THE DEADHEADS OF NO HOPE by Rio Mack
DISCLAIMER: Contains depictions of gay sex.
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FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL (TUESDAY AFTERNOON)
Trey caught up with Remy after math class, and the boys headed downstairs, for third-hour lunch, to a large, bright, pleasantly buzzing basement room, containing several long tables, a cafeteria-style food line, and a busy kitchen with four cooks preparing free meals for students. Remy's mind had totally cleared from the flu-ish sort of light-headedness that overwhelmed him at the end of last hour.
He and Trey went through the line, and both boys grabbed slices of delicious-looking home-made pizza, then found seats together at one of the long tables. Scoping out the crowd while he ate, Remy quickly spotted Wren Damson, who was sitting with a bunch of black girls at a table nearby. She soon noticed him staring at her, smiled, and turned back to her friends.
For the rest of the hour, Remy tried hard not to stare at Wren Damson, but it was impossible -- he was totally obsessed now. It wasn't just that Wren was achingly beautiful, with a sleek, slender, graceful, body -- and just the right sort of fashion-sense to show it off perfectly -- there was something more: she gave off a kind of fascinating, other-worldly, wholly erotic aura, like she was in tune with some deep, secret, misterioso love-rhythms, which Remy found utterlly beguiling.
Hmmmm, he thought -- maybe he wasn't quite over his crazy light-headedness after all.
After lunch, Remy and Trey had to separate for their next two classes. Before they parted, in the hall outside the cafeteria, Trey gave him a hug, and the two boys kissed sensuously, mashing their thick cocks together and caressing each other's firm, round butt. As they broke their kiss, Remy noticed Wren Damson standing a few feet away, watching them, her eyes wide, so Remy gave her a smile and a wink, then headed upstairs to his fourth-hour class.
Remy had a super-smart, forty-something, black dude for his History teacher. The class was going to begin the course by studying the founding documents of America, which interested Remy enormously. Wren Damson and Njeri Dare were also in his class, and he and Wren both lost the staring battle they fought throughout the hour.
There were two other students Remy kept ogling a lot that hour, two smoking hot black boys. One was a handsome, hard-muscled boy, built sort of like Remy himself, with longish braids he wore gathered under a thick white hair-band, which Remy thought looked andro-sexy as fuck. The dude was so beautiful, Remy had to keep reminding himself not to gape and drool.
The other boy, whom he'd noticed earlier, in his math class, had sexy braids, too -- longer, snaking around his neck, down to his shoulders. This dude was taller, more lean-muscled, and carried himself with a regal, commanding grace. He had a heart-throb handsome face, featuring a smile you could get lost in. Dude should definitely be a movie star, Remy thought.
He found out, when roll was called, the shorter, muscle-stud hottie was named Willy Stevens, and the tall, lean, dreamy dude with the god-like presence was named Dewey Charles. The difference between these two gorgeous black dudes -- Willy was school-boy beautiful, teen-age gorgeous; Dewey was male-model handsome, porn-star hot. This was going to be a nice class, Remy felt, just in terms of hot-boy eye-candy alone.
When the bell sounded, ending class, and students began grabbing backpacks and streaming out into the halls, Remy wanted to catch up with either Dewey or Willy if he could, but Wren Damson was suddenly right next to him, and again time stopped.
"So, you're new here this year, Remy Lord -- how do you like No Hope so far?"
He was still transported by this eerily gorgeous girl, still felt that smoky haze of lust enveloping his brain, but at least now he could talk.
"I love it, Wren! It's absolutely amazing! Classes, teachers, students -- hell, I even like the building!"
"What class do you have next? It must be either PE or Chemistry, since we've had everything else together."
"I got Chemistry now."
"Awesome! Me, too. Follow me, these stairs are the fastest to the science rooms."
Remy resumed their conversation as they headed downstairs together. "Anyway, yeah, so -- school. We moved here -- my mom and I, that is -- because of my mom's job, so it's on account of her that I'm here at No Hope. And it's been, like, a waking dream, so far! Like, Paradise High. I mean, as a queer dude, especially. But it'd be cool for any boy, I bet. Or girl, of course. I was actually just thinking, back in History class, that tonight I am definitely going to have to make Ava -- my mom -- the most amazing dinner, to thank her for bringing me to a 17-year-old gay boy's utopia!"
Wren was beaming delightedly at him -- a mix of girlish innocence, it seemed to Remy, and sheer sexual allure. He had to get control of himself because he again wanted to take her in his arms, kiss her everywhere, then pull her down on the floor with him. Wren, seemingly oblivious to his smoldering lust, kept chirping blithely away.
"I know, right? Our school is the absolute best! You're going to have an amazing time here, Remy. Going to No Hope has changed my life. I mean, seriously! I'd have been lost going anywhere else. This place is so damn cool. We are like the luckiest teens on the planet!"
