Sophomore Year

Sophomore Year 12

In this chapter, Buck and Hank have a heart-to-heart about one of Hank's biggest insecurities and their rapport continues to blossom.

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Sophomore Year 12

"I know..." I mumbled, looking down at the floor. I couldn't face Buck. I had never confessed this to anyone. "You probably think I'm some big scaredy-cat, a sissy. I don't know why I'm such a coward about it. I just am." I was feeling distraught.

"Hey," Buck gently sat me down and then sat facing me, so close that our knees overlapped, his inside and opening mine wider as he rocked a bit, adjusting his balls which were apparently getting squished. Gently lifting my chin, he said, "look at me."

I slowly lifted my gaze and found myself locked into Buck's eyes. I hadn't noticed before that they were amber, and they now glowed with kindness. Feeling his palms warm on my cheeks, his voice grave, almost urgent, I felt as much as heard, "One thing I'm pretty sure of: this Sailor Hank is no coward."

With a soft squeeze to an ear lobe, his hands dropped to my bare shoulders. "Most everybody's got a good reason for what they do and how they feel, son. Pretty sure you're not much different. So, why don't you tell me about it?"

Buck looked at me intently, as though ready to listen, without a hurry in the world. It wasn't very often someone took an interest in what I had to say. His obvious empathy felt comforting as I started my tale.

"Well, to begin, I didn't get `trimmed' down there like most guys where I grew up, so as a kid whenever I dropped my pants, it would get a lot of attention. And there weren't any men around I could ask about it."

"Makes sense." Buck nodded, "but wasn't that also kinda fun? I mean, guys usually like being the center of attention. And weren't those other boys envious that you had something special they didn't?"

"Well, it was kind of neat at first, having them gawk at it, but then some mean kids started making fun and calling me names so from then on I avoided any situation that might expose me."

"Aw, some guys gonna ruin all the fun. But I'll betcha they were just jealous. Maybe they were the star attraction before you came a long and they missed havin' the spotlight." Once again, Buck's take on things seemed to open a window and let in fresh air. "Did any of `em ever ask to touch it?"

"Yeah, actually, a couple did ask but I was too chicken to let `em."

"I remember when I was a kid," Buck shifted a bit, spreading his knees wider and tighter against mine, "there was this one guy in our neighborhood, Kenny, who wasn't circumcised and we all wanted to see how it worked, how that foreskin slid over the head and back. We thought it was so cool. He'd let us take turns sliding it back and forth."

And here, Buck held his middle finger up like Kenny's penis and with his other hand, imitated sliding the foreskin gently back and forth over the tip. Several times. It was almost a bit hypnotic to watch and I started to feel warm inside. Then he opened his hands in a gesture of submission and smiled, "Kids are just naturally curious."

Suddenly recalling a riveting detail, Buck's eyes widened, "And we couldn't believe about the cheese! That was just amazing to us! Every time we'd see him, we'd be like, `Hey, Kenny, any cheese in there today?'" Buck laughed.

"There was one kid we didn't like and this other guy, Stevie, got some of the cheese off Kenny's dick and put it on a cracker and gave it him. The guy asked, like, Where this come from?' and we said, Oh, Kenny made it himself.'" Buck cracked up again at the childhood wit. "Y'know, for weeks we'd feed him that cheese! He'd ask for it, until he found out what it really was, and then he totally freaked out. Hilarious!"

Even though it was a little bizarre, Buck's story actually started making me feel a little better for some reason. A bit of a smile may have been dawning on my face.

Buck saw an opening to further lighten my mood. In an exaggerated country accent, he started, "Now, if I had to guess, I'd say this Hank feller here ain't fed nobody none of his own cheese..." and popped me between the legs with a light finger flick.

"What?!" I jumped at the intimate poke, startled by this preposterous insinuation, "No! Of course not!" I halfway protested but almost laughed it was so unexpected.

Then Buck leaned close and whispered slyly in my ear, "...yet."

The outrageousness of his words sent us both into fits of laughter.

Catching his breath, Buck went on in the comic voice of an old-time radio announcer, "So, folks, if one of these days, this ol' Hank offers ya some homemade cheese on a cracker, ya might be a little suspicious..."

"No, no, no!" I gasped in protest between spasms of laughter.

Buck caught his own breath again long enough to add, "I mean, I'd go on and eat it, and say thank ye,' cuz you'll prob'ly enjoy it, I mean, he's a nice young fellah and all, but I'd still be a bit suspicious just the same."

We were hooting so hard we fell on each other; I couldn't believe Buck had got me laughing until tears rolled from my eyes, talking about a topic that until now had only caused me anxiety. It felt incredible.

