Sophomore Year

Sophomore Year 26

In this chapter, Hank explores yet another facet of Buck's world, meets a potential new mentor, and deepens his appreciation for vintage gear.

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Chapter 26

We jumped in Buck's car, me relieved to think that at least I wasn't wearing just a singlet like last time. Remembering that ride, I kept my knees spread wide and my hands clasped behind my head, curious if Buck was going to repeat the arousal experiment. But he seemed intent on our mission.

He explained that the owner of the thrift store was another Navy vet who kept an eye out for stuff Buck might like. He would give Buck a break on prices in exchange for freebies at the gym. Buck seemed a genius at creating these relations based on barter that opened doors for him.

We arrived in the parking lot of a strip mall. I recognized it as one that had been built less than a decade before with considerable fanfare to house a national chain grocery store, pharmacy and clothing store. However, as one more piece in the constant domino effect of relentless development and its planned obsolescence, the supermarket soon "expanded" to a newer location (also built with great fanfare) near a large subdivision, leaving this sort of down-market wreckage in its ever-widening wake. I surveyed the current tenants: a pawn shop, bingo hall and thrift store, and wondered why nobody seemed to notice or care how these development impresarios and their spineless zoning board lackeys were able to constantly chew up communities and spit out this kind of roadside detritus.

As we got out of the car and headed for the door, I noticed that Buck had not flipped back the flap on his shorts. I saw that his jockstrap pouch was still visible, pressing against the laces. "Uh sir?" I tentatively started, "Your shorts, the flap, uh..."

"Oh, that," he said. "Y'know, I just check out the situation I'm gonna be in. Like here: not many people, look how empty the parking lot is. My bud's not gonna care, he'll prolly get a kick out of it. And another thing I've learned: most people don't notice unless they're looking."

"Like you noticed cuz you're an athlete and you're cool with it, right? I could wear this around the house every day and you wouldn't complain, right?"

"No, sir." His question made me smile for some reason, but I responded truthfully, "I would not."

"If anyone's gonna complain, it's cuz they lookin' for somethin' to complain about. And if they do, I just say, `oh, sorry, forgot. Careless, let me fix that.' It's like you left your zipper down. No big deal."

I shook my head silently, amazed at Buck's bravado and skill at navigating this world in ways I'd never been able to imagine.

We walked in and Buck waved to his pal behind the register. I could see he was a slight fellow but looked wiry and fit. A bit younger than Buck perhaps, but like Buck he had a buzz cut in defiance of the current, shaggy trend. He was busy with a customer but waved back with a hand gesture as if to say, `Be with you in a sec.'

Buck led me to a rack marked `men's shorts' and started systematically combing through them. "It's not the item itself, it's the fit," he explained. "Somethin' looks great on me might not look so hot on you, and vice versa. But most guys don't know that. They see somethin' looks great in a magazine, or on their bud, or some muscle guy at the gym and so they go get themselves the same thing."

"Only problem is, it don't look on them like it did on that other guy. So, it ends up here. What a guy's gotta find is what looks good on him and him alone. And it's probably not what he was lookin' for."

Buck pointed me to start at the other end of the rack. "Don't worry if somethin' looks in rough shape; the more tore up, the better sometimes," he laughed. "Keep an eye out for stuff that's stretchy or silky. Anything looks like it'd keep ya real cool in a serious workout. And sharp designs, nothin' gimmicky."

It took me much longer than Buck to inspect each pair of shorts I came across, trying to keep all his instructions in mind. He did not seem to notice my slow pace, humming along merrily as he sped through the rack.

"Hey, bet we can find a nice pair of shorts for you, too." He pulled out a pair of white basketball shorts—this long before the style grew knee-length and voluminous—and held them against me. "Naah, way too big. We need somethin' that'll hug those tanks real good. Only problem here is no dressin' room so ya have to wait to get home to try stuff on."

"Sometimes I can't wait and get impatient, too impatient for my own good..." he lightly chuckled and let the thought fade, leaving me very curious about what his impatience might have led to.

About then, his friend had finished with the customer and came over to us. Instead of the expected exchange between friends, he mock-saluted and said, "Lieutenant Bryant, to what does this ship owe the honor?"

