Sophomore Year

Sophomore Year 25

In this chapter, Hank begins his second full day at Buck's and continues adjusting to the surprising ways in which his life and his self-awareness continue to blossom.

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Sophomore Year 25

Wednesday

Once again, my day started with a stinging slap on the ass, followed by the sound of Buck's steps thundering down the stairs. I had gone to sleep with a sheet for cover but since the weather was still so warm, I'd tossed it off in the night. Furthermore, no matter what position I fell asleep in, whether on my back or side, I always ended up by morning on my stomach. So, my ass had made an easy target for Buck. At least this morning I was wearing briefs that were fairly new and intact compared to yesterday's ragged pair.

I pondered what the scene would have looked like to Buck. Had he been just passing in the hall and, spotting my ass so boldly presented, found himself unable to resist the temptation of a good swat? I made a note to myself to never fall asleep naked in this household. I could not imagine what that might bring.

Stretching lazily, I looked around this room that was newly mine and felt very lucky. It was still a little messy, true, since when I got in last night, I was not up for much besides bed and sleep. Coming in late after a day of class and a double shift at work, I'd been too tired to do much organizing. Instead, I'd grabbed a fresh pair of briefs and tip-toed to the bathroom as the sound of light snoring floated over from Buck's room.

Since the shower in this bathroom was broken, I would have to either go down to the gym or use Buck's bathroom to shower and neither option seemed a good one at that moment. However, when camping once with my uncle, he had taught me how to get plenty clean with just a washcloth, soap, and water in times of need. So, I quietly undressed and washed off with a wet cloth.

I'd donned my fresh pair, grabbed my clothes, and crept back to the room. Trying to quickly decide what needed to go into the wash and what no, I had sniffed the armpits of Jack's yellow T shirt that I'd `borrowed' for the day and decided to start a "maybe" category by hanging it in the closet to test again in the morning.

Moving on to the jockstrap, as would be expected, it had emitted a more intense aroma than before I'd left the house that morning. Another one for the "maybe" category, I'd hung it back up on its hanger on the wall. Delighted with my idea to hang the jockstrap on my wall like a piece of art, I'd stood back to contemplate it some more, thinking it looked better than ever there.

That may sound crazy, but that jockstrap had come to represent a lot to me. That I had "inherited," in a way, a revered symbol of manhood from the captain, and that both Buck and he had deemed me worthy of it. The jockstrap also represented a legacy that I was now a part of, a community of men who were proud of their masculinity and made no effort to hide it.

Perhaps most importantly, it represented an enormous step forward for me. It symbolized my decision to fully accept my body as it was, to overcome the shame and embarrassment I had felt for years, and to fulfill my potential as a man, whatever that meant.

I had next thought of the singlet. Getting ready for class in a hurry earlier that day, I had quickly taken it off, folded it and tucked it away on a closet shelf. Coming home last night I'd felt the need to take it out for another look before bed, almost as if to bid it goodnight. I'd laid it on the bed for a moment, recalling in minute detail how it had fit me that morning and the wild adventure of wearing it in front of Buck, and then Earl, the mailman, and then Bobby at the gas station. Unbelievable.

Despite the panic and fear that exposing myself like that had triggered, I was proud of myself for going through with it. It was just a bit hard now to believe that it was me who had done that. At any rate, I hadn't been able to bring myself to fold it up again, so found a hanger for it. I'd been going to hang it in the closet but then paused.

Looking around the room, I'd found another empty hook, this one on the other side of the wrestling poster. This way, the shorts and jockstrap would flank the wrestler on one side and the singlet on the other. It had seemed perfect: from bed they'd be in plain view.

This was the sight I woke up to and it put me in a good mood right away.

I wasn't quite ready to take a shower in the open yet, whether in Buck's bathroom or in the basement, so contented myself with another good wipe down and a few swipes of deodorant. I would have to figure out the shower thing later, maybe that afternoon.

This was the day I had earlier classes, back-to-back, but no work. I thought about what to wear and went through my options. I sniffed the pits on the yellow T shirt and judged them too pungent from the double shift at work. Not that I minded the smell myself, but I didn't want to be too conspicuous in public.

I dug around in my bag for a couple of old team T shirts. These now fit so snug that I only wore them as undershirts, never just by themselves. I pulled out my wrestling team shirt first. Of all of them, it probably had the most positive memories, now even more so since Buck had helped me de-traumatize about the incident with the coach.

