waist hiding his navel and happy trail of fine dark hairs. I took in all of him before backing away, ushering him in.
"I just came to find out why you weren't at the pool, dude," he said. "We're having a blast."
"I got held up with Rutland in the lobby for a few minutes. I just have to change and I'll be right there." I pulled off my t-shirt, and expected that Mark would leave me to the task, but instead he sat down on the bed.
"Cool. Hurry up and we'll go." I unzipped my bag, digging for my suit. I realized in that instant that in the next few minutes Mark would see me naked, if he cared to pay attention at all. Of course I had seen his beautiful body many times in the lockerroom, and even wondered if he wasn't a bit of an exhibitionist the way that he took his sweet time changing, showering, drying and dressing each day. But being the track team manager, I never had reason to be naked in front of him. It seemed the tables had turned, for the moment, and I suddenly felt a bit of anxiety even though I knew on every level that a straight guy like Mark would likely have no real interest in checking out my body.
Finding my trunks, I set them on the bed, and unbuckled my belt, sliding it out of the loops of my pants. I started curling it around my hand to tuck it in my bag.
"Can I ask you a question, Lake?" Mark's tone suggested that his question was more serious than lighthearted. He didn't wait for me to give him permission before continuing. "You used to watch me all the time." I could feel myself tensing up, wondering where he was going. I stuffed the belt into my bag and ran a hand through my hair, looking up at him. Mark wasn't really looking at me. He was staring at the blank television while he talked. "I mean you were always there at lunch, in the lockerroom, sometimes even watching me in the hallway between classes. Like, seriously, you were always there, almost like a stalker." He smiled, but he didn't laugh. "But not anymore. Like not for a long time." He finally looked over to me before he continued. "I just wondered why."
"Mark, what are you talking about?" I was honest, but guarded. "I mean you're popular, you're a jock, you're hot and you have a girlfriend. Why would you even care if some random homo was into you?" His look was equal parts sincere, innocent and confused, as if he was truly just asking about something that was on his mind.
"I suppose it doesn't really matter, honestly. I mean it just seemed like you were totally infatuated and then all of a sudden you weren't." I could almost see how hard he was thinking, trying to figure out if it was worth continuing. "I just wondered what changed, I guess." He shrugged a bit.
I stalled because I didn't know how to answer his question. I was surprised on some level that he had ever really noticed that I watched him so closely. I had always thought of myself as such a wallflower, always blending into the background. Until Jamie came along. In so many ways, he had taken Mark's place. They had a lot in common--good looks, popularity, athleticism. Maybe more ironically, they were both straight. But Jamie had let me get closer to him than Mark ever would. It was something I could never admit to Mark and the only thing that would provide the answer he requested.
He saved me from having to find an answer by continuing himself. "I mean, I guess the thing is. It really just stopped about the same time you joined the team. So you were into me, but you didn't know me. And then, you finally did know me a little bit, and it totally ended." He stopped, started and stopped again, and a long pause followed. I knew he had more to say, and so I tried to give him space. I dropped my jeans and then my boxers, baring myself physically before him in the same way he seemed to be baring himself emotionally before me. For a moment, we were equally vulnerable, but in entirely different ways. "It's just that some of the things you said in the bathroom, about me being a jerk-off and not treating you like a human being. I mean, was it because I'm that much of an asshole that as soon as you really knew me you couldn't even stand to be around me anymore, even from a distance?"
He glanced in my direction, taking in my body in the way that jocks do. He didn't stare or ogle, just took note of my physicality, and perhaps made a subconscious mental comparison. Our eyes connected, and I thought I could almost see tears. What I had said in the bathroom seemed to have really disturbed him as he connected my present words to my past behavior. I grabbed my trunks and for some reason turned away from him to step into them.