They arrived at the science lab in which they'd have their Chemistry class. When they walked through the door, Wren excitedly asked Remy if he wanted to be her lab partner for the year, and of course he agreed, so she led them over to claim two adjoining workstations at the end of one of the two long rows of lab tables in the classroom. She explained to Remy that at No Hope, the science classes (which were all labs), conserved equipment and materials by having students buddy up. Teachers made lab partners out of whichever students were sitting next to each other on the first day of class.
As soon as Remy thought about how close to each other they'd be in class all year -- flirty close, arousal close, sexual-partner close -- his cock began throbbing again with excitement. His arousal dumb-founded him, though -- how the hell could he be getting hard for a girl all of a sudden? After being hard for boys only for, like, forever!?
Wren Damson was totally a sex-fairy, Remy became more and more convinced, given the immediate and utter force of his desire -- an erotic pixie who'd enchanted him with some sort of powerful lust-spell, totally captivating him, and after school she was going to transport him away with her to her Arcadian lust-bower in Fairyland, where she'd bind him in golden chains, then pleasure her svelte, sylph-like body on his cock for hours at a stretch.
Remy started getting hard and carried away by this sudden lust-fantasy -- he could just picture the two of them, naked together on a bed of a hundred pillows, the air filled with the strong, heady scent of the sweet flowers and aphrodisiac herbs she'd use to keep him hard and randy for hours while she rode him.
He forced himself to recover his bearings as they sat at their workstations, close enough to each other that their knees were touching, and chatted together in the minutes before class started.
"You won't believe this, Wren, but my house is like right across the street from school!"
"I know exactly where you live, Remy. When I saw you in English class today, I realized I'd seen you a couple times over the summer. When Uncle Dexter told me the church sold the Pastor's house, I wondered who bought it and would be living there. Then I saw you a couple of times, in your yard and on your upstairs porch. And a couple of times around the neighborhood."
"Wow, that's so cool! You saw me before you even knew it was me! Yeah, we moved here from Milwaukee on account of my mom got a job here at No Hope. She's actually Director of Curriculum here. Works in the main office with Principle Jay."
"That's awesome! Your mom's like No Hope royalty -- a Lady at Queen Thalia's court! That makes you a Crown Prince, Remy! It's exactly like one of those sexy Netflix series, where the hot, totally dreamy, aristocratic gay boy goes to high school with the commoners, and has sex all the time. You'd be perfect as the star of that series, by the way. I live exactly four houses right up the street from you, Remy, on Tower Hill. My house is catty-corner from the Witch's Hat and the tennis courts."
As she spoke, Wren kept one elbow propped on the lab table, her arm held straight up, and in that raised hand, she continually kept flipping a silver disc or medallion back and forth, moving it through the fingers of her left hand, back and forth, back and forth, really fast, like she was a magician or card shark or something.
Remy wondered whether it was just a nervous tic, or if she was maybe trying to hypnotize him. If it was the latter, she should know there was no need -- just her, just looking at her, watching her doing anything, was already totally mesmerizing.
"I think I know just which house is yours, then, Wren -- huge, really beautiful, brick house? A bunch of rose bushes all over the place? All those narrow front steps winding up from the sidewalk to the front door? Massive white pillars by the front door, with that cool porte cochère thing or whatever the fuck it's called?"
"That's right, Remy, that's my house. Those roses are my uncle's pride and joy."
"They're amazing. I go by your house all the time. When I go on my runs, I always head out by going up Orlin."
"I know, Remy. I've seen you out running a lot. You always look like some super-sexy commercial for Nike, or one of those 'investment planning for the long run' ads or something. And it's so seductively erudite that you know what a porte cochère is. My Uncle Dexter taught me all about architecture when he home-schooled me for middle school."
"Not that impressive, Wren -- I actually Googled it, to find out what it's called, because I always think it looks so cool when I run by it."
Wren kept flipping the silver disc as they talked, but Remy was only vaguely aware of it -- it wasn't nearly powerful enough to distract him from the startling, fathomless beauty of her face, on which his attention was wholly absorbed.
A few times, she picked up her phone to check it (she did that a lot -- stared at her phone screen when he thought she might be staring at him).
Suddenly, he caught the flash from that metal disc-thing dropping out of her fingers. He looked down, but her trinket had rolled off. Without thinking, he immediately hopped down off his stool to retrieve it for her.
It was some kind of large coin, he noticed, when he finally spotted it. He bent down to get it. The soft, worn-smooth metal felt amazing as soon as he touched it. But cool, too -- almost cold, which was weird, he thought, because she'd been holding it this whole time, fingering it, and wouldn't that have warmed it up?
His fingers began trembling bizarrely as he held it, and he felt like he might drop the suddenly ice-cold coin. He didn't want Wren to think he was some nervous dweeb-boy, but damn, his hands were shaking.
He stayed crouched, trying to get a grip on his nerves. He was certain now he must have gotten food poisoning from his breakfast. The icy feeling immediately passed, but now he was riveted by the silver coin. He studied it for a second before rising up to hand it back to her, turning it over in his fingers a few times -- slowly, not dextrously flipping it like Wren did -- so he could read the writing on each side.
