The Gay Blade

The "Gay" Blade

By Underjug

From an idea by TheRealCOG

t/t, gay, straight, con, non-con, anal, mast

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Malcolm Howe loved brawling as much as he loved hockey. He got just as much satisfaction out of dropping the mitts as he did scoring goals. Dudes like him were called enforcers, but they were better known as goons. The purpose of a goon was to protect the star player from dirty plays by the opposing team. But Malcolm took his role too far, acting aggressively toward other players even when there was no real threat to his teammates. He just liked to fight.

Which was why Malcolm found himself banned from the whole bantam league.

No team wanted the best damn goon in the Pittsburgh tri-state area because they saw him as a liability.

"You're a phenomenal right winger, Malcolm," said his soon-to-be last coach. "But you nearly gave that Ohio boy a concussion."

"Gimme another chance," said Malcolm. He wasn't begging, he was telling. Malcolm never begged.

"Try taking up boxing or martial arts," suggested the coach. "Okay, boys, hit the ice!"

And with that Malcolm realized he was washed up at only 14 years old. This was his only hope of ever becoming a professional hockey player. Because there was no way on Earth he would stoop to playing for any team that wasn't the best.

"Fuck you all!" he shouted before strutting out of the rink. The hockey world couldn't appreciate guys like Malcolm Howe who kept the game interesting.

For a goon, Malcolm was a hottie. Gorgeous flow of brown hair, boy-band cute brown eyes, sweet ski-jump nose, firm lips that wouldn't quit, and a full set of chiclets (not even a loose tooth despite multiple shots to the mouth!).

"C'mon, Bee, we're outta here."

Brittnee was his puck bunny -- those girls who had a thing for hockey players. She sighed and looked at the other blondes for sympathy.

"Guess I'll, like, see you around."

Malcolm didn't even wait for his girlfriend; she had to run to catch up.

In the empty locker room, the sweaty and horny Malcolm tried to feel up Brittnee and shove her hand down his hockey pants. Places like this were catnip for puck bunnies. But Brittnee was acting like a real bitch.

"Malcolm, don't. Stop. Like, I mean it!"

"We gotta fuck, Bee. I need some love."

Brittnee pulled away and adjusted her makeup.

"You're not, like, getting this if you can't, like, stay on the ice. Like, that's all there is to it."

"C'mon. I'll find a way." He had his pants open, his cup down, and his thick boner exposed. Her hands were cockblocking his attempts to get at her pussy. "Listen, Bee, listen. Fucking makes me feel so close to you."

"I, like, mean it!"

Malcolm sighed on behalf of his dick. "Well, gimme a BJ at least."

Brittnee glared. "Like, find another team or I'm, like, finding another boyfriend."

Shit, well, Malcolm would have to do something he definitely didn't want to do. He'd have to ask, not tell, the next-best team to take him.

Malcolm needed a girlfriend because the one thing he absolutely refused to do was jerk off. It felt gay to touch his own dick; that's what chicks were for. He could've just fucked another pussy or got blown by another lipsticked mouth. It's not like Malcolm hadn't cheated on Brittnee before. But it never felt as good. No other girl knew his dick like his puck bunny. She had a special kind of magic for getting him off.

So Malcolm asked the next-best team to take him on as their right winger. And they refused! The fuck?! Even though it was below his dignity, he went to the third- best team. THEY turned him down! So, too, did the fourth-best, the fifth-best, and the sixth-best.

It had been almost a full week and Malcolm hadn't shot his load. Brittnee was getting tired of hearing he wasn't on a team yet. The entire weekend was wasted asking the dregs of the bantam world for a chance, because Malcolm got shot down every single time. It was always the same reason, too, something about how he'd busted up one of their players in a game.

Now he was desperate. He'd have to stoop to an unimaginable course of action. Beg. Even that -- EVEN THAT! -- didn't work. From best to worst, no team wanted him. Now two weeks had gone by and his balls were fit to burst.

With hands deep in his pockets to hide his boner, Malcolm trudged to school, lost, demoralized, and hornier than he'd ever been in his life. He ducked into an alcove in the hallway to avoid Brittnee because he'd have to tell her he still hadn't made any team. During the wait he glanced back and noticed the LGBT board. All those fucking gay flyers just made him shudder.

