After a lengthy hiatus (certainly longer than I anticipated) the story of the Freshman named Josh is finally back! This is the first of three new chapters that I have completed. I will be posting the other two later this week. I am working on the final few chapters of Josh's story. I apologize to everyone who's been following Josh and his adventures his first year of high school. Certain unavoidable twists in my life over the past year have kept me from the keyboard, but I've never forgotten Josh or all my wonderful fans.
To all the people that have been sending me e-mails, I thank you for your kind words. I truly love to hear from all viewpoints and how much people like and dislike my story. As always, I welcome everyone's e-mails. Drop me a line and let me know how I'm doing or to offer some suggestions. I hope you enjoy it.
Disclaimer: All the normal disclaimers apply, including... This story involves sex between minors; if you are not 18 or older, or if this kind of story is illegal in the place where you live do not continue beyond this point. If this kind of story offends you please do not continue either. The names of characters used in this story and all its parts are completely fictional and similarity to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The Freshman, Part 10
...I find myself walking home after school. The day has been rather uneventful and I don't really remember any of it. The sky is gray, matching my mood. Oh, and right there in the center of my physical being, my painfully erect penis. I'm thinking of boner-busters, but nothing is helping. My dick seems to be getting harder with every step I take on my way home. I turn the corner and head down Carson Drive. I know because I see the street sign. Up ahead is the backside of Marshall Middle School where all the athletic fields are. I can hear the sounds associated with youth sporting activities; the whistles being blown, the thuds of soccer balls being kicked, the clashing of football pads, the giggles and adolescent voices, the sloshing of cleated feet running across rain-soaked athletic fields. I turn my head to the left and I can see them now, all the pretty junior high boys entrenched in youthful battle; the soccer team on the West side of the field, the football team to the Southeast. I see my brother and his friends dueling for control of the soccer ball. I can clearly see Hunter along with Ryan's little brother, Dane, as well as Randy Petersen and Dale Cram. There are three other boys with them, but I can't recognize any of them. The section of field they're on is practically a mud hole and as they fight for supremacy over the black and white orb at their feet, they're splattering each other with more and more mud, making them giggle like schoolgirls, making me smile. One of the boys ups the physical ante and gives Dale a firm push, sending his light frame to the ground. More giggles. Dale stands, covered now in mud from head to toes, and shoves Randy; a shove that one can normally stay balanced, but considering the not-quite-solid surface he was standing on, he loses his stance and also falls into the mud pit, square on his ass. More laughter. Randy uses his legs and sweeps two more boys into the pit. Now it's a free-for-all; all seven boys in an impromptu mud wrestling match, joined shortly by the rest of the soccer team. The coach walks over, huge grin on his face, and simply shakes his head. He lets the boys slide around in the goo for a few minutes, checks his watch and blows his shrill whistle. The wrestling comes to end and the giggles trail off.
"All right you pigs, hit the showers," the coach barks with a bit of a giggle himself.
A few more shoves and take-downs are performed as the mud-covered boys start to disperse from their battleground and track off to the locker room, slinging mud from their bodies as the go. Randy Petersen catches my attention as he strips his shirt off and rubs his bare chest, trying to clean some of the mud off his frame. My boner tries again to force a hole through my pants. I'm just standing here in awe of the raw sexuality pouring off this kid and unconsciously begin to follow the pack toward the locker room. I'm nearly in a trance watching all the tight, mud covered boy asses as they trot one-by-one through the doors. I stop and realize what I'm doing. This locker room is off limits for me. I hear the clicking noises of cleats trotting across the concrete behind me. I turn; it's Dale. I guess he could see the wanting in my eyes.
"Come in," he says to me and waves me in.
"I can't," is my reply.
"No one will care," he smiles; a pearly white smile in strong contrast to the rest of his muddy brown faces and hair. "Besides, it's cold out here. You'll freeze to death."