Slowly capturing our breath, we wiped our eyes and regained some composure. Just when we'd almost returned to normal, one or the other would burst out laughing again, recalling the outlandishness of Buck's routine.

Finally, I returned to my saga, "So, my uncle tried to help me the few times he came to visit. He wasn't trimmed' either. He'd say, Hey, sobrino, we Mexicans ain't shy about guys seein' our verga. That's for the gringos, man, the puritanos!'

"So, your uncle didn't like Americans then?"

"Oh, my uncle loved everybody. He'd just say shit like that to make me laugh." I went on, "He'd tell me about the saunas in Mexico where guys hang around naked with each other for hours drinking beers and shootin' the shit. Sorta like this place. That's probably what your visitors last week were referring to."

"He said dads take their sons on weekends to steam and scrub, so boys there get used to being naked with other guys at an early age. Anyway, one time he was going to visit cousins there and wanted me to go with him so I could see. But I was too chicken. He always said he was gonna take me with him another time, but I guess that's never going to happen now."

Buck paused a moment and then said consolingly, "Hey, your uncle is still with you, Sailor," and he rested his palm across my chest, "right here."

After a quiet moment, he brightened, adding, "And who knows? Maybe one day you and me'll head down there to check out those Mexican saunas. Sound kinda nice, and I might learn a thing or two. And you with your Spanish can help me make friends and get some good deals. And keep me outa trouble."

I knew this kind of fleeting promise was more about feeling good than substance, but still the idea stuck. A small wave of playfulness came over me, and, adopting my grandmother's voice, I joked, "Señor, I think beeg strong man like you make frens in enny langwich. An' make beeg trouble too!"

We both laughed. "Beeg trouble," Buck echoed with a chuckle.

"So," returning to the topic at hand, Buck asked, "what about P.E. in school?"

"Only if I could get it last period so I'd just go home right after. I was too chicken to shower after class. And at my school, you could take Health class instead of P.E. if you played on a team."

"Health class?" Buck asked, sounding serious, "Is that where they'd teach you, like, how to..." he strung out his words, as if seriously trying to channel his thoughts, "...make, y'know, like homemade...cheese?" and once again we both burst out laughing. I playfully punched him in the arm. Buck kept making this difficult subject much easier to talk about.

"OK, so what about your sports teams? Track?"

"Well, those track shorts were really lightweight, y'know, so I used to wear them under my school clothes. That way I'd have the option if I got up the courage to shower there after practice. But every time I'd chicken out and just go home to shower. Said it had to do with work or homework or something."

"Man, I'll bet you had some sweaty balls by the time you finally hit the shower, am I right?"

"Oh, yeah!" I said. "Most guys only rinsed their shorts out a couple times a week, but I had to every day. They'd be super damp by the time I took `em off. And stink! The smell would fill my room."

Buck nodded. "I'll be it would." Joking again, he put on a corny tour guide voice, "Ladies and gentlemen, please secure your gas masks as we're about to pass through hazardous fumes."

I laughed at this bit, but then admitted, "Sounds weird, but I actually kinda liked it. I used to wish I had two pair, so I could just leave a sweaty one in my room and wear the other to practice."

"Oh, that's not weird." Buck responded. "I think most guys like that smell. There's nothin' like the aroma of ball sweat to know you been working hard and done a good job. Look at that Jock Rack over there. Why d'ya think the guys love it so much? Cuz it's fillin' this space with that testosterone perfume. Did you notice it when you first came in? It kinda puts guys in a good mood, even if they don't know why. So, no; I don't think you're weird."

Buck continued, "And the swim team? How could you avoid showering after practice?"

"I started off wearing my suit to school under my clothes, but it got too itchy."

"I can imagine. The few times I've ever worn one of the racing suits as underwear, they don't breathe, man, and turned my crotch into a dang swamp. That's a good way to get a serious case of jock itch."

"Yeah, so I was actually starting to work up the courage to change in the locker room and had it all planned out, but then these guys on the team started making fun of my chest."

Buck interrupted, "Ya mean these Superman nips, right?" and gave one a gentle tweak. I'd forgotten I was shirtless. The first time he had tweaked my nipple, it sent shockwaves through me, but this time I hardly reacted beyond a tiny squeal and a giggle. The touch was soft and gentle and just felt kind of warm and even friendly, if that makes any sense.

I continued, "Anyway, the following year they started teasing me about my butt crack showing in our new suits, cuz they were cut lower. By then I was avoiding the locker room like the plague, I was such a chicken. The bullying is what led me to quit the swim team."