But one notice caught his attention. A hockey team for teen boys needed a forward player right here in Charleston, West Virginia! Holy shit! His prayers had been answered! Then Malcolm gave his head a shake. Fuck no. What was he thinking? Playing with a bunch of fags-- Fuck no. Those fairies were probably so limp wristed they couldn't even hold up a stick. The team name they had chosen for themselves was "The Gay Blades." Fuck no.

Malcolm was so disgusted, he had to get away from the queer board. And he ran straight into his puck bunny.

"Well?" said Brittnee impatiently. "Like, are you on a team yet?"

Damn, she smelt so good. Her pussy was probably moist and juicy. She was licking her strawberry lips.

Malcolm's dick answered for him. "Hell yeah. I'm talking to the coach tonight."

"Well. You're still not getting this until I, like, see you on the ice."

Brittnee marched off with the other blondes.

Fuck, that bitch was hot!

It was settled. Malcolm would tell this powder-puff team he was their right winger.

But after school when he arrived at the rink for tryouts, the proud homophobe couldn't believe his eyes. The five players out there skated on the ice, handled sticks and shot the puck just like regular dudes. At first Malcolm thought he had wandered into the wrong place.

The coach, however, was the one from the notice -- Haggarty. THERE WE GO, thought Malcolm as soon as he heard the man speak with a faint lisp, THE FAGGY VOICE IS A DEAD GIVEAWAY.

"Coach, will we be starting soon?" said the center player. He introduced himself as Hunter Deacon. Now Malcolm was confused again. This dude had to be fucking straight. His name was "Hunter," for chrissakes. Sure, Hunter may not sound super tough when he spoke, but if Malcolm had seen him on the street he would have sworn this teenager was into banging snatch.

"I guess it's just you three," said Coach Haggarty. He eyed Malcolm and two obvious pansies here for the tryout. This was gonna be a breeze.

And it was. The first pansy could barely skate. The second pansy was surprisingly good with the puck but didn't score once.

Malcolm was the obvious superstar.

He made some good passes to left wing Kenneth Thomson. He won battles for the puck against right defense Paul Shaughnessy and left defense Alejandro Gomez. And he scored five times on goalie Sunny Bawa.

No one even asked Malcolm if he was a fairy, they just assumed. Talk about not too bright. It was gonna be easier than shit to dupe these gays. Out of all the players, only Shaughnessy and Bawa were flamers. The rest -- Hunter Deacon, in particular -- could be mistaken for straight like Malcolm.

Following the tryout, the coach consulted with the team while the three prospects waited in the locker room. Malcolm was a bit nervous being alone with these two butt pirates who seemed to be checking him out. The goon lurking within Malcolm started to emerge. IF THESE FUCKERS LOOK AT MY CROTCH ONE MORE TIME...

Fortunately, the wait wasn't long. The coach entered and shook hands with each prospect. He announced their choice was... the obvious one.

MALCOLM WAS IN!

Next practice was tomorrow night. The new right winger texted Brittnee he was coming over to celebrate. He biked the 20 miles to her house.

After sneaking in through his girlfriend's bedroom window, Malcolm was ready to shoot buckets. She was wearing that lacy top and those short-shorts.

"You made a team?" Brittnee asked excitedly.

"Hells yeah, told'ja I would," answered Malcolm as he kissed her neck.

"So, like, what's their name?"

"Huh?" Malcolm said absently as he cupped her breast.

"Their NAME." Brittnee pushed him back.

"Who cares!" Malcolm was rock hard and needed relief.

"I care. Like, what's the name of their team?"

FFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK! The sex wasn't gonna happen!

"It's no big deal. They're called The Gay Blades."

"Ha ha, hi-larious."

Malcolm stood there silently. It took a full half-minute before Brittnee realized he wasn't joking.

"No way. You're telling me you're, like, queer?!"

"Chrissakes, Bee, I fuckin' fooled the whole team into thinking I was so I could play. That's it. They're not getting this dick or touching this ass. I mean, I'm HERE, ain't I? Now, c'mon, let's fuck."