I pulled it on and checked myself out in the mirror. From what I could see through Jack's crusted cum shots, it fit about like the yellow shirt I'd worn yesterday. Multiple washings had left the white fabric worn thin and supple. It hugged my biceps and my chest and made me feel and look more muscular than usual.

In just one of the many questionable style decisions of the era, the wrestling team emblem on the front featured the type of 3-D "pop-art" font popular on rock albums and concert posters of the day, which made it a little more difficult to read. I also noticed how the word `wrestling' nestled across my chest, exactly between my two protruding nipples, making them look like two bullet points for punctuation or emphasis.

Turning sideways, I saw that my pecs jutted out a bit, like a stage for my puffy nips to stand on. My first reaction was mild panic at how scandalously revealing it was, and the old Hank would have shrouded it immediately beneath the baggy dark sweatshirt.

But this was the new Hank, the one who had survived indecent exposure and intimate scrutiny in a jock strap, a skimpy swimsuit, and a wrestling singlet. Faced with the prospect of sporting daring shirts two days in a row, this new Hank decided `what the hell!' He would wear the wrestling team T shirt today with nothing over it.

I was just about to pull the cut-offs on over my briefs but then caught sight of the jockstrap hanging on the wall. I wondered about wearing it for a third day in a row. Was it getting too ripe? I stepped closer and paused to savor the sight of my new friend. Then I closed my eyes, leaned in close until I felt it brush against my face and took a slow deep breath.

"Nothin' like a little hit off the ole pouch to jump start your day, am I right, Sailor?" Buck's voice at the doorway startled me. He had an uncanny talent for popping up at some of the most awkward moments.

I attempted to play it cool. "Uh, I was trying to decide if I should wear it another day since I wore it all day yesterday, to classes and work and everything."

"Smart boy. How else ya gonna make it your own?" His response puzzled me.

"Sorry?" I asked.

"Well," Buck rested against the doorframe, settling into the topic. Like me, he was in briefs, but nothing else. "Say you hang it on the Jock Rack downstairs. How the other guys gonna know not to mess with it `less they can tell it has an owner?"

I was fascinated by this idea. "Do you think anybody could tell now?"

Buck stepped into the room, and leaned in towards the jockstrap, bringing his bare chest up against my arm. His chest hairs bristled and tickled my skin. My first impulse was to jerk away, but that would be a cowardly reaction in this world I was now inhabiting. So, I stood firm and, after a moment or two of adjusting, found the contact with warm skin to be oddly comforting.

As I had done, Buck paused to savor the sight of the jockstrap at close range. His eyes roamed over it fondly and soft low sounds purred in his throat that I could not decipher. After a few moments, he reached out and, without taking it from the wall, brought it to his nose. He inhaled slowly, stroking and pulling the pouch through his fingers. It was a little embarrassing watching him inspect my jockstrap so closely. Shades of the other night with the captain.

And just as the captain had done, Buck murmured to himself, "hmmm, any sticky spots?" Would I ever get comfortable with these frank and spontaneous discussions of my most intimate body parts and functions? At this point, it was hard to imagine. "Hmmm," he concluded, "none yet."

Buck continued his assessment. "Ok, well definitely we got ball sweat here from some boy. That much I can tell."

I was amazed that he could tell an age difference and wondered how. I thought I would have to ask him to teach me that one day. But at that moment there was too much going on and I wanted him to continue, to hear what else he might say about the jock I'd been wearing the past few days.

"You work out at all in this jock yesterday or get aroused like we had you goin' for a minute in the car?" He seemed to chuckle recalling it.

"I don't think so sir. It was pretty much all class and work."

"Hmmm. Makes sense. That's why we don't got a distinctive smell yet. Tell ya what, drip some in it today, maybe look at a Playboy or talk about pussy with your buds, and then we'll check it, ok?"

I stood there looking at him open-mouthed. Such a homework assignment!

"Hey," he suddenly changed topics, and gently stroking my chest said, "I like your shirt."

"Oh," I demurred, "it's just my old team shirt."

"Yeah," he dropped his voice and leaned in close, "but it fits ya real good." And before I knew it, he'd reached up with both hands and pinched my nipples, hard. With that, he turned on his heel and thundered down the stairs.

I stood there dumbfounded, waiting for the rippling currents of pain radiating from my nipples to subside. I was amazed that these odd buttons on my chest that I had spent years trying to hide and wish away, had turned out to be so capable of these powerful, complex sensations.

Now without a doubt, I was going to wear the jockstrap. I yanked down my briefs and kicked them across the hall to laundry basket. I missed and they fell short, out in the hallway. A little devilish part of me felt tempted to just leave them there, in defiance of Buck's house rules and to test the limits of his discipline.

