DISCLAIMER **********
This story contains sexual acts between teenage boys. If this is not to your liking, then leave. Simple. If you are UNDER the age of consent for state / country / planet and all laws effective there, please leave now. Of course, I'm underage and I wrote it, so that's pretty odd, don't you think?
I wrote this story. I would be very appreciative if it wasn't changed in any way. You may post it to newsgroups, give it to friends, use it to line a birdcage, as long as I am accredited as the author and you do not charge for doing so. Thanks.
The story is an odd mix of fact and fiction, inasmuch as I exist, the people in this story exist (names have been changed), but these events have not taken place outside my hormone charged imagination. This is not a story about sex. It is a love story with sexual elements in it. The sex takes a while to get to, so be patient. If you are just looking for something to jerk off to, you should probably move on.
If you like this story, mail me at JDThoreau@hotmail.com. If you don't like it, mail me anyway and tell me what's wrong with it. Praise will be appreciated, flames will be ignored. Enjoy!
To Matt-For both the inspiration for this story and his constant support throughout the development of it. Thanks, bro. I love you.
I've always wanted to play the hero. I don't know why. I guess it's an ego thing. When I was a little kid, I would watch all the superhero shows. I would dream about swooping down just in the nick of time to save the day. I had no idea that eventually I would be given the chance.
My name's Jeff Black. Cool, no? I've always thought that would be a cool name for an alter ego. You know, such as: by day our intrepid hero becomes Jeff Black, a mild-mannered reporter for the...nevermind. Anyway, I just turned 17 and I'm a junior in high school. About time, too.
I guess I should start at the beginning of my all-important junior year. I wasn't the most social of people. I was a pretty troubled person. I had a lot of issues, but I won't go into that at the moment. Suffice it to say, I didn't have many friends. During my junior year, things started to change.
I started school in mid-August. They had been slowly moving the returning date back since middle school. In first grade, we came back at the beginning of September. In the eleventh, it was August 12. Conniving bastards. What? Did they think no one would notice? My schedule was typical. I had a couple of advanced placement courses. They weren't that bad. The work wasn't really hard for me, just incredibly boring. I didn't think I was going to enjoy most of them. AP Biology 2, AP Pre-Calculus. Stuff like that could put me to sleep in a minute. The only courses I thought I would enjoy were AP English 3 and Theater 2. I loved literature. I'm a right-brained sort of person. I enjoy poetry, art, music. Numbers do not hold much appeal for me. In fact, my English class was the catalyst for this story.
My first day began as countless others had before. My alarm ripped me from the delightful warmth of my dreams. I stayed in bed for a few minutes, enjoying the feel of the sheets against my warm skin. We were still in summer, so I had slept in the nude. Somehow, I found the strength to tear myself from my soft haven. I threw off my bedclothes and allowed the sunlight streaming through the window to wash over me. I arched my back like a tired cat and stretched. I gave a final yawn and greeted the day.
I walked over to my dresser and extracted a pair of boxers. I meandered into my bathroom and turned on my shower. By the time I found a clean towel, the water temperature had become tolerable.
I stayed in the shower a little longer than usual, relishing the needle-like spray battering my skin. My morning shower was always one of my favorite things. It's a great way to start a day. I turned the water off and drew the curtain back. I blindly groped for a towel, eager to stop the water dripping out of my hair from getting into my eyes. My hand came into contact with the familiar sense of soft cotton and I was finally able to wipe my face. I opened my eyes and found myself in front of the bathroom mirror. Steam had caused the mirror to fog, so I wiped a peephole in the reflective glass with my towel.
I looked at myself in mirror, happily checking out my body. It had been difficult for me, but a few years of hard work had made me moderately happy with my body. I liked my bright green eyes and my thick brown hair. I stood at 5'10 and weighed about 175 pounds. And that was muscle. I almost thought of myself as kind of cute. Water was dripping from my longish hair down my body, curling around my nipples, accentuating my well-defined chest and stomach. I was quite proud of the fruits of my training.
This had not always been so. When I was 12 years old, I had been a weakling. Not many people are familiar with the old Charles Atlas advertisements, but I read about one in a workout magazine once. They are these old advertisements for body building. They talk about a dainty 98-pound weakling turning himself into a muscle-man. That was what I was like: weak, frail, ineffectual. It so happened that one day, I was talking to my Uncle Ray about it. My uncle is a really big guy. He's almost six feet tall, and had this dark rugged quality about him. I expressed to him my despair over being a tiny, pidgin-chested little geek. Lo and behold, it turned out he had been the same way when he was younger. My father was still a slight man, so I guess it ran in the family.