The kid makes sense. But I still can't move. Dale grabs my arm and pulls me inside. I close my eyes and inhale deeply and nearly cream my pants. It's the unmistakable smell of a junior high boys locker room. There is no smell on earth that can compare to this sweet, yet sour stench that pours from active youths; mixed of course with pubescent pheromones; a smells that reeks of innocence and of boyish sexuality. I open my eyes finally and the sight is enough to take my breath away. I blink twice to make sure I'm seeing what I'm seeing. More than a dozen, pubescent, mud covered gladiators stripping off their wears. It's all happening in slow motion. My heart is pounding like a drum in my ears, but I can hear the faint sounds of the beautiful youths conversing with one another. One-by-one I watch as they drop their soiled Umbro shorts, exposing their taught little boy assess framed perfectly by their jock straps. They glow white hot in stark contrast to the rest of their mud-crusted bodies. Soon they are all moving around the corner; I hear the pattering of water striking the cold tile floors awaiting them. Soon they are all gone, out of site around the corner... save one.
Randy Petersen is standing directly in front of me, naked except for his shell necklace and the tight elastic support strapped around his privates. My mouth waters at the thought of what juicy slab of beef lies within. My eyes wander slowly up from his crotch, pausing slightly to stare at his taught stomach, his budding pectorals, devoid of any body hair and smeared with drying mud, then locking on his dragon-green eyes. He brings his left hand slowly to his mouth. Gently he lets his index finger touch the tip of his outstretched tongue. His hand backs away from his face and he smiles at me; a devilish grin. I follow his hand as it descends to his boyishly chiseled chest. His spit-slick index finger touches his right nipple and he begins to sensually massage it.
"Mmmm," he moans. "Feels good." I look back into his angelic eyes. "I know what you want," he says. I catch the movement of his arm moving again. I follow it. Slowly his muddy paw traces the line down between his pecs, past his tight belly. His fingers slip under the waistband of his jock strap. "You want this," he moans as his hand disappears under the elastic material, pulling it away from his body. I can see the outline of his knuckles through the tight fabric as he makes a fist and pumps his hidden member slowly. "Mmmm, that feels even better."
I can feel my own hard dick pulsing in my pants, drooling persistently down my leg. I can hardly breathe and the air around me seems to be getting heavier. Silence fills the room. Then slowly I can hear the faint sounds of adolescent boys in the throws of passion coming from the showers just around the next corner.
"Sounds like all the fun's in there," Randy says as he pulls his hand free and motions with his head toward the other room. I can't stop staring at the outline of a sizeable, very erect dick atop two obscenely large bulges left behind in his jock. Then he turns and walks away, toward the showers. I watch in slow motion as his tight, exposed boy ass, framed by two elastic straps bisecting each firm cheek, struts it's way out of view. About 30 seconds pass before I can move again, but slowly I creep across the locker room; the sound of teenage lust growing steadily louder as I approach. Through the din I can clearly make out Hunter's tender voice.
"Fuck me," he's saying. "Oh yeah, like that!" he squeals. My forehead is damp with perspiration, worsened by the hot steam pouring out of the shower room. I arrive at the entrance to heaven; dozens of hot boys exploring their budding sexuality are just around this corner. My own sexual energy has my loins on fire. I slowly slide around the corner and come face-to-face with a broad, hair covered chest. The pecs are incredibly large, covered with a dark and curly matting of man fur; two quarter-sized nipples protruding from the hair. Hanging neatly between those massive pectorals is a shining steel whistle. I follow the whistle's neck chain up past this beast's broad shoulders and thick neck. Towering about me was Coach Nelson's face.
"This isn't for you," the Junior High Soccer Coach booms. He's blocking my entire view of the showers, but I can clearly hear the height of sexual activity beyond. I try to side step his massive frame, but can't see past him.
"This isn't for you," he repeats, more firmly this time.
"Yes, yes, yes, YESSS!" I hear Hunter's pleasure cry loudly above the rest.