A second later, sanity prevailed. I might choose to test the limits of Buck's discipline one day, but for now I rushed across the hall to stow my `panties', as Buck called them, properly. However, just finding myself out in the hallway bare bottomed seemed an exciting act of daring in itself. I was tempted to dig around in the laundry basket, just to see what I might find and maybe try a few things on. Then I remembered I had classes to get to.

Quickly returning to my room, I removed the jockstrap from its perch with great respect and slowly pulled it on. It felt incredible, as though I could feel the strength and manhood of every man who had worn it before me. Though held securely, my balls felt somehow bigger and heavier.

I couldn't resist another look in the mirror and found I enjoyed seeing myself in just the T shirt, jockstrap, and white socks. I pulled on my sneakers to complete the look and fantasized for a moment about having the courage to hang around the house dressed like this. I felt pretty sure Buck wouldn't mind. This was so different than living with the old biddy.

Mindful of the clock, I pulled on my cut-offs, grabbed my book bag, and headed downstairs. On my way through the kitchen, Buck handed me a piece of toast, then held the screen door open for me.

"Mmmmm, lookin' good," he murmured as I walked past, and slapped me once more on the ass. I skipped a step and laughed as I headed for my car. Watching through the door, Buck called, "Betcha make a new friend today!"

Driving to campus, echoes of Buck's nipple pinch returned, and I'd try to soothe my aching nips by gently fondling them with my fingertips. That started to trigger other new, confusing sensations and before I knew it, I was getting hard. `What the hell is happening to me?' I wondered. This was definitely going to be another weird day.

Sure enough, the day unfolded in ways just as unusual as the day before. On the way to my first class, a voice behind me hollered, "Hey, Perez! Wait up!" The first shock was that anyone around here actually knew my name. The second was when I turned around to see the wrestler guy from my Tuesday-Thursday class running to catch up with me.

"Dude, what's up?" he asked, raising his hand for a palm slap. "Hey, what's with this?" His hands ran over my chest as he pulled my T shirt flat to take a closer look, toggling my nipples and starting all over the waves of strange sensations. "Dude, you grapple? Shoulda known with those killer legs!"

"In high school." I muttered. "Kinda out of practice now."

"Oh, right," he answered skeptically, "You're the stealth bomber type, I bet. Act all humble so I drop my guard and next thing y'know, `BAM!' My back's on the mat and your nuts're in my face!"

I started to deny it, but he just laughed and quickly changed topics. Dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "Hey, man, look what I just scored! You're gonna love this" and he slyly opened his bag revealing a Penthouse cover with two women. My eyes bugged in surprise. "Check it out, man!" he continued, "It's wild! You into this shit?"

Stunned by the sudden turn of events, I could only nod `yes'.

"Yeah, I could tell, man, the way you were pussy-dreaming in class the other day. Can't fool me. Hey," an idea seemed to hit him, "I'm headed over to my bud's room. He said if I got some porn, he'd get some rockin' lube. You in?"

The prospect of looking at porn with two other guys and maybe jerking off together pretty much blew my mind. And I couldn't decide which was freakier: that this guy in front of me was actually inviting me to do just that or that it coincided exactly with Buck's crazy homework assignment.

At any rate, I was still way too shy to accept. Maybe one day I'd be able to say `yes' right away to such invitations and it would be beyond my wildest dreams to be doing shit like that all the time. But right now, it was too soon. I wasn't ready. "Sounds awesome, man, but I'm headed to class."

"Oh, man! This is gonna be way better than class!"

"No doubt." I tried to sound cool. "But we got a test today—25% of the final grade and no make-up." I had developed a great ability to invent excuses on the spot for my bashfulness.

"Bummer, man." He seemed disappointed for a second, and then brightened. "Tell ya what, you let me copy off your quiz tomorrow, and I'll let ya check out the pussy pics after class."

Suddenly, by some stroke of luck, Buck's comment the day before about Sonny came to me. I leaned close and slyly muttered, "If the pages aren't all stuck together by then!"

"Dude!" he laughed, "You're hilarious! Love it!" and with another palm slap, he turned and trotted off to his jack session. I watched him recede and thought my world was turning upside down. I started walking to class and realized I was half hard from the conversation.

I managed to get my hard-on to deflate some with distracting thoughts of math problems, but it kept returning throughout the morning as I'd find myself absentmindedly fondling my nipples while the images of jerking off to porn with those guys returned to my daydreams.