Buck laughed at the play formality, responding, "A full inspection, Ensign Walker. Prepare the area." At which his friend turned around and pretended to pull down his pants. They both laughed and then slapped palms with the usual greetings before Buck pointed to me and said, "And this is Hank, he's takin' Jack's room and helpin' out some."

"And a wrestler, is that right?" he said, eyeing my shirt. And like my new friend on campus, he grabbed at it to make out the text, bumping against my nips several times and sending mild shock waves through me.

"Nice," he released my shirt and with a big smile held out his hand and added, "Name's Mel. Bet you're a real threat on the mat with those legs."

"Nice to meet you, sir." I blushed, still unused to this degree of attention and comments on my physique.

"Whoa, and good manners to boot! Where'd ya find this one?" he asked Buck.

"Fell out' the sky, seems like sometimes." Buck laughed, then turned to me and said to keep looking though the racks, that Mel had some stuff to show him in the back and that if I needed anything, to just ring the bell at the counter and they'd come out. I nodded and off they went towards a door in the rear of the store, laughing and butt-slapping like old friends.

I continued looking through the shorts as Buck's comment about me falling from the sky echoed in my mind. Like much of what Buck said, I wasn't exactly sure what to make of it, but it seemed very sweet and made me feel warm all over.

I fell into almost a trance state, inspecting each pair of shorts, trying to picture its backstory and imagining how it might fit or look with or without a jockstrap, how the fabric of each might feel when worn. I found an old worn pair of P.E. shorts, the high school logo still intact on the leg. I set them aside, hoping Buck would like them. I was now more eager than ever to gain his approval.

Next, I found an old pair of nylon running shorts. They looked real nice, except the inner support liner had been cut out, and there was a cluster of small burn holes as if from a spray of sparks extending from the side of the short around to the back.

I wondered if the previous owner had been standing too close to a bonfire or left the shorts to dry near an open fireplace. A jumble of possible scenarios swarmed my brain for a minute, further entrancing me. Finally, I came to and set the running shorts aside with the high school gym shorts for Buck to check out, a little worried that he'd think they were too damaged.

Finishing with the shorts, I moved to a nearby rack of men's swimsuits. This was a time when the previous style of snug square cut suits for men was being replaced by longer, baggy board shorts as surfing became popular.

Back then of course, fads spread much more slowly than today, so you'd still see guys wearing the old style, though they'd tend to be older, more rural, and/or less hip. Or simply oblivious or resistant to mainstream fashion trends.

At any rate, these suits and guys who wore them were derided by the surfer crowd with the term bun huggers.' The tight suits seemed to coincide with greased hair like Elvis versus the mop-top' look ushered in by the Beatles and other groups.

So, it wasn't surprising to find lots of these old-fashioned suits in the racks. Personally, I never disliked them, and actually always wanted one, though I would never have admitted that to any of my peers. But my uncle Quique wore one that time he took me to the beach, and I thought I'd never seen any guy look so glamorous. He looked like Aldo Ray or Guy Madison or Ricardo Montalban, one of those handsome movie stars in a beach scene I'd seen in a late-night movie on TV.

I went through the rack slowly, remembering that day at the beach with my uncle. I found one suit in particular that I thought was pretty cool. It was another square cut in a light tan color with thin blood red pin stripes every couple inches. It had sort of a faux belt with faux buckle at the waist. The tag said "Medium" but it looked like maybe the suit had shrunk a bit. It had a ship's anchor emblem on the front of the left leg, vaguely reminding me of my uncle's silkies.

I held it up to get a good look and was surprised to see light shine though the fabric. I inspected it more closely. The only hope of some decency came from an additional strip of white fabric inside the front, sometimes known as a `modesty panel.' The fabric was worn smooth so very lightweight, but it still held an impressive degree of stretch.

I ran it through my fingers and savored how silky it felt. I fantasized about how incredible it must feel to wear it. I decided to get it for myself, figuring I could always wear the jockstrap under it if it looked too revealing.

I would wear it in the hot tub. And maybe the captain's pool, and who knew where else? For some reason, my pulse sped up and I couldn't wait to show Buck what I'd found, this suit that would perhaps become my signature swimwear in this new world.