"I HAVE to be in there," I protest and try to peak around him again. "Hunter!" I call out. Coach Nelson puffs up his bulk even more, giving me nothing to see but his rock-hard six-pack abs divided neatly with a line of curly hair from his tight navel, disappearing into the waistband of his jock strap.
"Why don't you try your own locker room," he says. "I just talked to Coach Cram. They're waiting for you."
Yes, that was it. As badly as I wanted to be part of this, I wanted, needed my football Gods more.
"I'm leaving," I shout, but my voice can't penetrate the sounds of sex.
Coach Nelson smiles at me and says, "Ok, just a peak." He turns his body so that I can just barely see past him. My eyes slowly focus on the showers beyond; more than a dozen boys, water cascading off their tight, small frames. They are all wearing their tight jock straps. I quickly scan the scene of coupled boys in various sexual positions; some boys standing with another on his knees in front of him, worshiping their adolescent hardons; some bent over with their friend's hard dick splitting their tight holes; some lying on tile floor engaged in 69 as water flows like a raging river around them. Then I see Hunter. He's on all fours with Dane and Dale standing at his head, both their dicks stretching his small mouth, and Randy Petersen behind. Randy's huge pole in inches away from Hunter's twitching anus. Cum is leaking obscenely from my brother's hole, down his thighs and mixing with the water running toward the floor drains. Randy is watching me watch him as he slowly strokes his bone, tight foreskin being pulled back to reveal his swollen head, then pushed forward to drape over the edge. He pulls the intoxicating skins back one last time, winks at me and trusts his rod deep into my baby brother's ass. Hunter whimpers loudly around his friend's cocks and his back bows sharply as Randy penetrates his well-used hole.
"That's not for you," Coach Nelson whispers in my ear and gently takes hold of my arm. Reluctantly, I let him turn me and march me toward the exit. I extend my arm when I reach the door and press forward into the outside world. I get a sporting coach-to-player pat on the ass, but his hand lingers. I can feel his warm breath on my neck as he reaches around me and runs his thick hand up under my shirt and rubs my stomach before descending into my boxers.
"I can see why they all want you," Coach Nelson whispers in my ear, then slowly backs away into the locker room. I sign deeply and start walking away, determined not to look back. Coming toward me now is the Junior High football team, trotting in from their practice. They are all dressed identically; plain white practice helmets, dingy white mesh practice jerseys over their shoulder pads with their midriffs bare, showing off their tight and tanned stomachs, mud-soaked football pants tightly hugging their asses and thighs, exposed hairless calves, dingy white ankle socks and muddy football cleats. My heart pauses for a split second as I stop dead in my tracks and watch these miniature versions of my hunky gladiators slowly jog by. I take a deep breath in through my nose and savor the intoxicating smell of youthful sweat. I scan each and every boy from head to toe as they pass by and disappear around the building until all that remains are the clicking of their cleats on the concrete. Then I am again alone.
Shortly I am back at my high school, out on the athletic field heading toward the locker room. Without a moment's hesitation I press on the door and slowly step inside. I inhale deeply and savor the musky-sweet smell of the locker room. Not as sweet and innocent smelling as the junior high, but equally intoxicating. The producers of this sexual odor have clearly taken the step from boyhood to near manhood.
The showers must have been running for a while because it's very steamy and warm in here. A thin mist instantly covers my body. Suddenly I am aware that there is no sound. At this time of day, the locker room should be filled with the boisterous barkings of my football warriors. I walk deeper inside and glance down each row of lockers for some sign of life that should be here. I stop as I near the end of the lockers. Around the corner is the shower room. I can hear the water from the showers pounding the tile floor mercilessly. I can also hear a click, click, click coming from around this last corner; the unmistakable sound of cleated feet slowly marching across the tile floor. The sound grows near and I am holding my breath. Briefly I contemplate running the other direction, but can't move. My heart skips a beat when Coach Cram steps out from around the last row of lockers and looks me dead in the eye. He's bare-chested and wearing tight athletic shorts and muddy cleats. A nylon cord is draped around his neck with a shiny, silver whistle attached at the end, nestled between his mammoth chest with just a slight sprinkling of blondish-brown hair.
