Marching Band Cadet Chapter One

Marching Band Cadet-- Chapter One

This is a series about high school males in the late 1970s. They had a secret club in which they engaged in gay sex and BDSM rituals. This series is told from the point of view of a club member who served as their submissive. The initial chapters establish the background and characters. As the story progresses, in later chapters there will be hardcore sex, group sex, S&M, and some raunch and taboo activities. The series is set in the years before HIV, so condoms are not used.

This is fiction. If you object to fiction that includes the activities listed above, then you should read no further and exit from this page.

Your feedback is welcome. You can write to the author at decentguyx@yahoo.com. Thank you for reading, and thank you for supporting Nifty.

In Texas, high school football is a religion. That is widely known. The high school marching bands which accompany the football games are also serious business. That is lesser known. My high school marching band was one of the top bands in the state.

And the band had a secret club called "The Hot Shots." The Hot Shots were a group of some of the best musicians and section leaders, all of them male. The main reason they got together was to be sexually serviced by newbies whom they called "cadets." The cadets were usually younger and took the passive ("bottom") role in the sexual activities.

My name is Sam. The first Hot Shot party that I ever went to was a turning point in my life. I went when I was fourteen, and it was late spring. School was almost out for the summer. I would be entering high school the following autumn. My friend Matt made the arrangements. He was my age, and he was gay like me. But he had much more sexual experience than me. He had heard of the Hot Shots and gotten in touch with them somehow. I would never have known they existed. They were very discrete.

We each told our parents that we were going to a slumber party, which was true, but only part of the truth. We each had an overnight bag and some bedding. "Don't waste time picking out your clothes," Matt said, "since we will be naked almost the whole time."

Since Matt and I were too young to drive, we were picked up by one of the Hot Shots, a rising junior named Jeff. Jeff was in the drum section. I knew most members of the high school band because the junior high band of which I was a part had several joint programs with the high school band. So I already knew who Jeff was, but almost nothing else about him. And he didn't say much on the drive. We didn't try to ask Jeff any questions.

Jeff drove an old pickup truck, and he had the radio playing a country station. I sat on the bench seat between Jeff and Matt. As the truck bounced and swayed along, I tried not to let my body touch or bump either of them. But after a particular turn, my body slid to the left and jostled against Jeff. I apologized and scooched back to the middle. "Don't apologize," Jeff said. And then he placed his hand on my thigh. We were all wearing shorts, so I felt his bare hand on my bare thigh. It was no accident; he used that hand to shift gears. So he let go of my thigh when he needed to shift, and then returned his hand to my thigh whenever it was free. He was being intentional about it.

In the late 1970s, men and boys wore shorts that were cut extremely short. There was almost no inseam! Cutoff jeans were popular and were an effective way to get a few more months or years out of your worn-out denim jeans. When we cut our jeans to create these homemade shorts, we usually cut them so short that the pockets of the original jeans protruded from the legs. As Jeff drove along, all three of us were wearing cutoffs with protruding pockets. With all three of us wearing shorts cut so high and tiny, Jeff's hand was on my bare thigh.

This was so arousing that my dick went rock hard, and I was almost unable to breathe. Teenage boys go to great lengths to avoid accidental touching, to avoid seeming gay. Jeff was touching me gratuitously, like it was the most natural thing in the world. We were out in public, driving along, even though no one could see what was happening, except Matt. Jeff's touch was presumptuous but self-assured. He squeezed and caressed my thigh, only inches from my dick.   I was petrified, but I was aching with lust and wanted Jeff to do so much more to me. The fact that I was becoming so aroused with both Jeff and Matt watching me further increased my arousal, if that was possible.

My thrills did not distract Jeff from his driving. After another ten minutes or so, we arrived at our destination. It was an indistinct suburban house in an indistinct subdivision. The only unusual thing was that Jeff's truck was the fifth vehicle to pull up to the house and its driveway. The one thing Jeff had told us was that the Hot Shots had gathered at five. It was now about seven, so the Hot Shots had been eating pizza and drinking beer and awaiting our arrival. Jeff had also told us that there were eight or ten Hot Shots in total in the club. Only six, including Jeff himself, would be at the party tonight.

Matt and I would therefore be the only two potential cadets tonight, surrounded by six Hot Shots. We got out of the car and carried our overnight gear to the front door. The door opened before we could knock, and a guy named Jim greeted us with a big smile.

Jim was the most important Hot Shot; he was a big deal as far as the high school band was concerned. Jim was the first trumpet first chair. He was a star. He was only one year older than me and Matt, but in his freshman year he had already been recognized as the school's top musician. In marching band, the "top dog" is probably the drum major. But our high school drum major at that time was a girl. So among the all-male Hot Shots, Jim was the top dog.

There was no formal hierarchy among the Hot Shots. It was all about character and reputation. Only certain guys were invited to join; only certain guys accepted. Each of the Hot Shots had been welcomed into the club because something about them made them one of the elites. I wasn't quite sure about the others, but Jim was certainly the most elite.

And he was a nice guy. He was not arrogant. He had a huge smile, was always helpful, and was very friendly. He was understandably popular with everyone at school, apart from his meteoric reputation as a musician. Like Jeff, Matt, and myself, Jim was wearing ultra-short cutoff jeans. But in Jim's case, that's all he was wearing! He had a nicely developed body, which I now admired up close. I had seem him shirtless in his cutoffs before, but now he was barefoot as well. He was attractive in every way. He was a winner, he was kind, he was confident, and he had nice looks.

Jim led us into the house. I walked awkwardly because of my raging boner. I saw Jeff smirking at my situation. But it was impossible to lose my boner. It was all way too exciting. I was walking into the middle of the Hot Shots for the express purpose of serving them sexually. They seemed really glad to have me. I was very nervous. But my lust was stronger than my fear. Having been fondled in the car by Jeff, and having just been greeted by the high school superstar Jim, I could not believe my good fortune. I would like to say that my dreams were coming true, but even my dreams had never been this good.

Thank you for reading. Sam is pretty excited, and a little afraid. But who are the other Hot Shots? And what are the rules of this secret club? You'll find out more in chapter two.