Speaking of which, I started to notice the growing commotion from the back room. It sounded like Buck and Mel were either engaged in some competition, like maybe arm wrestling, or watching some game on TV that was building to a big finish. It came to a head with some shouts and banging furniture. After a few minutes, they emerged, all smiles and playful arm punches.

Buck's face looked flushed as I showed him my finds. "Oh, high school P.E. shorts! Always a classic and easy to build a great story around. I'd say they'd been mine but think I've already used that one a few times too many." Both men laughed. "Maybe we'll say there were Hank's!" and he held them up against my butt.

"I'd pay double in that case!" Mel added, stroking his hand down the shorts over my ass, making me blush like schoolgirl.

"Congratulations, Sailor," joked Buck, inspecting the logo on the shorts, "You are now a proud graduate of Anderson High School—wherever that is!"

Warming to the task, Buck next picked up the running shorts, looked inside them and shouted, "I fuckin' love it when they cut out those stupid ass liners! They don't support your nuts worth shit." I looked nervously around the store, worried some other customers might take offense at Buck's boisterous profanity. But there were just two older guys browsing a magazine rack, who looked over and, seeing the concern on my face, nodded smiles and winks as if to say, `No problem, it's just us guys in here.'

"What about all those burn holes?" I asked sheepishly, waiting for my selection to be rejected.

"Look at that," Buck turned the shorts so Mel could inspect the cluster of burn holes, "right about where the leg strap of the jock would be, right?"

"Hell, yeah," Mel agreed, "you'd see it plain as day. From the waistband to the ass cheek. Not to mention a decent amount of bare ass skin."

I hadn't thought about that and feared next a barrage of scolding for such a stupid choice. Instead, the next words from Buck I heard were, "Brilliant pick there, Sailor! Guys are gonna be fightin' over these! Oughta give ya ten percent of the profits."

Mel threw his arm around my neck, pulled me in tight against his wiry frame, and jokingly stage whispered in my ear, "The hell with ten percent, kid! Make him give ya twenty-five, at least!"

I thought he'd let go after that, but he kept me pressed against him. I didn't mind. I actually kind of liked it but had to point from a distance over to the swimsuit I'd set aside for Buck to inspect.

"Damn, this kid's a natural!" Buck exclaimed as he picked it up. Seeming delighted with it, he ran it through his fingers, held it up to the light, turned it inside out and even rubbed it against his cheek.

I was proud he shared my enthusiasm for it. I couldn't wait to get home to try it on, and hopefully model it for Buck in front of the big mirror in the gym. Heck, maybe the captain would join in. I was starting to get a little dizzy and leaned a bit more into Mel.

Buck brought my daydream to an abrupt halt. "And pretty sure I already got us a customer for this one. Bet we have it sold in no time. Great job, Sailor!"

Mel was the first to notice my crestfallen reaction. "Hey, you was plannin' on keepin' that nice suit for yourself, wasn't ya?" Looking at the floor, I slowly nodded yes, surprised at how deeply I was feeling the loss of something so insignificant as a swimsuit.

But Mel seemed to totally get it. "Poor baby," he cooed and started gently stroking my cheek with his free hand and rubbing my chest with the other, as though soothing a child.

Part of me thought I should probably protest this infantilizing treatment, but the truth is, it felt like rainfall in the desert. I couldn't quite get enough. Especially when his fingers started grazing over my newly sensitized nipples. That sent me into an altered state.

"Tell ya what, sugar boy," Mel whispered in my ear, "I got a real nice suit at home, real nice, even nicer than this one. Bet it fits ya like nobody's business. Really show off all that good stuff ya got goin'."

I'm not sure I even followed half the words Mel was saying, but his urgent tone of comfort and the tickle of his warm breath in my ear had me flying.

"And I wanna give it ya. I'd like ya to have it. A little welcome present, y'know, to our sweet little jockboy. Somethin' we can all enjoy. How `bout that, baby?"

I actually sniffled a bit as I nodded agreement.

"How `bout I bring it over this weekend, and you can try it on for us in front of that big mirror in the gym? Would ya do that for me, baby? Huh? Would ya like that, sweet boy?" Part of me wondered if I should be offended by the way this guy who was practically a stranger was treating me, like soothing a little kid who'd lost his balloon with tickles and promises of candy.