"We've been waiting for you," his voice breaks the silence. My throat is dry and I can't speak. "Follow me," he commands.
He disappears back behind the steel lockers, the clicking of his cleats leading the way. I take another deep breath and follow him. As I round the corner, my mind goes into near overload from the sight before my eyes. Standing there, shoulder-to-shoulder, just outside the floor drain separating the shower room from the locker room, the entire football team dressed the same; all wearing their helmets, shoulder pads without jerseys, jock straps, cleats and nothing else but the sweat clinging to their rock-hard teenage bodies, steam dancing around and among them.
Oh God, I can't breathe. I'm gasping for air. A more beautiful sight I cannot imagine. I feel two strong hands on each of my tiny shoulders.
"They're all yours, Josh," Coach Cram whispers in my ear. "You can have any one of them; but only one. The one you choose cannot deny your request. Decide now."
Coach releases me and gently nudges me forward. I swallow hard and slowly begin examining the line of meat presented to me. I know them all by name and have at some point fantasized about each and every one of them. I walk the line examining their individual features, focusing on these finalists...
Nate Adder and his ultra pasty white skin and perfectly flat stomach. I could barely tell where his skin and white jock meet. Oh yes, his jock; bulged nicely...
Drew Betzer and Tommy Madison standing side-by-side. Both perfect specimens of teenage masculinity with their toned bodies and bright blue eyes. They'd each had their way with my throat in the bathroom last week. I could seek redemption here and now...
Zach Wirth; Six feet of rock solid manhood. I stared obscenely at his perfect six-pack abs and his V-shaped torso directing my eyes to the head of his swollen cock peaking out the top of his thoroughly stretched jock. Definitely a trophy score...
I move on to Brett Foster. I gaze at his perfectly tanned body accented nicely by the brilliant white jock strapped to his waist. Dark brown hair sprouting wildly from every side of the fabric and a nice trail leading up his belly and disappearing under the shoulder pads covering his chest. Yes, it would be nice to see this cocky bastard taken down a notch or two...
A.J. Sanders, the team kicker. Smaller than anyone else on the team, just slightly taller than me and around my build, I'd say 5'6" and around 125 pounds. His body lacks the definition of most of the other rock-solid Gods, but he is still perfectly fit. Out of the group, he would be the one most likely picked for a Gap Kids advertisement, Abercrombie when he grew older. His shoulder pads are smaller than the rest as well, allowing me a great view of his just slightly developed chest. His skin is absolutely flawless and has just a slight tan with no visible tan lines, making me curious as to his sunning habits. He has a small, almost impish little boy face with grayish-hazel eyes and long eyelashes girls work so hard at, which adds to his extreme boyish quality. He has a small, round, slightly upturned nose and a very small lip line. His jock is noticeably smaller and not as stretched as the others either, but I can see that he still has a man-sized portion within. I can't see any visible hair anywhere on his body and if I had to guess, I'd say this boy had never had any kind of sexual contact in his life. A pure, virginal boy ripe for the picking. Definitely an All-American cutie...
With a deep sigh, I move on. Matt Smith and his fiery red hair had been finding its way into my fantasies of late, causing me to wonder how closely the color of the carpet matches the drapes. I've never seen a redhead naked before and his jock is keeping that secret nicely...