It was an antique U. S. coin, a silver dollar, from 1889, with a woman's head on one side, whose curly-hair made Remy at first think she was supposed to be the goddess Hera, but her tiara said 'Liberty', and on the `tails' side of the coin there was a cool-looking eagle, wings spread. It was weird because, being so old and worn, the coin wasn't shiny at all, but earlier it had seemed to catch the light, glinting brilliantly now and then, as Wren played it through her thin, delicate fingers.
Suddenly, still kneeling on the floor, holding the coin, Remy's mind -- his entire body, actually -- became suffused by another strong, uncontrollable wave of lust, and he wondered what those graceful, supple fingers of Wren's would feel like playing up and down his rock-hard cock. He had to literally strain, to will his muscles from what they were aching to do -- spring up and grab Wren Damson in his arms and worship her beauty all over and kiss it and press his jutting cock hard against her and tell her how much he wanted her.
He could feel his desire seething, and his cock willing him into action. He had to fuck this girl! Now! Right here! A lot! Rolling on the floor with her, kissing and fucking. For the rest of the damn day! Jesus Fuck, it would be glorious!
Remy saw himself naked, on his knees in front of her, in chains, Wren's gleaming eyes raking over his ripped young body and rock-hard cock. Only one thing was important now, he knew -- Wren Damson's sexual pleasure. He would kneel in front of her, her lust-slave now, and beg her to command him how best he could service her radiantly erotic body. His dick ached with the wish they were both naked, in her Fairyland sex-bower.
What the hell is a `bower' even, and how the fuck does he know that word? Whatever, he just wanted to be there, frolicking in the sexiest, most luscious love-play ever imagined by a boy and girl, and they'd never ever have to leave.
Then his fantasy seemed to flip-flop in his brain, and he saw himself as some kind of demon -- devil-red, with a super-jacked young body, a big-ass dick, and horns. Wren was lying on a bed, fingering herself, fear in her eyes at his thick, curving, sharp-pointed horns and the size of his massive cock, which leaked a steady flow of pre-cum. But there was sheer wanton desire in her eyes, too. Her pussy-lips were moist and open, dripping like a drooling idiot's mouth.
"Take me, my Demon Lord!" she was panting. "Ravish me!"
With intense focus and controlled breathing, Remy steadied his roiling mind and trembling body, beating back an overwhelming wash of desire that seemed strong enough to knock him over. Gingerly, he raised himself slowly up.
He smiled shakily at Wren, dazed and woozy from that erotic, explosive rush, and reached his still-quivering hand out, offering her silver dollar back to her. Wren's fingertips met his. He felt her lingering touch -- sublime, electric -- then the soft, sensuous brush of her fingers against his palm as she slowly slid the coin off his outstretched hand, in a sensual stroke that felt to him like foreplay, before enfolding it quickly back into hers.
"Thanks, Remy! This silver dollar was a gift from my mom, when I was a lot younger. It's sort of become my good-luck charm!"
Their Chemistry teacher walked in and called class to order, cutting off any further conversation between the two teens.
Science for Remy was like math, he'd never really gotten into it. He was interested in basic physical science, sure -- plants and nature and stuff, along with the science of nutrition and physical conditioning, as well as figuring out the properties of the various media he used in his painting and drawing. And whatever `science' was behind home repair and carpentry, of course. Otherwise, science was pretty much over his head.
Although he had to admit, his teacher this term, a young black woman, brought enormous energy to the subject. She started by showing the class how to perform a chemical analysis to determine exactly what was in a frozen burrito, which cracked all the students up (especially when her analysis revealed some of the junk that was in what was probably a food staple, Remy figured, for most of them).
The funny-but-serious demonstration turned out to be a preview of what their first few weeks of class would focus on -- learning the elements and their properties, and how to do analyses of unknown compounds. That actually sounded OK and doable to Remy. It helped, too, that he'd be Wren Damson's lab partner, working next to her all year, basking in the sheer erotic force of her charm and beauty.
Afterwards, when class was over and students gathered up their backpacks to head out, Remy stayed glued to Wren Damson. He could not shake his fascination with her and was ready to call her the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen in the flesh. A Tim Buckley lyric could almost always capture Remy's mood, so "I got this strange feeling deep down in my heart. I can't tell what it is, but it won't let go" was what he hummed to himself, gazing longingly at her as she stopped to talk to two girls she knew in the class.
Willy Stevens was also in this class, and Remy had wanted to say something flirty to him, before the boy headed out of class, to make it clear he was into him, but he couldn't even move to try and catch up with the handsome dude, he was so overcome with Wren and the need to be close to her. Wren said goodbye to her friends, and she and Remy headed off to their last-period class of the day, PE.
"Sixth-hour gym class is awesome, don't you agree, Remy?"
"The best!"
"I had last-hour gym my freshman year. Sublimely perfect, having classes done, and chilling with all those beautiful girls. Especially all the supremely gorgeous black girls -- exercising together, playing sports and games, then naked by our lockers and showering together. Sheer bliss. I imagine it's that way for boys, too?"