But Brittnee wouldn't put out until she actually saw Malcolm on the ice. So she agreed to go to the rink tomorrow night, then promptly kicked him out of her house.

At bedtime, Malcolm ALMOST touched his manhood. He didn't realize how much he'd gotten used to doing Brittnee on a regular basis. Maybe it was just his imagination, but he could swear his balls were gurgling. The teen boy's repulsion over how gay it was to interact with his organ, though, trumped any need to shoot his load. He hoped he might have a wet dream so his equipment could fire the build-up of cock snot all on its own.

But the only dreams Malcolm had were of his first encounter with the team and his subsequent awesome plays. Which, of course, led to no goddamn orgasm.

All day at school, Malcolm's mind alternated between playing hockey and fucking Brittnee. Mainly the former. It felt good to get back on the ice and fire the puck. But then Brittnee sat in front of him during history class and all he could think about was pounding her pussy. He almost embarrassed himself because his dick would not go down.

"Hey, Bee, you still coming to practice tonight?" he whispered.

"Yesssssssssss," she said in exasperation. "Now quit, like, bothering me, I need to, like, finish up my report."

Fuck, she could be such a bitch. But, whatever, tonight after practice he was gonna totally wreck that.

Evening finally came. Malcolm arrived at the rink and Brittnee was going to come after she got her nails done. Coach had the other five players gather to officially welcome him to the team.

"Hello, hello, hello-o-o," said Bawa the goalie with a heavy lisp.

"Uh. Hey. Hi," replied Malcolm. He didn't like how Bawa and the other flamer, right defenseman Shaughnessy, leered at him like guys did at girls.

"That's his RuPaul greeting," explained Shaughnessy who sounded so much like a chick.

"Uh. Oh," said Malcolm. He had no fucking clue what these nancy boys were even talking about.

"You... DO know who that is, don't you?" asked Bawa.

"Sure," responded Malcolm as if he was offended by the question. "Everybody does."

"Dudes," said center Hunter Deacon, "c'mon, now. Don't give the poor guy a hard time. Sorry about that, Malcolm."

"No, it's cool," shrugged Malcolm, who was looking around the rink but still not seeing Brittnee. "We used to haze all the new players."

"Mmmmm," purred Bawa like a skin-crawling pervy twat, "I'll just bet they all got a seriously good spanking."

Fortunately, Coach blew the whistle to signal the beginning of practice. It was fucking weird when these dudes turned the faggotry off and became real hockey players. Every so often, though, they would talk about gay shit or screech like a woman, which made Malcolm want to hurl. But the right winger realized just saying he was gay wasn't enough. All these dudes seemed to get the references being bandied about. The straight dude, at a total loss, had to nod and fake laughter just so he wouldn't stand out.

Brittnee showing up was a bit of a relief at first. Not only was she still supporting him but it also meant his poor prick would finally get a workout. When she overheard the dick jokes and queer talk, however, the chick did not look happy. Plus, Brittnee stood out like a sore thumb, since she was practically alone in the stands. Obviously there wasn't the same kind of support as there was for straight hockey.

Everything was kinda going okay -- until Gomez checked him. Malcolm went full goon and slammed his opponent into the boards.

Coach blew the whistle. "Alejandro, are you alright?"

"Jesus, what the hell," Gomez glared.

"Wasn't anything," Malcolm said, more to convince himself than to dismiss any potential injury.

"Yeah, uh, Malcolm," said Coach as he checked over the left defenseman, "we don't encourage this type of behavior. You'll have to sit it out for 10 minutes in the sin- bin."

Malcolm, sensing the disapproval around him, blurted out, "Sorry, dudes. Won't happen again." WHOA, DID HE JUST FUCKING SAY THAT? Malcolm went directly to the penalty box without delay.

Fortunately, the rest of practice went more smoothly. Even Gomez seemed to have forgiven him. "You would've been a real asset during the Stonewall riots."

Malcolm smiled, "What hockey game did that happen at?"

Shaughnessy crinkled his brow. "No, he was talking about 'Stonewall.' You know."

"Oh," replied Malcolm. But it was clear he was ignorant.

"Give the dude a break," said Hunter. "Not everyone knows their history from the '60s."