"Man, you should have seen me when I was around your age. You think you are weak? I was the scrawniest little thing you could imagine. Finally, I got sick of getting my diminutive ass kicked and decided to do something about it. A friend of your grandfather ran a martial arts studio in town. Martial arts weren't very popular back then, so it was the only one I had ever seen. Like I said, I was only around 11 or 12, so I didn't have any cash. So I offered to clean up around the place if he would train me. I don't think he really needed any more custodial help, but he agreed anyway. Fast forward 4 years. By then, I was already well into puberty, had been working out for years, and knew how to kick some serious ass. It did wonders for me." With that, my uncle offered to take me under his wing.
Ray had set up a sort of mini-studio in his spacious garage. He was a pretty successful architect, so he was semi-rich. His house was pretty large. He had some really expensive workout equipment, punching bags, and plenty of protective mats on the floor. In the coming years, those mats and I would become rather intimate.
The changes in my body were slow in coming, but once they did, they were quite noticeable. My muscles began to develop, my coordination and balance improved, and I became more self-confident. Not truly and completely self-confident, as I had a lot of issues. It's hard to talk about, but I guess I should. The main one being that I was different from most people. You know....kind of strange. Almost queer, in fact. You've heard all the words before. Fag. Queer. Cocksucker. Well, it's true. Where do I sign up?
From my earliest recollection, I felt attraction for my fellow man. Not the agape sort of platonic thing, but the "Big L." Amore. Hot, heavy, pulsing, all out, oh yeah, who's your daddy sexual urges. I was born that way, and I wouldn't change myself for anything. Don't take that to mean it was an easy thing. Certainly not. It's actually quite disturbing for a youngster to realize this about himself. You feel how you've felt all your life. It feels so natural, so right. One day you realize the rest of the world doesn't exactly see it that way. You know that if you let this known, you could be ridiculed, rejected, even beaten. So you keep it all inside. Hello, freakdom. It doesn't help being born into a religious family. Now not only are you a freak, but you are a freak that's going to hell! It took me a long time to reconcile myself with God, realizing that He'd love me no matter what, not like my parents, who would no doubt have kicked me out.
Well, that was a quick tour of my diseased psyche. We all hope you enjoyed the tour, now if you'll just follow me to the gift shop... Sorry. I kind of use humor as a defense mechanism. I really think that my sexuality was one of the reasons I worked so hard to build up my body. Part of it was for protection, I guess ("You're a queer?! I'll kick your ass!") but it was also a desire to feel good about myself. I know I couldn't change my "deviant nature" (and who would want to?), but I could control my body. It worked rather nicely. I felt better about myself. I was still troubled by my solitude and the years of living a lie, but I was nowhere near as bad as I could have been.
The only person I was really close to was my Uncle Ray. I didn't get along too well with my parents, and I didn't want to get too close to anyone my own age. I felt that if I let anyone get close to me, they would find out about me. Then they would tell everyone, my parents would find out, I'd be kicked out of my house, and be forced to move to a big city and become a male prostitute to make money. We wouldn't want any of that to happen, now would we? So, I kept everyone at arm's-length. Everyone except Ray. He and I bonded. I mean, nothing brings two people together like beating the shit out of each other on a regular basis.
Ray was married, but his wife was unable to have children. Being childless, I think Ray took me as a sort of surrogate son. Hell, I would have been happy to make the arrangement official. My parents and I basically ignored each other, and Ray was the only person who ever showed any interest in me. He was always asking me what I was doing in school, what was going on in my life. When I would master a martial arts technique, he would smile and congratulate me. If I would bring him an English paper with an A on it, he'd give pat me on the shoulder and tell me he was proud of me. On occasion, when we were working out or sharing a joke, I'd see him get a certain smile on his face. He would turn away quickly, but I would see him look at me from the corner of his eye. I always believed he was getting a little misty-eyed.
I wanted so much to tell him about myself, try to relieve the burden of having this secret, but whenever I'd try, I would chicken out. You have to understand, Ray was like my life-line. He was the only person I had who I thought truly loved me. I wouldn't do anything to endanger that. So, I bore the burden alone. I know, if I had been born 600 years earlier, I'd have made a great martyr.
Ray trained me in many different styles of martial arts, taught me how to handle myself in any situation. Through the training and the working out that went with it, my muscles became defined. I wasn't huge, but I was cut. I was pretty happy. Well, happy with my body, at least. I didn't exactly have a happy life, but I definitely think it was a whole lot better than it would have been without my uncle.
By the time I had finished drying myself, the mirror had returned to normal. I slipped my legs into my airy cotton boxers and attempted to force my unruly hair into some semblance of order. I was finally able to part my long brown hair down the middle. That looked okay. I brushed my teeth and rinsed with Listerine. I gave myself a final look in the mirror and headed out of the bathroom. I stood, boxer-clad, in front of my closet, trying to decide what to wear. I settled on a simple black T-shirt I bought from Gadzooks and a pair of blue jeans. I slipped on some socks and my trusty pair of Nike ACG boots, grabbed my wallet and keys, and was ready to leave. I threw my new backpack over my shoulder and headed out the door. I didn't have to say goodbye to anyone. My father had already left for work and my mother slept in until about 11 a.m. I threw my backpack into my old broken down Mazda and headed for school.