"Totally! I love being in gym class with other hot dudes, working our bodies, then stripping down, showing off cock and muscle by the lockers. And fuck, do I ever love showering naked with a bunch of other hot boys! Here at No Hope, I heard dudes can even jack together and shit in the showers! Jesus Fuck! The boys here are so damn hot, the thought of showering with them, jacking together? Fuck, my dick will probably fall off some time the first week of October!"
Once inside the door to the gym, they split up, so Remy could head over to sit with Trey, whom he spotted in the bleachers, waving.
Remy loved the No Hope gym -- old-school hardwood floors, basketball hoops on either end, bleachers on one side that could be pulled out (like they were now), and even a small proscenium stage at one end. Remy hoped the stage-area meant there would be various performances given in the gym throughout the school year, like maybe a high school musical or a Shakespeare play.
As he and Trey compared notes on their first day, waiting for class to start, Remy noted that besides Wren, Njeri and Lavender were also in the class. He'd never had gym with both boys and girls before, so this could be interesting.
Suddenly, he felt Trey nudge him and nod his head towards the door to the gym. Striding through it, like he owned the place, was Mayo, the black stud from their orientation, chatting with two other boys -- Willy Stevens (yes!) and a lean, muscular, good-looking white dude with dreads.
Mayo noticed Remy, smiled, and he and his boys strode over. Remy and Mayo hugged. Remy was totally amped to have a class with this walking j/o fantasy. Mayo introduced his buds. Remy gave Willy a fist-bump, saying he recognized him from Chemistry and History. Willy nodded.
"Hell yeah, dude! Sure as hell seen you! I mean, can't miss no white boys at this school, so damn few a y'all! Cool we got gym together, dawg!"
Remy introduced Trey to Willy and Mayo.
Up close, like this, Remy could not stop staring at Willy. He had a dark-chocolate complexion, with a hard-muscled body -- the stretched-taut wife-beater he wore showed off a great chest and amazing biceps. Willy's braids looked seriously sexy with that thick white head-band causing some of them, in front and on the sides, to flow over the head-band and perfectly frame his gorgeous face.
Willy had dark, soulful eyes that mesmerized Remy, and big, puffy, pink lips that looked absolutely luscious. Completing his sexy bad-boy look was a wispy almost-invisible moustache and a similarly faint but very sexy chinstache. Remy immediately hoped he'd get to be tight friends with this beautiful boy.
Mayo's other friend was Lee, a white dude who gave off a sexy, sinewy, skater-boy vibe. He had greenish-brown eyes, a sweet smile, and some of the best white-boy dreads ever -- thick, long, and dirty blonde. So damn many hot dudes in this school, Remy thought, it was staggering.
Mayo leaned in and whispered to Remy.
"Can't wait to see you in the showers, hot boy."
"Same here, stud. Damn, I fucking love this school!"
"Told ya!"
Two PE teachers came into the gym, and class began, with the male teacher calling the boys to his side of the gym space, and the female teacher (who was a very young, very beautiful, very in-shape black woman, with a thick set of locs tied up in a head scarf) calling the girls over to her. There were thirteen other boys in his gym class, besides Trey and himself (12 black, 3 white). Grade-wise, the boys were a mix of juniors and seniors (all PE classes at Hope Academy were mixed-grade, he'd learn, either first/second-year or third/fourth).
His teacher, Coach Simmons, looked to be about thirty-something, though Remy often found it difficult to guess the age of older black dudes. As might be expected from a gym teacher, he was seriously built -- an ex-college football player, he told them, who had clearly kept up his elite level of conditioning. His T-shirt looked like it was shrunk-wrapped over an upper body that could land him a part in the next super-hero movie.
Maybe it was thinking about his gym teacher as a super-hero, but suddenly, wholly unlike the model student he usually was, Remy just tuned right out of Coach's comments, to start day-dreaming about Wren Damson again, having this amazing fantasy of himself as some kind of space pirate -- young, devestatingly handsome, seriously jacked, dressed insanely hot with leather straps making an 'X' across his ripped upper body, and a sort of a leather jockstrap that showed a humongous cock bulge.
Remy's cock started swelling and hardening as he day-dreamed, and he let his libido go wild.
In his erotic fantasy, he had just put his space ship on auto-pilot and was about to have his way with the gorgeous young Empress Wren, lesbian ruler of an all-girl pleasure planet, whom he'd just captured in one of his space raids. She was chained on his bed, totally nude and achingly desirable, lying amid sumptuous sheets of silk and satin, in his ship's cool-looking sleeping quarters.
As Remy entered his cabin, his beautiful captive looked at him with fierce, gleaming lust raging in her eyes. He ripped his leather jock-strap off and his cock was like ten inches long, beer-can-thick, and drooling pre-cum like a small waterfall. He drew close and sensuously swiped his dick back and forth across her hungry lips a few times, and she gasped with greedy pleasure.