At least the center had Malcolm's back. Otherwise, he would have been up shit creek.

Practice ended. Malcolm was standing outside the locker room debating whether or not to change and shower. Why he hadn't thought that far ahead was a mystery. It was freaking him out the whole idea of potentially seeing a real-life boner.

"So you gotta join us in the post-ice circle jerk," commanded Bawa.

"Huh?" Malcolm froze.

"We do it after every practice and game," explained Shaughnessy, licking his lips. "Attendance is mandatory."

Before he knew it, Malcolm was corralled into the locker room. No one took off their uniforms or skates. They just whipped their dicks out and jacked off.

"Last one to spooge has to clean it all up," said Bawa.

"With his tongue," added Gomez.

The five players laughed. Malcolm tried not to look at the three hard-ons already out and being stroked. Shaughnessy was next, exposing his schlong and fisting it.

Hunter looked at Malcolm as he reached into his own hockey pants. "They're just kidding about the last part." But Malcolm obviously couldn't hide his fear and repulsion. "Oh damn, you're not into it."

Staring with dead eyes, Malcolm mumbled, "It's, uh... it's cool."

He tried to think up an excuse to bust out. Part of him was jealous to see other dicks getting satisfied when his own had gone through so much denial.

"Maybe he's got a boyfriend," Bawa offered as he lovingly stroked his shaft.

"I don't got a boyfriend!" Malcolm said defensively.

"Oo, he's single, ladies!" exclaimed Shaughnessy. "Think I'm gonna COME soon!"

"Hey," said Hunter to Malcolm as pulled his hand out of his hockey pants without his dick, "you don't have to, dude. Sorry for freaking you out."

Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the locker room door.

"Malcolm, like, how long you gonna be?!"

"C'mon in, honey!" shouted Bawa.

Malcolm froze. "What? No!"

The door flung open and Brittnee stared wide eyed at the four hockey players standing in a circle and beating their meat.

"The fuck?!" Brittnee screamed.

"Your fag hag, Malcolm?" laughed Shaughnessy.

Brittnee took flight.

"Bee!" shouted Malcolm as he raced to the door.

Hunter was right alongside him, looking back over his shoulder. "Guys! What the hell?!" Then to Malcolm. "Sorry about this, dude."

Shaughnessy shot his load. "Aaaaaahhhh!"

"Bee!"

"Tell your gal pal I apologize on behalf of the team," added Hunter.

Bawa came hard. "Yeeeaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!!!"

Malcolm hustled out into the corridor. "Bee!"

Luckily, the right winger was faster on his skates than his girlfriend was in heels.

He grabbed hold of Brittnee's shoulder, but she whirled around and held up her arms in disgust.

"That was, like, gross! So gross!"

"Bee --"

"Have fun being all queer with your teammates."

"It's not like that."

"Look, I don't know, like, what little phase you're going through, but leave me, like, out of it."

"It was a joke. They did it as a joke for your benefit."

"I did NOT, like, benefit from that. And what the hell ? 'fag hag'?"

"Look, I did what you asked. So are we gonna fuck or not?" Malcolm's dick was throbbing, begging for relief.

"You are, like, sadly mistaken if you, like, think, like, I'm putting out after what I just saw."

Malcolm was getting desperate. "So, if I quit the team you'll fuck?"

"Um, hello, not on a team, so, like, no."

"So, if I'm on the team you won't fuck. If I'm off the team you won't fuck. You know what? I've had it. You're not the only pussy in school, I can get plenty elsewhere."

"Like, whatever." Brittnee threw up her hands and strutted off.

Malcolm stared after her, furious at first. But his dick was weeping at the sight of her walking away. OH MY GOD. THAT HAIR. THOSE LEGS. THAT ASS.

He leaned against a wall and spent several minutes cursing his fate.

Crushed, Malcolm returned to the locker room and sidestepped what he thought was the cleaned-up puddle of jizz. The queers had already showered, so Malcolm could rinse himself off without any eyes on him.

Hunter gave the right winger a sympathetic look. "Everything okay out there?"

"Yeah," sighed Malcolm. "No sense of humor."