But for some reason I couldn't move from the spot. I was beyond words. This was without a doubt the strangest in a long string of strange situations I had found myself in the past few days, and yet it felt somehow oddly familiar, like a long-forgotten dream or something that life had been preparing me for.

As was happening a lot to me in Buck's world, I was dumbfounded. Another man seemingly able to detect in a minute my deepest fears and desires even better than myself, and instead of shock or ridicule, was expressing complete acceptance and the intention to soothe and fulfill them.

Call me crazy, but I would have happily stayed glued to Mel like that all day.

Except that I suddenly realized that my crazy, hormone-fueled teenage body was reacting to all this with a growing erection in my jockstrap. I had no idea what was going on with me, but knew I needed to somehow break loose before these guys discovered what a freak I was.

Fortunately, not ready to be outdone by his pal, Buck jumped back into the spotlight. "And look what ole' Bucky found for his sailor boy!" And he proudly held up a pair of white football pants.

"Oh, wow!" and my excitement was genuine. Mel released his embrace to allow me to step forward and take the pants from Buck. I held them in front of me to block the view of my swollen crotch. I oohed and aahed appreciation as I looked them over, taking longer than needed so my boner had time to deflate a bit.

The pants were well worn but had survived the last football season in good condition. I loved the feel of the fabric and that despite a few faint stains here and there, they retained their white hue. However, upon closer inspection, I wondered out loud if they might not be too small.

"Naah," responded Buck, "I'm an expert at gauging sizes and fit. Once we cut the legs off nice and short, they're gonna fit ya perfect. Good and skintight, so that jockstrap really shows off underneath!" He slapped my ass for emphasis.

"Jockstrap?" Mel sounded surprised, "ya mean, we actually got us a young buck here who's not a diehard freeballer?"

"Not this one," and now Buck playfully pulled me in close with an arm around my neck. "He gets what's it all about. Matter of fact, handed over to him one of the captain's old `straps, the Bike #10."

"The Bike #10!" Mel exclaimed, obviously impressed. "Well, this must be a very special little fellah indeed!"

"Oh, yeah," affirmed Buck, "no doubt about that."

"Is that right?" mused Mel, and dropping his voice and leaning closer to Buck asked, "And so, how's that fit?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," Buck responded, "like it was tailor made for him. Y'know," he continued, "I'd always kinda hoped that Jack would be the next in line for it, but that's just not the path he's chosen, so..."

"So..." Mel picked up the thought, "we have a new heir."

"Sure seems like it," Buck agreed, "y'know, he's hardly taken it off since."

"Is that right?" Mel rubbed his chin thoughtfully while looking at my crotch, clearly wondering whether I was wearing it at that moment under my cut-offs. It's hard to believe it now, but I almost wished I was wearing something like the white shorts, so he could see it.

Still, I blushed at the attention and was going to deflect it with some comment, but before I could, Buck added, "Wears it under Jack's singlet, too. You should see it. Really somethin'."

"Mmmm," Mel half growled, "I'd love to see that." Looking at me, he added, "Maybe this weekend when I bring by the suit? Would ya put the singlet on for me and model it?"

Before I could answer, Buck said, "He'd love nothin' better." Then nudging me, "Hey, show Mel what I taught ya."

Still blushing, I reached down with my right hand, cupped my balls through my cut-offs, and, just as Buck had taught me, solemnly recited, "Keep `em strapped."

Mel's face lit up in delight, as I'm sure did mine when he then reached down with his right hand to cup his own balls, but paused, looked me in the eye and said, "When it's somethin' special, I go right to the source," and pulled down the waist of his shorts to reveal his balls nestled in a well-worn jockstrap. Never losing eye contact, he then cupped his balls and said, "Trust the pouch, little man!"

Then we joined our right hands, still slightly warmed from holding our balls, in a goodbye handshake. It did indeed feel special. "Welcome, Sailor Boy." He smiled. "I hope I see a lot more of you."

"You will, Ensign," Buck assured him as he grabbed up our purchases. "Just don't try to rush it."

His comment puzzled me, but before I could ask him to explain, he was wrapping it up. "Put these on the bill and see ya this weekend." They traded butt slaps.

As we headed out the door, Mel called, "Hey, Hank, get Buck to tell ya `bout his parking lot adventure!"

Buck laughed, flipped him a bird and out the door we went.