Driving home I popped a full-on raging boner and had to sit in the driveway for a while reading my math textbook until I was fit to go inside. I figured at least I was following Buck's instructions for seasoning the jockstrap. The pouch felt damp so I was pretty sure I'd been leaking precum most of the morning.

When I walked in, Buck was in the kitchen fixing himself a sandwich and offered to make me one. I accepted and sat at the counter to watch. He was wearing a type of short that you would see around some back then: a lace-up football style. His were a gold color with double racing stripes in blue up the sides and blue laces crisscrossed up the front.

They were made with a stretchy material and Buck's fit tight, especially on his legs and butt. On this day, Buck had paired his shorts with an old blue T shirt that reached just to his waist so that when he lifted an arm or bent over, his torso was exposed. I thought he looked like a coach on his day off.

I'd always thought that kind of short was cool-looking but never had a pair of my own. At one time I had thought about saving up the money to buy one, but for some reason never did. I wondered if Buck ever lent his out. I thought one day I might get up the nerve to ask him to let me try his on.

For a moment, an image flashed of me in Buck's shorts on that little stage in front of the trifold mirror downstairs and him helping me check out the fit. That idea slightly scared me but excited me at the same time. I found myself touching my nipples again. Crazy.

I knew you could also get a similar look by just buying a pair of actual football pants and cutting them off. Especially after season, they were often on sale at sporting goods stores. It was probably football players who cut off their old pants for summer workouts who started the look in the first place. It occurred to me to ask Buck if he could keep his eye out at work for a deal on some for me.

As he walked the sandwiches over, another detail of the shorts grabbed my attention. He caught me staring and asked, "What?" Did I spill some mayo on myself or somethin'?"

"No," I answered a bit awkwardly, "I was just looking at how you'd laced `em up and noticed that the, umm, flap behind the laces is missing..." Without that flap, the laces pressed right up against the pouch of his clearly visible jockstrap.

"Naah, it's not missin'. Just sometimes I pull `em on in a hurry and it gets stuck folded back, over to the side. Guess it defeats the purpose." He laughed. "Sometimes I fix it and sometimes I don't. Depends on my mood."

He shifted his weight as he spoke, making parts of the jock pouch bulge through the laces a bit. I could not take my eyes off it.

"Yeah," he went on calmly, seeming totally comfortable with my staring, "Sometimes I leave it open like this just for fun. I think it's kinda cool, don't you?"

"Definitely." I whispered hoarsely, still transfixed by the sight. At first, it seemed crazy to me, but as I thought about it and how much I liked my new jock, the idea of wearing something that would show it off a little more started to sound appealing.

I mentioned as much to Buck, then quickly panicked that I might sound ungrateful. "I mean," I hurried to add, "the white shorts are great, sir! And that singlet is awesome!"

"And that jockstrap looks amazing under both." Buck added, making me blush a little. "But I get what you're sayin'. Maybe we can find somethin' to do the job for ya. Speaking of which," he continued as we started eating, "Wanna join me on a quick trip to that thrift store on Monroe Street?"

"Happy to, sir." I responded. "What for?"

Wiping a few crumbs off his chin, he explained, "I go pretty often to keep the locker room stocked with shorts and anything else I find. Sometimes guys aren't satisfied with what they're wearin', mostly cuz the way it fits, so they want something else, usually tighter, and smaller."

Buck went on about how he would weave a tale about where a pair of shorts came from: that they were left on his ship, or left here by a weightlifter, or how he won them in a poker game or found them at a gym in a nearby city where a lot of pro athletes trained. His creative tales would get his `buddies' to pay top dollar for his thrift shop finds.

Swimsuits, too. Buck had placed a sign out by the hot tub saying the law required wearing a swimsuit, so guys who wanted to take a soak but didn't bring a suit would need one. Buck would offer them something for a price, or sometimes when no one else was around, he'd tell them he'd make an exception this time just for them if they didn't mind making a little contribution to his fund in case he got fined.

"You haven't really seen the hot tub yet, right?" Buck suddenly remembered. "We'll have to fix that."

I'd only been in a hot tub once but really enjoyed it. I tried to remember if I had a swimsuit with me or not. I didn't think so, but wondered if the captain might lend me his again or if Jack might have left one somewhere in his room. If so, I thought, it was bound to be something fun to try on.

Then another thought occurred to me. "Don't you get stuff at the sporting goods store where you work, sir?"

"Well, I'm not supposed to sell anything I get from there, so I try to keep that to a minimum." And then he winked, "Just a few special things for special guys."