"Chicks, right?" Hunter laughed.

Malcolm laughed right alongside him. This Hunter wasn't bad. It was like talking to another straight dude.

Hunter said offhandedly, "Wanna chat about it over a beer? My parents are out tonight."

Malcolm balked at the idea of being alone with a faggot. As straight as Hunter seemed, he was still on a gay team and was prepared to pull out his dick and jack it.

"Uh..."

"No, that's cool," Hunter jumped in. "I wasn't..."

Shit, now Malcolm was making it awkward. He had nothing to worry about, it really was like talking to a normal guy. And there would be beer.

"Sure. What the hell, right?" Malcolm smiled.

"No pressure," said Hunter.

That put Malcolm at ease. After he showered and collected his gear, the two of them biked over to Hunter's house.

They hung out in the living room and checked the scores. Kings beat the Senators 3-2.

"So, who d'you consider the best hockey player of all time?" asked Hunter as he handed Malcolm another beer. "For me, it's Gretsky."

"Gordie Howe." Malcolm took a swig.

"Awesome player."

"I'm related to him."

"No shit." Hunter sat at a respectable distance on the sofa.

"I think they said he's my third cousin or something." Malcolm was enjoying the buzz.

"I'm jealous. Wow."

They talked for a couple hours like two bruhs. Time just flew by. Malcolm was feeling pretty good after his second beer.

"So," said Hunter, "I guess you're still in the closet at school like me."

"Huh? Oh. Oh, yeah."

"Not to pry, but I guess your gal pal is your beard."

"What?" DID HUNTER REALLY THINK BRITTNEE WAS ONE OF THOSE TRANS QUEERS? "Oh no, she's a chick. A real chick."

"No, BEARD. Like a pretend girlfriend so that no one asks any questions."

"Oh. Yeah, guess I don't know all the words."

"That's okay, neither did I before I came out."

Malcolm was hoping to steer the conversation away from gay shit. So far he had gotten away with faking being a fairy, and the only way to continue doing that was to stick to neutral topics. On the other hand... Maybe it was the beer talking, but he was actually getting curious about a couple things.

"So, you, uh, been with a guy?" Malcolm asked.

"Yeah. You?"

"Naw. So, what exactly's in it for the dude getting fucked?"

"I take it you think of yourself as a top?"

"What? Oh. Yeah. Definitely."

"Well, when you bottom, the prostate gets stimulated and for some guys it makes them come even harder."

"Like...HAH?"

"The prostate."

"That a toy you dudes use?"

"No, every guy's got one." Hunter held up his fingers. "It's this walnut-sized gland between your bladder and your dick, and it makes your jizz. But it's also close to your rectum, so when you get -- you know -- it stimulates your prostate and kinda gives you a high. You can get so turned on sometimes you'll shoot across the room."

"No shit. Is that true?"

"Why would I fuck with you?" Hunter grinned.

All this talk about orgasms was making Malcolm's dick twitch and his balls gurgle. "I seriously haven't shot in two weeks," he lamented.

"Whoa. I don't know if I could go a full day without coming at least twice."

"I'm seriously backed up." WHY WAS HE TALKING ABOUT THIS? "It's late, I probably should go."

"Hope I'm not scaring you off. I know how freaky some of this stuff can be at first. But you do get used to it and after awhile you even come to like it."

"Guess, I, uh... I'm not there yet." Malcolm nodded his thanks and beelined, a little wobbily, to the door. Hunter followed the right winger to see him off.

"Look," said Hunter, "I hate to see you suffer. And you're welcome to punch my lights out for even suggesting it. But we're just two dudes hanging out. It feels that way with you. So, if you ever just wanna let a buddy lend a hand to help relieve that stress, I'm here for you."

"Oh." Malcolm's balls gurgled for him to take Hunter up on the offer.

"You know what?" said Hunter apologetically. "It's the alcohol. Sorry, can you forget what I just said? I'm being an idiot."

Malcolm was relieved. His dick was not. "'Kay. I should go."

"I'll see you at practice," said Hunter, back to being straight again.

"Awesome."

The next day at school, Malcolm had one goal in mind: Get laid.