Garrett Ross, the first boys I ever saw naked. He was an 8th grader in my first P.E. class as a 6th grader. I still hold a special place in my heart (and pants) for this one. I've wanted his smooth body for four years now and he could finally be mine. I trace his 5'10" body from large, cleat covered feet, up his muscular calves. They're covered with wildly growing white-blonde hair that begins to gradually thin past his knees ending up perfectly smooth half way up his thighs. My eyes wander the expanse of his stretched jock, making out the shape of his brutally hard cock within and noticing a large wet spot surround the head, making the tight fabric nearly invisible; the bulbous, pink crown is clearly visible to my wanton eyes. He was an impressive seven cut inches as an 8th grader and completely hairless when last I saw his package, fueling the fire of my curiosity as to how much he's grown in the past four years. He has wild white-blonde pubic hair curling from the waistband to join at small trail up the canyon formed between four hard abdominal muscles. The hair magically stops at his belly button, but my eyes continue on across the flawlessly smooth skin of his chest, then across the white plastic of his shoulder pads. I stare into his face, partially hidden under the helmet; beads of moisture cover his face. My eyes lock into his; deep green and outlined with long, wet lashes. He licks his lips sensuously, begging me to take him...
But I move on. On to Ed. Big Ed. Eddie Stevens. Yes, I owe this son-of-a-bitch paybacks in the worst way. I know that my modest seven inches of boy meat wouldn't even come close to inflicting the same level of pain this asshole has caused me. But I know the embarrassment of having this tiny freshman half his size invading him with all these others watching would probably be very satisfying...
Oh God... Jed. Jed Ward. My ultimate desire; his body carved from the mold of a Greek God. His crystal blue eyes are calling to me. He wants me. I want him. I can hear my painfully erect dick barking in my ears to take this stud. Don't even consider another...
But there is another to consider. Ryan. My lover. How could I have even been tempted by any other? Yes, of course, my choice is clear. But he is my lover. I have tasted his flesh. These other presented to me are foreign fruit. Should I not pick one to taste before returning to the one I love? Surely he would understand. Nay. I must not, will not give into temptation.
"I have made my choice good sir!" I say confidently in a surprisingly deep, awkwardly English accent. Shaking it off, I state boldly (in the same deep voice, thick with an annoyingly English accent) "I choose love!"
"So it is," a voice echoes through the locker room. "Take your love."
I stand in front of Ryan and smile as I take his strong hand. His face is emotionless. I start to say something as he turns around, presenting me with his tight, muscular white ass, each cheek framed beautifully by a white elastic band. Not wanting to appear rude, I take my rock hardness into my hand and step up behind my lover. I place the tip against his searing hot hole. I open my mouth to speak the words, "I love you," but a hand covers my mouth. There are dozens of hands on me now; grabbing, caressing, tweaking my naked body, erections taking turns probing my inner reaches, cold wet hands pawing my own erection all the while pulling me away from Ryan. He turns and looks at me, still without any hint of emotion in his puppy dog brown eyes. Further and further away they take me, harder and harder they invade my throbbing hole; faster and faster they stroke my cock. I can't take any more! My blood is near boiling...
"NOOOOOO!" I screamed as I bolted violently upright in my bed, sweat pouring from my body. I was panting fiercely and my heart felt like it could beat its way clear from my chest at any minute. Then I was aware of the sensation running up and down my spine. My hairless balls were extremely tight and my cock painfully hard, throbbing and tingling from tip down. My stomach felt like it was tied in knots. It was clearly the feeling of post-orgasm. Somehow I had managed to shed my covers and push my P.J. bottoms down to my knees.
"Oh God," I gasped between gulps of air and swiping the sweat from my brow.
"Dude, that was sooo cool!" A voice whispered excitedly from the darkness. I could see the outline of a person standing at the foot of my bed, a barely noticeable shadow in the pale moonlight. I quickly ran a hand to my lamp and switched it on; the sudden intrusion of light a brief shock to my dilated eyes. Hunter shielded his eyes as well.
"HUNTER!" I yelled.
"Shhhhhhhhhh!!!!!" he urged me, his face full of panic.
"What the FUCK are you doing in here?" I whispered as forcefully and loudly as I could.