"Mark, no. I mean, yes." My thoughts were moving so quickly in my head I didn't know where to start or how to make sense of them for Mark while only working within the boundaries of information I could share. "Let me start over." Finally dressed, I sat down on the bed across from him. "Okay. You have been a jerk to me at times. And sometimes I've been hurt by things you have said, like today on the bus." He was looking at me with puppy dog eyes, and I wanted so much to make him feel better, I began to speak quickly. "But at the same time, I just didn't know you well enough to maybe understand when you were joking. And so today, we sorted some of that out. And then, well, I've been distracted. I mean, there are other things that have nothing to do with you." I felt I needed to share, to justify, to help Mark understand, and so I tried to give some vague details. "I'm taking some hard classes, and so I have a lot of homework, and I've made some new friends, like Jamie for instance, that take up a lot of my time. And my parents are going through some stuff . . ." I trailed off because the last part was a lie, but I thought it might be a small lie that would allow him space to understand. "I guess, if it makes you feel better, it's not so much you." I shrugged. "I can kind of stalk you again if you want."
He did laugh at that, and seeing him laugh made me laugh. The tension in the room started to evaporate a bit.
"Thanks, Lake." He smiled and stood. "I'll let you know about that." He clapped me on the shoulder, and I stood up, too.
"Are you ready to swim, dude?" I looked at the LED on the bedside table. Already eight twenty and we were running down the clock on pool time.
"Sure." He turned towards me. "But one more thing. What you said about me, about how my life's so perfect or whatever." His face got serious again. "It's not all true. I mean, I have major problems in my classes. And my girlfriend. Everyone thinks we're so into each other." He shook his head from side to side. "She's a nice girl, don't get me wrong. But it's like, we've been going out since junior high," his words started to flow faster and faster, like he wasn't used to sharing in this way. "And she's got serious religion, and so she won't fuck and she won't give head. She even feels guilty for giving hand, and so it's hard for me to even ask her to do it because she thinks she's going to hell when she does and I really like her and I don't like her to feel that way. Fuck knows I've never touched her bare pussy, and getting a feel of her tits is as hard as getting hand. It just sucks and I think about breaking up with her every day but I can't." He was barely taking breaths as his words rushed out of him. It seemed like if he stopped to breathe he might not get started again.
"And so when I would see you checking me out, I always thought if it got too bad, like if I couldn't stand it anymore and I needed head or to fuck someone, or, Jesus Christ, I don't know. Well, I thought you'd be there. And then you weren't. I mean, you're not." He seemed highly emotional and as unsure of himself as I'd ever seen him. "Fuck. Just forget it. Please just forget I ever brought it up."
"Mark, it's okay." I didn't know what else to say. "I get it, dude." I felt like I had to offer him something. "I still think you're hot." I blushed to even hear myself say it. "And besides, even if I didn't, I'm sure there are plenty of guys just like me who would . . . who would do any of those things if you gave them the chance." I didn't know that it was true, but I suspected I wasn't the only fag at our high school.
After a moment, he smiled. "I suppose you're right, Lake." He turned towards the door and then back to me a second later. Not expecting it, I didn't stop immediately, and we ended up almost chest to chest. "I mean, I wasn't trying to say that every gay guy would be into me, I'm not that self-centered." He smiled at his own joke, "But I just wanted to say thanks for trying to make me feel better. You said earlier that you'd made some new friends lately. Well, I hope that maybe after today, I'll be one of those new friends." He held my eyes, and I smiled at him.
"Yea, Mark. Of course." He leaned in to me. The space between us was almost non-existent.
"And just between friends. If you wanted to blow me, I'd let you." His hand found my nipple and gave it a pinch and a twist in the instant that he said it, and as I jumped backwards, I wasn't sure which shocked me more, the words or the action. He laughed then, and turned to walk out the door. Rubbing my sore nipple with my hand, I followed him and found myself still smiling.
"Mark." I stopped him in the hallway; I had one more thing to say. "About what happened on the bus today. I'm glad we worked things out, and that we're cool with each other. But you've gotta make things right with Jamie. He's still pissed, and I think you owe him an apology." He nodded at me.
"Okay. I'll fix it." He turned and started to run down the hallway. "Now, last one in the pool's an asshole." Knowing I had already lost the race, I started running after him as fast as I could.
Swimming proved to be as awesome as I had hoped. I spent the rest of the evening horsing around and laughing in the pool, and when the pool closed late--they gave us an extra half-hour of fun, we all ended up in Ryan's room watching a new episode of South Park. I couldn't believe that eleven o'clock came as fast as it did, but somehow, Rutland was knocking on the door, right on time, to send us to our individual rooms with strict instructions that TVs were to remain off and we were to get to bed immediately.