Then he settled his bare, muscle-ass on her face, and she began rimming him with hungry abandon, while he dove for her pussy, which looked like two small, perfect flower-petals nestled between her silken-smooth thighs. Her cunt gave off a heady, intoxicating fragrance, drawing him to it. He dove in to devour her.
His cock start pulsating wildly as soon as his lips touched her labia. The young temptress's pussy had a deliciously sweet, bewitching taste and texture, like ripe, succulent slices of some lusciously juicy fruit from an enchanted garden, which made his dick harder the more he ate. He ate with abandon, while her tongue did amazing things in his ass.
Suddenly, Trey snapped him out of his reverie by telling him they were heading out. Remy couldn't believe how out of it he'd been, lost in another Wren-lust reverie. What the hell was happening to him? He'd never had that kind of crazy, comic-book scenario stroke fantasy before. And he'd never had a fantasy that featured a girl. Usually his j/o fantasies were him and muscular young black dudes, sucking and fucking and kissing. It was like he'd been drugged or something.
And j/o fantasies featuring a girl's snatch? What the hell was up with that? He'd never so much as seen a girl's genitals in real-life -- just a vague glimpse or two in some bi porn he clicked on cause the dude in it looked hot. So how the hell did he even know what it looked like down there? And since his tongue had never come anywhere near a girl's cunt, why the fuck did he suddenly have an insatiable thirst for pussy?
He knew what his dick felt like when it was hard, however, and these wild, sex-crazed fantasies of Wren Damson he'd suddenly started having sure as hell made his dick hard.
The boys in the class followed Coach through a door off to the side, which opened into a spacious, recently built addition -- a weight room, which also contained several cardio machines. The first four weeks of class, Coach told them, would be mostly weight training and conditioning, which made all the boys in class smile and pump their fists.
Coach spent about thirty minutes demonstrating the equipment and explaining proper gym etiquette -- pair up with a buddy/spotter, wipe off whatever sweat you leave behind, return weight plates to the rack, make sure every boy gets to use the equipment he needs, don't crowd around one station or machine, and stay hydrated.
From the weight room, Coach led them down a hall, running behind the gym's proscenium stage area, which branched off to two doors, the boys' and the girls' locker rooms. Once in their locker room, he had the boys seat themselves on a row of benches in front of a wall of lockers to explain the rules for PE class that year.
First, what to wear, which was easy -- basically any kind of athletic shoe and a pair of shorts. Basketball shorts were fine, just not the same ones a boy might be wearing that day for school. T-shirts weren't required, he said.
"I know how boys like showin' off those jacked upper bodies y'all got!"
Dudes laughed and fist-bumped.
Jockstraps and compression shorts, Coach added, though encouraged, were optional, along with gloves for lifting weights.
He said he'd make available a form, after class, for whoever needed it, to requisition gear from the PE Department's supply, if a student's family didn't have money for shoes or shorts, so all boys would be able to be dressed for class tomorrow.
He told them to never be late, to hit the locker room first to suit up, then, starting tomorrow, head directly to the weight room when dressed and start stretching. He reminded them to keep all spaces neat, and above all no fighting, which would result in immediate expulsion from school. Then Coach passed around the form to request workout gear.
Remy could hardly wait for tomorrow's class -- pumping iron with a room full of mostly black, mostly very good-looking, bare-chested boys, and then showers afterward! His cock plumped excitedly at the thought.
Final bell sounded, and the school day was over. Remy bro-hugged goodbye the new friends he'd made in gym class. He went nuts when Willy gave him a quick kiss on the cheek when they hugged, so Remy gave Willy one, too, when they broke their clench. Remy's dick pulsated from their hot, casual intimacy.
Remy invited Trey over after school, but his bro reminded him about his job, so Remy headed across the street to his house, a little bummed, but figuring he'd use the alone-time to go for a long run. Once inside, he immediately stripped down and fixed himself a protein shake.
Remy loved being nude when hanging out at home. A beautifully formed young narcissist, he'd eagerly embraced the clothes-free lifestyle in which Ava, his mother, raised him. All kids, it seemed, love running around the house nude, but Remy was supremely lucky he had a mom who felt it only natural her boy should continue to enjoy the innocent freedoms of childhood as he grew older. Remy would wear clothes (as would Ava) when company came over, but once new acquaintances became close friends, Remy (along with his mom) would revert to their more relaxed life-style. The boys he hung out with -- and fooled around with -- had no problem with their naturist program.
Now that he was older, and comfortably at home in his taut, lean body, he particularly enjoyed the feeling of his cock hanging loose and unconstrained, bouncing and swaying when he moved, always ready for fondling, whether with friends or alone. Ava made sure there were lots of blankets and throws on the chairs and couches, so that if it were chilly in the house, they could wrap themselves up when they watched TV together. Ava kept a robe hanging on the coat tree by the front door, next to Remy's old pair of denim overalls, so they each had something to slip into when they answered the door.