"They made you feel bad about your butt crack showin'?" Buck sounded surprised. "Jeez, both my boys seem to love showin' their butt cracks! Jacky has this little trick at the beach where he loosens the drawstring on his suit and then comes out of the waves real fast, so it pulls it halfway down his butt, and he acts all innocent like he has no idea."

"Then he asks one of us to rub sunscreen on his back and keeps sayin' lower, lower.' Course, I rub it on his ass, too, so it doesn't burn. I tell him, `Only thing that's gonna burn up that sweet little ass is your dad!' Or he'll even ask some guy nearby."

"Wow!" I was amazed at this brazenness. "What do they say?"

"Well, there's a lot of sailors around cuz of the Navy base there, so if it's a sailor, you know them, they see so many guys' bare asses all the time they don't care. Some of em probably don't even notice."

"Some civilian guys, though, they get all flustered. We once had this pastor of the church over to Mr. Bill's pool for a nice little social thing, the guy all prim and proper, and Jack pulled that on him, and the guy almost spilled his punch cup all over himself." Buck was laughing at the memory.

I was trying to imagine this scenario, where one son is walking around a public beach intentionally exposing half his butt to anyone who will look, and his dad doesn't seem to care; he's just mildly amused. And even agrees to rub sunscreen on it.

Buck breaks me out of my reverie. "So, how did wrestling go? I'm surprised you chose that. I mean, a singlet is not exactly modest, right.? Yeah, it covers more than a Speedo, but swimming, you're under water most of the time. Wrestlin', you're out front and center on the mat, twistin' and stretchin'. We get a pretty good look at everything our sailor boy is packin' there." And he gave me another light flick on the nuts. This time I just laughed.

"Yeah, I was kinda nervous about that. But my uncle was big into wrestling, and we used to wrestle around and that was lots of fun, and he told me he thought I was pretty good at it. He wrestled on his base club team and would bring videos of matches. I always thought he looked so cool in his singlet. Like a superhero. I asked him could we get matching ones, and he really liked that idea. We used to talk about what color and designs we'd get."

"And did you agree?"

"Hardly ever, but we'd keep changing our minds. One time he brought me a wrestling gear catalog and we'd look through it, first the shoes and headgear and save the singlets for last. And we'd look at different cuts and colors and designs."

"And what was your favorite?"

"The one I always kept coming back to was a collegiate style in white with gold trim."

"And your uncle?"

"He'd say an Olympic style in gold with black trim. Almost backwards! And we'd watch college wrestling when it was on tv and he'd praise some of the guys so much. He'd talk about how valiant they were, he'd say, `they're not afraid to put it all out there.'"

"Well," Buck sounded impressed, "he must have been pretty good. And sounds like you were, too. So, how'd you like wearing the singlet?"

"Well, at practice, we'd just wear shorts and t shirts, and maybe our singlet underneath. The only two times I really wore it was once when we did fittings and that was just with the rest of the team in the locker room and then at the first match, and I spent most of that on the sidelines. So, I liked wearing it when I was at home, just hanging out, but that was about all. And then I sold it, like a I told you, to some guy in the parking lot."

"That's too bad. I'd really like to see you in that singlet." An image flashed in my head of standing on the little stage in front of the trifold mirror in that singlet, with Buck inspecting how it fit and making me do flex poses. I wasn't sure how that felt to imagine.

Buck brought me back to the moment, "Well, how'd you get along with your teammates? Was there any teasing this time, about the Superman nipples..."and he gave one a quick pinch before I could block him, "...or the cheese factory?" and he gave me another quick poke between the legs, laughing as I jumped in reaction.

Calming, I answered, "Better. Lots better. It was a small program, so the guys all had to depend on each other more, so they really welcomed me. And I liked the coach a lot, too. He seemed like he really cared about his team. I felt like maybe I'd found, like, a family or something."

"And then?" Buck asked, suspecting this happy situation was not about to last.

"And then one day at practice, I pulled a groin muscle. We were always pulling muscles or something. Anyway, coach asked me to stay after and was looking at it and then tells me strip down and I do, a little nervous but ready to take the big step, and kinda proud of myself for doing it, and I get back up on the table and I can tell Coach sees my dick's weird and does like a real quick double take, but stays cool, doesn't say anything and I'm like, ok, this is gonna be fine, y'know, a big step for me. And then he starts touching and poking around down there asking, `does it hurt here? Does this hurt?' and all a sudden, before I know it, I ...I..." I can't say it.

"You got an erection?"