Reluctantly, Jamie and I made our way back to our room, as did the other guys to theirs. As Jamie searched for his key and then spent long seconds putting it in and out of the electronic lock before getting it to work, Rutland passed us in the hallway and keyed into the room on the other side of ours. I made a mental note that the heads of our beds shared a wall with Rutland's room, and I wondered if his room was exactly like ours or a mirror of it.
Before I was even in the room, Jamie had kicked off his still semi-wet suit and flopped onto the bed that was free of our clutter. He lay there spread eagle, and even though I had seen him similarly many times, I was still taken by his physical beauty, the perfect ridges that marked the muscles of his arms and his abs. His lazy smile mirrored in reverse by the lazy arc of his cock resting across his thigh. His hand stretched towards his balls, and he began to scratch them gently, as his cock started to come to life.
"Get out of those wet shorts. There's something here that needs some attention." His tool was hard after just a few seconds of manipulation, and he used his thumb to pull it away from his abs, releasing it and watching it snap back to them with a slap. I kicked off my shorts, hurriedly grabbing both his discarded pair and mine and draping them over the shower curtain rod before bounding back into the room and launching myself towards the bed, landing just between his legs and causing both of us to bounce up and down a bit. I laughed and so did he. "Good, bouncy bed," he said through chuckles. "All the better for fucking your face and ass, my pretty." He gave a cackle, Wizard of Oz fashion, and pulled my head down towards his dick.
My hands found his thighs, as I knelt on the bed before him, taking the head of his cock into my mouth. I slowly lowered myself, impaling my head on his spike, working my tongue along the underside, literally and figuratively bowing to worship his manhood. He groaned, leaning back against the headboard, and popped his hips forward. He bottomed out in my mouth, grinding his pubes against my nose and his balls against my chin as he rotated his hips in a bit of a circle before releasing my head. Trying to control my gag reflex, I pulled off, leaving sticky strings of saliva and phlegm connecting my mouth to his cock.
I didn't expect to go quite so deep on the first plunge, so it caught me by surprise, but Jamie was more than primed for my throat, and I tried to catch my breath a bit by licking and sucking, nibbling at his shaft and head before attempting to take him into my mouth again. I took three short plunges and dove in for everything, readying myself this time. Jamie took as much as I would give, bottoming out again as my throat spasmed on his cock. But I was able to mostly control my reaction before pulling off and taking him deeply again.
He was persistent, his hands constantly on my head and shoulders, sometimes encouraging, sometimes directing. My attempts to back off a bit, to draw things out, to bring him to the edge were turned away one by one. Jamie was expert enough in receiving my blowjobs to know most of my tricks, and ways to push me to meet his needs on his terms. Tonight, though, he didn't just give subtle or overt feedback. He gave me orders.
"I'm so fucking horny, Lake. I need to nut, and I need it soon," he said with a groan, as he held his cock deeply inside me for a moment before continuing. "Hurry up and make me cum." I looked up to him to capture his eyes for a moment as I tongued his glans, "I'll know if you're trying to draw it out." Jamie's attitude, his urgency, his need reminded me more of my interactions with Anthony, and for a moment I was sucking his step-brother's cock. My heart raced and my cock pulsed at the thought. I barely escaped losing my load on the sheets. I began to lick and suck in earnest.
His smile faded as first his eyes rolled back followed by his head. I used my hands on his nuts and abs, then began to work his nipples as I gave him everything I could. His body must have been swarming with sensations as he fell over the edge, a loud, long moan accompanying shot after copious shot of his semen. I was swallowing my third mouthful of his jizz when I heard the phone next door ring quietly and wondered just how much of our activity was apparent to our neighbors.
If you'd like another installment, please let me know at matthew_lake@yahoo.com or AOL IM me at matthewlake309. It's really motivating to get an email, even if it's just a couple of lines-especially motivating if it's a hot pic. I try to respond to every email, and also keep a list of responsive readers to make notifications of the posting of the next chapter. Also, for those of you who are a little more visual, I have pictures of the main characters that I have used in imagining them. If you email, I'll send you back pictures of Lake and Jamie. There it is . . . I hope you enjoy! You can find other stories I've written in the prolific authors section of the nifty archive. Thanks again for reading!