Remy was as body-obsessed as he was sex-obsessed. As a pre-teen, like many boys that age, he developed his body image in large part from the media -- comic books; super-hero movies and action pictures (featuring ultra-muscular men); the beautifully muscled bodies of college and pro athletes; even advertisements featuring sexy dudes. And Remy had his workout-obsessed father around while growing up, whose hard-muscled, bare-chested body always got young Remy awed and mesmerized.
Once his muscular ideal had become eroticized for him, Remy inevitably found his way to the gorgeous boys online, on social media, and then, finally, to gay porn, which Remy discovered when he was 11. It was a year after that when, like so many young boys into muscle, Remy began to run and work out, so he could look like the hot men he drooled over, stroked to, and -- starting at age 13 -- had sex with.
The two pre-occupations -- working out and sex -- became intertwined for Remy, and he developed a passion for intense, athletic sex with hard, ripped dudes. He grew to realize how the exact same hormone used to fuel muscle growth also increased sex drive. As a virile, lusty, young gay boy, Remy developed a craving for an unblushingly huge amount of sex. When he couldn't get with other dudes, he'd lie in bed, morning and night, edging himself to exquisite hardness with boy-sex j/o fantasies spun from his testosterone-soaked, gay-media-fueled libido.
After he polished off his protein shake, Remy headed up to his attic bedroom.
First, some tunes, of course. The Grateful Dead were Remy's main jam. For the past month, he'd been on a deep dive of the band's 1971 shows, so he scrolled his phone to one of his current favorites -- 4/25/71, at the Fillmore East -- and played it loud through his stereo speakers, feeling the jangly, churning opening of "Truckin'" course through him like a brain-frying bong-rip. Speaking of which . . . he did a few hits from a pipe he'd loaded before he left for school that morning. Then he clicked some gay porn onto his flatscreen and settled into his pre-run stretch.
When he finished stretching, and with a particularly fine "China Cat Sunflower" just starting, Remy spent about fifteen minutes posing nude, flexing in front of his mirror, scrupulously checking out his chest and abs and shoulders and arms.
Staring this way and that at his lean, hard definition, he wondered whether he should bulk up a little this year, get to be more of a beefy stud, like Niece and Mayo? He decided no, that he liked how ripped he'd gotten over the summer. He thought he looked hot as fuck.
Using a hand mirror, he turned and studied his back and his ass, flexing and pumping as he examined each muscle group, especially his glutes. He faced front again, set the mirror back down on his dresser, and spent some time checking out his cock, softly fondling it, jacking it a bit as he delighted in the cuts he'd achieved in his arms and chest, from stepping up his workout right after they moved here.
Remy would never give up these long, narcissistic interludes, spent nude, posing and flexing in front of a mirror each day. He was too enchanted with how fine his body looked. We only get one vehicle for our ride on this long, strange trip, Remy realized, and he wanted to keep his running lean and strong.
When he was right at the point where he going to bag the run and jack out a load to the hot muscle-and-cock porn show he was putting on in his mirror, he tore his gaze away, slipped into his running gear, and headed out for his run.
That afternoon, he did his five-mile route, which took him through his favorite streets in the Upper and Lower Park, then down the River Parkway that ran along the Mississippi River, and back again into Prospect Park.
He'd plotted out a couple of 'running trails' for himself over the summer -- first just running randomly to get to know his new surroundings. Then, when he'd figured out the runs he'd liked best, in terms of aesthetics and number of good hills, as well as the requisite distance (he got Ava to drive him around to measure mileage), he settled on a three-mile route and a five-mile route, which he'd alternate between (freelancing, of course, when the mood struck).
Both routes included his favorite area of the neighborhood to run through, a section he thought of as 'the gay ghetto'. Prospect Park, where Remy lived, had an Upper Park and a Lower. The Upper Park, where he and Ava lived, had the Witches Hat Tower, which marked the highest elevation in Minneapolis. Then, down steep Seymour Hill, and across Franklin, was the Lower Park.
It was on a run early in the summer that Remy stumbled upon Prospect Park's gayborhood -- five quiet, majestically shaded blocks of the Lower Park; two blocks of a street called Cecil', and three blocks of a street called Warwick'. He was drawn there initially, on a particularly sweat-soaked, sun-drenched run, by the inviting-looking rows of shade trees crowding both sides of the block, which looked, from across the street, like a dimensional porthole to a cool jungle world.
When he headed down that first block of Cecil for the first time, he not only enjoyed the cool shade, but the cool houses -- a lot of 1950s-era bungalows and duplexes, mixed in with some of those big old Victorians, like his own, that were rife in the Upper Park -- lining both sides of the street. So he just followed the cool houses and shade to the next street over. He also liked how, unlike the larger lawns and majestic houses of the Upper Park, these blocks had a cozy, intimate vibe to them. Remy made sure to swing by these streets on his runs from then on.
After a week or so of running there, though, he began to be drawn back to those blocks more from the eye candy he began noticing and less from the trees and houses. Every time he'd run along Warwick, for example, he'd notice incredibly buff, super-handsome, shirtless college boys, either playing football or frisbee in the streets or hanging on out their decks or porches. He figured this area must be full of a lot of rental property that catered to college students.