The pool of puck bunnies was his target. They were all friends of Brittnee's, so a little revenge sex would make it even sweeter. He knew exactly who to go to: Gennipher. She and Bee were kinda twinsies, same hair, same bod, same type of clothes. Plus, Gennipher was one of the girls Malcolm had cheated with. So he knew she would be into it.

"Yeaaaahhhhhhh nooooooooooo," said Gennipher. "Not really interested."

"Why the hell not?" asked Malcolm, a little offended by the instant rejection.

"Yeaaaahhhhhhh nooooooooooo," said Gennipher. "You don't need to use me to prove anything."

"Use you? But I'm no longer with Bee. I'm free to fuck."

"Yeaaaahhhhhhh nooooooooooo," said Gennipher. "Your sexuality is whatev, but I'm kinda not into gay dick."

"Whaddaya mean? Who told you I was gay?"

"Me." Of course -- Brittnee. "In fact, I, like, told my entire clique."

"What the hell'd you do that for?" Malcolm was fuming.

"Just so they, like, had all the facts. But don't, like, worry. I just told THEM, so I'm sure, like, no one else at school, like, knows about it."

Malcolm was mortified. He felt his dick turtling.

The rest of the day was a complete disaster. The dude had become a pariah. All the second-tier girls "knew." And the third-tier girls "knew." His backstabbing friends "knew." No one important wanted to be in his presence. The entire day he thought of nothing but escaping. The bell couldn't ring soon enough. But at last it did.

The teen arrived home. His sanctuary from all the gay shit.

"Malcolm, how are you, honey?"

It was his mom. Standing with his dad. All Malcolm wanted to do was go up to his room to figure out how his load could be shot.

"Yeah?"

His mom gave him a warm smile, while his dad just looked uncomfortable. "You know you can talk to us about anything, don't you, dear?"

Malcolm did NOT know that. He knew the opposite, actually. "Yeah, okay."

"It's just... I was talking to Suzie... Her sister is in the PTA with Becky, who is friends with Brittnee's mom?"

A sense of impending doom crawled over Malcolm. "Uh... Okay?"

"Honey, why didn't you tell us you're gay?"

"What? No! I'm not --"

"Son, there's no sense lying to us," his dad said. "We know all about it."

"Now, Dan, we said we weren't going to be hostile, remember?"

His dad screamed at the refs on TV when they made a bad call. Hostile was his default setting. "I ain't being hostile, just telling the boy he can drop the act." He gave Malcolm an indifferent shrug. "I always kinda suspected anyway."

Malcolm's eyes bulged. "Wait, what?"

"ENH, I read that some boys compensate by exhibiting unusual levels of aggression," his dad explained.

This was some sort of weird nightmare, Malcolm was certain. "Uh, I'm not --"

His dad sighed. "We know all about the queer hockey team."

"I can explain that --"

"Honey, we found the stuff on your computer."

Malcolm froze. Last night while he was still buzzed, the curious teen went online to research the prostate and that led to a brief -- very, very, very brief -- look at two guys doing it. Had he left his computer on and the browser open?! FUUUUUUUUUCK!

"Get it through your thick skulls! I'm straight! Straight as an arrow! In fact, you've never seen anyone straighter!" Malcolm marched up to his room and locked the door. Then he went to his computer, shut it off, and pulled out the plug.

The stress was unbearable. His balls were gurgling. Malcolm absolutely needed relief. It had all come down to this. He would have to do the unthinkable. The sole act he had avoided like the plague. But now there was no choice. He had only one option left.

Jerk off.

Grimacing, Malcolm unzipped himself and let his jeans fall to the floor. He slid out of his boxer shorts.

His dick hung there. Waiting to be fisted. At long last Malcolm would empty -- and therefore silence -- his noisy nutsack.

Choking down his revulsion, Malcolm touched his dick for the very first time since puberty hit. He didn't even hold the thing when he pissed. In the shower he just let the soap foam slither down over it. And Brittnee's mouth had given it a biweekly cleaning.

The shaft felt so fucking weird in his hand. He started beating his meat.

The teen closed his eyes and imagined Bee. Those cute brown eyes. Those full lips. Those perky breasts and suckable nipples. Those slender hips. And, of course, that wet snatch.