"Yes!" I'm so relieved Buck has said the unmentionable. "And I swear I didn't mean to. And I'm like squeezing my eyes shut and praying it'll go away and trying to do multiplication tables in my head or think of anything besides my dick, but I can't get it to go down, and the coach doesn't even notice, I mean, it's even bumping against his other hand that he's got on my belly, and he just keeps poking higher and closer to it and then he says, `ok, let's check for any possible torsion' and he took one of my balls in his hand and started sort of rubbing it and before I knew it..."

"You ejaculated?"

"Oh, my god, I was so ashamed, I coulda died! He kept saying, `Now, now, no worries. Perfectly normal.' But I know he was thinking I must be the biggest pervert. And I figure he's just trying to keep me calm so he can call the police to come arrest me. So I grab my stuff and fly outa there. I quit the team and never went back. I mean, I even shot a big glob or two all over the poor guy's hand! Jeez!" My face burned red to relive those moments.

"And the coach never tried to talk to you about it?"

"Oh yeah, he did, like saying, `Oh, that happens. No big deal. Don't quit the team.' and stuff like that, but I was too freaked out. I'm such a chicken I just couldn't even look at him."

"And you're the only one the coach ever had that happen with?"

"Of course, I am! Who else is such a freak they'd do something like that during a simple sports exam?"

I could see that in addition to the sincere concern on Buck's face, there was also a very slight grin. He did not seem at all horrified like I'd expected anyone who heard this story would be. He actually seemed slightly amused.

"Hey, can I tell you something?" Buck lifted my chin again to face him. "I'll bet almost every athlete in that situation has done about the same thing, at least once. I know I have."

I looked at Buck in shock. "You have?"

"Sure have. Splurted all over a doctor's hand once. He kept having to pull out tissue after tissue to wipe it off and finally started laughing at how much gunk I'd spewed on him. And in the Navy, we used to have contests, to see who could pop wood while we were lined up on deck for the `short arms' inspections. And two extra points if you spurt cream. And five points if you can hit the doc with it!"

I couldn't imagine how relaxed a guy'd have to be to do all that in front of other guys.

"To tell you the truth, Sailor, I don't think your coach there was the least bit shocked or upset."

"You don't?" I was amazed.

"Nope. And I think he knew exactly what he was doin'. For one, your hard-on is nudgin' his hand, you don't think a guy's gonna notice that? Kid your age, hard-ons so boilin' hot it's probably leaving scorchmarks on him!" Buck guffawed at the image, making me laugh a little, too.

"And, otherwise, seein' your teenage dick so hard, why's he gonna start ticklin' your balls? That's a surefire way to get a guy to start creamin."

"It is?" I am astonished to contemplate the situation from this perspective.

"Absolutely. He mighta just been seein' if all your equipment worked like it oughta. Kinda like a free medical exam tossed in."

"Really? Doctors do that?"

"Sure. And seeing that river of spunk ya unloaded on his hand tells him you're a healthy male with no testosterone shortage."

"Oh" I have lots to ponder.

"Or maybe he thought he'd do ya a little favor, give ya a helpin' hand for some release. Saw you was a little wound up and thinkin' that would help ya relax and focus on training."

"No!"

"Oh, yeah. I know sometimes my own boys have trouble concentrating on their homework, and then after they shoot a load and empty their balls, they're model students. Even their attitudes are better."

"Wow." This is such an education for me.

"Or maybe he just wanted to get some of that boy jizz on him..."

"Why in the world would he want that?"

"Who knows, some folks say that the jizz of a virgin boy is like a youth serum." Buck was smiling and joking again. "I mean, look at me, I'm up to my ears in boy jizz in this house, and I'm a hundred years old!" We laughed and laughed some more.

I felt like a curtain had been opened on a whole new way of seeing that episode and I could feel some of the trauma and self-loathing inside me start to dissolve. Like I was starting to look at the world with a fresh pair of eyes.

"Y'know," Buck said, "You keep talking about this Hank guy as being such a chicken, but to tell you the truth, the Hank I'm looking at—I see a guy sittin' in strange basement, in nothin' but his pretty panties, perched on a toilet, spilling his guts to guy he just met. I'd say this Hank's a pretty brave lil' son of a bitch, wouldn't you?"

Looking around, I suddenly realized that I was indeed in just my underwear and that Buck and I were sitting on the two toilets. The lids were down and we were seated sideways. It felt suddenly very funny, to be having this deep conversation with a guy sitting on the next toilet, but then it felt, well, I don't know, not so funny, like, comfortable or something. Like maybe a lot of things I used to think were strange maybe weren't so strange after all.