On Cecil, it was the same thing, except the residents there were scantily clad, super-gorgeous college girls.
Then, on subsequent runs, during scorching July weather, a further, even more amazing discovery -- dudes on Warwick and girls on Cecil tanning nude on their decks, quickly followed by sightings of boys on Warwick kissing and fondling during those deck parties, and girls on Cecil doing the same thing.
One day, Remy ducked into a cool storefront restaurant on Warwick he'd always been meaning to check out, the Warlock Café, while he was on the run home after a particularly brutal five miles he'd foolishly pushed to more like seven on a blistering hot day. He thought he'd grab a cool drink to go, which he could sip on as he walked up Seymour Hill and back to his house.
He instantly loved the space. It was clearly a hang-out for all those gorgeous gay college boys and college girls. He flirted a bit -- with the dude behind the counter who took his order, as well as a couple of seriously jacked, utterly gorgeous college dudes sitting bare-chested at a table near-by.
As he waited for his fresh-squeezed lemonade, he read some of the fliers posted on the wall by the register. Sure enough, all sorts of LGBTQ events -- a lesbian singer was going to be there one night, a lecture by a gay author another night, and a drag show.
Ever since then, he'd always headed down Cecil on his run out, then up Warwick on his run back. Sometimes he'd even add extra circles of both streets to his run. He loved that there was this gay college ghetto just a few blocks away from his house.
He returned home from his run, that afternoon of the first day of school, with his dick nice and plump from having just scoped out a group of bare-chested college-jocks playing touch football in the street on Warwick.
Up in his room, Remy stripped off his running gear, clicked on the Dead at the Manhattan Center (4/5/71), as well as a hot BEL AMI threesome, and did his calisthenics and stretching in front of the flatscreen. After which, another twenty or so minutes spent posing and flexing, this time wondering if he should grow a chinstache, like Trey and Dewey Charles and a ton of the other hot black boys at school. His final decision -- maybe.
His cock looked especially big and fulsome, and his muscles beautifully pumped from the run and the stretching. He jacked out a wonderfully satisfying load before he even knew it, fantasizing about him and Trey and Dewey Charles and Willy Stevens, all sucking and fucking in the showers at school, while Wren Damson sat watching them, naked and gorgeous on the shower floor, her back against the tile wall, legs spread wide, fingering herself to the hot-boy sex-show.
After he licked his hand clean of his load, Remy headed down to the second-floor bathroom to shower, where he jacked his soaped-up dick while fantasizing about Wren Damson as some beautiful, evil priestess, holding him captive on some hot, steamy, prison planet, having him chained by the neck, teasing his cock and ass and pinching his nipples, gripping his hand and using it to tease her clit.
Remy's cock got outrageously hard as his erotic fantasy played out -- in scenery borrowed from the Frank Frazetta cover on one of his CONAN paperbacks that he used to jerk to when he was younger, which showed Conan chained to some primitive stone altar, while this oozingly sexy, bare-breasted, almost naked, wicked priestess tormented the shit out of the totally nude, muscle-stud barbarian.
Remy imagined him and Wren in that scenario as he stroked -- Wren as the witch-priestess, putting spells on him and doing incredibly hot sex-torture to his cock and balls and ass, using sorcery to wrench gallons of cum up out of his nuts.
It was one of the hottest j/o fantasies he'd ever had, and he shot an even bigger load from it than he had from the black boy, shower-room fantasy earlier.
He dried off and headed naked back up to his bedroom where he decided to text Trey.
--How's work, bro?
--Ain't got yr dick in my mouth, so can't be that good.
--Fuck, wish you was here now dude!!! So damn horny for your cock!!!!! [followed by a string of eggplants and flames]
--Catch you in school tmrw, hot boy.
By that time Remy's mother had come home from work, so he joined her downstairs. She'd already stripped off her clothes and, after hugging her boy, opened a beer for him, so he could join her.
As mother and son, both naked, sipped beers in the kitchen and chatted about the first day of school, Remy began preparing his specialty dinner in honor of his incredibly wonderful mother, to show his gratitude to her for bringing them to this amazing new school. He turned the rest of a day-old baguette into bruschetta, fixed an anchovy sauce for some pasta, and made a Bibb lettuce salad with ripe avocado, toasted walnuts and a sherry vinegar dressing.
Remy loved being nude with his mom. He was proud, of course, of how hot he looked, knowing how much it pleased his mom, seeing what a beautiful, sexy boy her son was. And Ava herself was looking incredible lately. She'd changed her diet and started regular, intense exercise over the past year and a half. Now, barely 33, she looked like a twenty-year-old babe, Remy thought, everything firm and smooth and luscious.
There were zero sexual vibes between the two of them, though, just deep love, fervent admiration, and profound joy at having such a great relationship.
As Remy worked on his three dishes, Ava put out some prosciutto, a wedge of camembert, and these new whole-grain crackers she'd bought, full of seeds and bits of fig, that Remy loved. While Remy cooked, the two of them sipped cold beer, munched Ava's yummy appetizers, and talked about their respective days.