"I heard you saying my name and making noises and shit, so I came to see what was up," he explained. "When I got in here you were naked and tossing around and groaning. Must have been a fuckin' great dream bro," he said with a smile, his eyes motioning to my midsection.
I looked down and, mixed with the sweat covering my body, five sizeable puddles of white starting at my chest and working their way down to my smooth stomach. My still erect penis was bobbing to the beat of my heart and a thin line of cum dribbled from the tip, down the shaft and pooling in my small public thatch. I could feel my face burning as I started to blush.
"Dude, that was the coolest thing I've seen," Hunter said. "You totally shot without even touching it." I was speechless. What does one say to that? "Did it feel good?" he asked.
"I guess," I replied, grabbing for the Kleenex box on my nightstand. "I don't really remember."
"Oh. But the dream was good huh?"
"Oh yeah," I said, smiling as I replayed my dream in my head.
"So tell me about," Hunter said excitedly and hopped onto my bed beside me.
For a moment I considered telling him, but then decided he might not understand. "I really don't remember all that much," I lied. "But I was getting some from some hot chicks."
"Sweet. Did they have big tits?"
"You know it," I said with a big hetero smile and in a manly, testosterone-filled voice. We sat in silence for a few seconds. His eyes were scanning my body, making me just a little uncomfortable, but also just a bit excited.
"Shit, I wish I could have dreams so intense they make me cum," he finally said. "Looks like you're ready for another."
He was right. My poor red pecker had lost nothing of its erectness and was begging for more. I ran my left hand across the head and it reflexively jerked up, sending an electric shook up my spine to the nerve center deep in my brain. I closed my eyes and inhaled sharply, savoring every lingering second. As I laid back and rested my head on my pillow, I felt the bed shift slightly as Hunter pulled himself up and off. I reached my hand out and gently grasped his as he began to walk away. He stopped with his back to me, but didn't pull his hand away. I studied his small, tanned back and marveled at how well defined his muscles were getting. I tugged on his hand slightly and he slowly turned half way, showing me the tent pitched in his cotton P.J. bottoms. I pulled him closer to my bed and brought his hand to my chest. My night sweat had evaporated and my semen had cooled. Hunter's warm, soft hands felt good as they made contact with my silky smooth skin. Without further encouragement from me, my little brother ran his hand across my chest, through the slick puddles and over my tight stomach. I extended my hand and took hold of the tent pole under his bottoms. Hunter whimpered slightly and his abdominal muscles tightened noticeably, outlining the beginnings of a four-pack.
"I should get back to bed," he said shyly. He started to back away from me, but I didn't let go.
"Wait," I whispered. I could feel his body starting to shiver. I ran my hand into his P.J.s and wrapped my fist around his hard pole. He whimpered again, louder this time, and his small stomach muscles hardened more as he exhaled sharply. I gave him two squeezes and a long stroke, then cum began bubbling from the end.
"Oh God," he gasped and his knees buckled slightly. His eyes were clenched tight and he bit his lower lip slightly as the orgasm swept his young body. He didn't produce much, less than a teaspoon, but what he did was thick and creamy and coated my fingers thoroughly. I gently massaged the shaft as he began to come down from his orgasmic high. I gave his still fully erect prick a final squeeze and make sure all the cum stayed on my hand as I pulled it out of his pants. Without a word said, Hunter slowly walked back to his room.
I turned off the light and brought my cum-soaked hand to my mouth and licked a sample onto my tongue. As I savored the bittersweet, salty taste dancing on my taste buds, I grasped my painfully erect member and slowly started pumping. Within a minute I was adding to the mess on my naked body. I drifted back to sleep, visions of boy beauty dancing in my head.
End of Part 10
Be sure to check back for Part 11. As always, I welcome all comments and suggestions. The story is not entirely finished yet and I do like to get input from outside sources. My e-mail address is RyanMcG97@hotmail.com.