I never really found classes to be very exciting. By the end of my first day, I knew that this year would be no exception. The only thing that kept the day from being a complete loss was my new English class. I walked into second period, and knew automatically that it was going to be interesting. The walls were covered with different sorts of posters, the desk crowded with clutter. The room had been tastefully decorated to look like a mess, but still look good. The only thing more colorful than the room was the teacher. I knew from my schedule that her name was Mrs. Estes. She was very interesting. She looked to be in her fifties, but she had the energy of a teenager and her eyes sparkled with intelligence and good humor. She had graying black hair, worn up, and wore large glasses. She was wearing a long, loud, blue dress and had bracelets lining both her arms. As was the custom, she began the class by taking roll. Afterwards, she sat back and looked everyone over.
"I trust everyone had a good summer?" That provoked a variety of responses, most of which sounded like "too short."
"Oh, that's the way it is. It seems like the older you get, the shorter summers become."
I'm not really a smart-ass, but I tend to have problems holding my tongue. It's like I always have a witty remark on the tip of my tongue. Sometimes, it slips through. I looked up at her and said, "Wow, really? So how fast did it pass for you?"
I would have regretted it had she not looked me straight in the eye and said, "Are you kidding? I didn't even leave. I just watched my last class leave, took a nap, and all you people showed up."
Everyone in the class laughed and I made a good first impression to boot. Go me. The rest of the class passed smoothly. Mrs. Estes's easy manner and quick wit kept us all captivated. She told us about her summer and we all had a nice informal class discussion on how ours went. The bell rang and we all got up to walk out. I had chosen a seat in the back, so I was one of the last ones to leave. As I was walking out, she stopped me. "Oh, Jeff?"
I turned, fearing she wanted to talk to me about what I had said. "Ugh, yes ma'am?"
"Thanks for breaking the ice today. That was pretty funny." I gave a nearly-silent sigh of relief. "You know, a sense of humor is often a sign of a high intelligence. I hope that means you will be doing well in this class this year."
"I don't think that should be a problem," I said, feeling comfortable. "I'm a right-brain kind of person."
"Good. At least I know it won't be boring with you around."
She smiled at me and I returned the favor. I walked out feeling good. This class did look promising.
The next few weeks passed like that. Most of my classes were boring, but English was great. I enjoyed Theater, also, but it couldn't hold a candle to English. Mrs. Estes had a way of keeping the class exciting while we were learning at the same time. It's rare that a person is able to pull that off. Usually a class will be either boring and packed with facts, or fun and you don't learn anything. Mrs. Estes was a great teacher. On more than one occasion, she asked me if I could come by after school. It was no problem for me. I had stopped working during the week. I had worked as a waiter all summer and that had allowed me to buy my car. I still worked weekends to make some spending cash.
Mrs. Estes would consult me on lesson plans, ask me questions about what she was going to teach. She would ask me if I liked a certain activity or a certain piece we were going to study. It was cool, made me feel important. She was a really cool person, and we got along amazingly. We were a lot alike. It eventually became a daily routine. I would come by after school, help her with some things, or we would just talk. Sometimes it would be for five minutes, sometimes an hour. I grew to love our conversations. We would talk about the weather, talk about how pretty the leaves were when they changed color, or speculate about the nature of existence. I think that made me a bit happier also. I was still training with Uncle Ray, but now I was able to exercise my mind as well.
The first six weeks ended around the end of September. I received my report card, and was very pleased with it. I did better than I usually did. Two days after I received it, my uncle and I were taking a break in the middle of one of our training sessions. We were in his the garage drinking bottled water. The conversation had reached a lull, so I was looking for something new to talk about.
"Oh, did I tell you? I got my report card back the other day."
He finished his bottle. "Oh, really? How'd you do? I'll bet you did good, like always. I don't know where you got your brains. Can't have been from my side of the family. I never could do well in school. Only thing I ever liked to do was draw."
He got up to throw his water bottle away and I did the same. "Yeah, I did really well this time. I got straight-As. If I keep this up, I could graduate in the top ten percent of my class."
He turned to me. "Are you kidding? That's great! I'm so proud of you!"
Before I knew what was happening, my uncle had grabbed me in a huge bear hug. I stood there, shocked for a moment, before gaining enough sense to return the embrace. He finally let me go, and I was able to breathe again. He smiled at me and walked over to the punching bag, ready to resume the workout.
It's hard to describe what I felt at that moment. Ray was my primary role model, the only person like that I had ever had in life. I felt so proud that he cared about me so much, that he loved me enough to hug me. We continued our workout, but I couldn't concentrate. I watched Ray go through all the techniques and could only think of one thing. If I could only accomplish a single thing in life, I knew what it was. I wanted to be just like him.