Ava was thrilled to hear how much her son loved Hope Academy, not just the classes, but the students, too. She'd been afraid he was going to moan about how much he missed his Milwaukee high school and all the friends he'd made there.
When he commented on what a great English teacher he thought Anna Beam was, Ava let him know she was one of the most prestigious literary scholars in the country, the author of many award-winning books, who, along with six other members of the Hope Academy faculty (including Del Howard, Remy's history teacher), had resigned a lucrative, tenured position at the University of Minnesota, in order to give back to the community and help make the Hope Academy experiment successful.
It was that cadre of black educators who'd written the original grant which provided seed money for the Hope Aacdemy charter school experiment. As progressive black educators, they were committed to the mission of a school named after Noah Hope, an ex-slave who'd taught himself to read and write, won his freedom, and became Minnesota's first black elected official. Remy was duly impressed at learning he had such quality teachers.
He decided not to mention the whole thing with Wren Damson, that strange little drama he looked forward to watching work itself out over the course of the next couple of weeks -- especially while working next to each other as lab partners in Chem class!
Just that brief, passing thought of Wren started Remy's cock thickening and hardening, rising in excitement as he emulsified his vinaigrette.
He started imagining himself as some super-ripped, big-dicked young warrior prince who'd just single-handedly vanquished an enemy horde, commanded by a ruthless warlord, and was now going to enjoy his spoils -- in particular, the evil warlord's insanely beautiful young virgin daughter, who was lying naked in his tent.
Prince Remy hovered over his young, delectable captive as she fingered herself excitedly, moaning about how she'd never seen a youth so muscular, with such an enormous cock. She begged to be his whore, to suck his cock and tongue his ass and worship his young, manly perfection. She began panting for him to fuck her in the ass with his mighty warrior cock.
He snapped out of it when felt himself hardening. Totally embarrassed at starting to throw major wood in front of his mom, he abruptly asked Ava about her day, to try and shake off yet another of those crazy Wren-lust scenarios that kept flooding his mind and groin all the time now.
Ava had spent most of her day in meetings with various administrators and support staff, as well as sitting at her desk for long stretches, reviewing the course syllabi every Hope Academy teacher had to submit at the start of the term. Ava's job had started over the summer, as the administration busily geared up for the new school year, so Remy already knew how much his mother liked all her colleagues at his school, especially the woman with whom she worked most closely, Thalia Jay, No Hope's principal.
Dinner was superb, as Ava gushed many times. Remy was pleased himself that everything turned out so well for his special dinner to congratulate his mother for her genius in bringing them to No Hope.
Ava told Remy she was swamped with prep-work for tomorrow. She had to get up to speed for a meeting with faculty from the U's College of Education, who were partnering with some Hope Academy faculty on a large federal research grant, studying Hope Academy because its demography (white, high-income, single-family households, and black, low-income, public housing families, going to the same school) made it a compelling `community school' cohort to study.
Remy did the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen, then headed upstairs, where he spent the rest of the evening struggling over some math problems, memorizing the names and properties of ten elements, reading over the Declaration of Independence and answering study questions on it, then hunkering down with the first two acts of OTHELLO (which was so good, he read the whole play). When he finished, around 11 PM, he texted Trey again.
--At least send me a dick pic or something!!!!! Want you SOOOOO bad, bro!!!!!
--Hee hee! You a bad boy, Rem! Gonna drive yrself CRAZY thinkin bout how hot I am!
Remy showered, set out some clothes for the morning, then slipped into bed, happy and exhausted.
Not too exhausted, though, to start fantasizing about himself as a kind of young, super-muscular, seriously hung, werewolf boy, out in some dark, sexy woods, coming upon Wren Damson, naked and utterly gorgeous, left chained to a rock by an evil wizard. With his strong, hairy, wolf-hands, and long, drooling tongue, he teased the helpless beauty's small, maddeningly luscious tits and fingered her already-moist pussy. His wolfish sex-play had her instantly moaning and clenching her thighs tightly against the three furry fingers he pleasured her with.
He slipped a wolf-claw finger into her mouth, between her luscious lips, which were hanging open all wet and sensual, moaning with desire. She sucked his finger while he played with her clit.
Soon a thick gush of pussy juice flooded over his hand, and her body thrashed in its chains, desperate to be fucked. She screamed out, begging for his huge, hard, were-boy cock. He reached his fingers into her slimy cunt, grabbed a handful of her thick, clear juices, slicked up his thick, hairy, wolfish cock, and, while jacking his monstrous foot-long length, started fingering open her butt-hole, the tightest, most delicious-looking rosebud he'd ever seen. She groaned in slutty delight.
Remy's dick exploded, covering his abs and clean sheets with easily the biggest load he'd shot all summer.
At first, Remy thought there might be something wrong with him, the way thick ropes of jizz just kept streaming from his cock, unlike any load he'd ever shot before, then he figured he was maybe entering a new phase of virility or something. Or maybe the water in Minneapolis was different.
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