Malcolm imagined drilling her hard. Really giving it to her. Like the bitch deserved.

Fuck, she was so hot.

Malcolm looked down. At his limp dick.

THE FUCK WAS GOING ON?!

He closed his eyes and pounded his pud. Half hour later, he was still at it.

No, no, no, no, no! This was not the time to be IMPOTENT!

Malcolm jacked it for another half hour. Then another. Then another.

He threw himself down on the bed and cursed his fate.

The first thing he'd do tomorrow was quit that fucking faggot team. Why the hell did he join them in the first place? To play hockey. The sport that meant everything to him. Yeah, that would be pretty shitty, actually. Not being on the ice. Where else would he play? Nowhere.

This was the worst day ever. Malcolm was absolutely fucked. His girlfriend had dumped him. His friends wouldn't look at him. Everyone else avoided him. Even his dick wanted nothing to do with him.

But at least he was on a hockey team. That was at least some consolation.

Even better, over the course of the next week, not thinking about sex at all made Malcolm more focused on the ice.

"Nice pass," the straight dude said to the straight-acting Hunter.

"Not as impressive as your clapper," Hunter smiled, referring to Malcolm's slapshot that went straight into the net.

The right winger still had to put up with the other players' cringey girlishness and post-ice circle-jerks. But he had them fooled with his self-reported "shyness" that allowed him to clean up after everyone else was gone.

"Okay, Malcolm, sweetie-kins, we're all out of the shower now, go ahead," said Shaughnessy.

"Get your hot buns in there and we'll see you next practice," added Bawa.

His buddy Hunter waited for Malcolm outside the door and hung out with him after practice. They would go to the dude's house, since the parents were away at night, and drink a couple brewskis. First order of business was to check the scores. Capitals beat the Penguins 5-2.

"There are some days I wish I weren't gay," said Hunter as he idly strummed on the guitar he was learning.

"Yeah," said Malcolm. "I know what you mean."

"But then I think about how good it feels," said Hunter. "To give another dude pleasure with me inside him. I feel so close to that guy when we fuck."

"Hey, that's exactly how I think," smiled Malcolm. But then he realized the implication of that remark. "You know. The closeness. With the right... person."

Malcolm would always turn the conversation back to hockey and he could relax again (and his sphincter could unclench).

The fags were even buying into his act that he played hard to get. Malcolm was confident he could stretch this out for as long as he needed. At least until the youth league he had been kicked out of could see he was no longer just a goon and actually possessed legit talents as a pro hockey player.

Yeah, yeah, he was using this gay team for his own selfish aims. But if they were too clueless to figure out he was normal, that was their problem, not his.

"I'm wondering if he's really gay," said Shaughnessy.

"Yeah, I'm with you, sister," said Bawa.

Malcolm had just entered the locker room and was about to turn the corner when he overheard the two players gossiping alone together.

"The shyness is one thing, but come on, he's 14 years old. You can't tell me he doesn't think about dick at all."

"If he uses the excuse he's asexual, I'm sorry, but I'm gonna call bullshit."

Fuck, that was exactly the strategy that Malcolm had just come up with in his mind in a desperate attempt to explain his behavior. He was so sure he could get away with being a different kind of gay, but it seemed there was little difference between straights and homos. To both it was all about sex.

The team was playing a game tonight and Malcolm couldn't afford to be distracted. He didn't know what to do. But as he turned around to escape the locker room and ran into Hunter in the doorway, Malcolm didn't even have to think about the words.

"Um, Hunter," he blurted out, "would you be my boyfriend?"

Hunter stared bug eyed and Malcolm almost puked. But in that split-second, it seemed like the best solution. Hunter was pretty straight and they could hang out as bros for months before Malcolm had to put out. And when it did come to that, all Malcolm had to do was claim the relationship wasn't working for him and call it quits.

"Wow," said Hunter. "I, uh... Sure."

"Okay. Cool."

They had a great game. He and Hunter were the perfect duo, passing the puck and scoring goals. Inspired by what they saw, the other teammates gave it their all. The final score was 9-2.

Hunter made the announcement of their new relationship after declining the circle jerk.

"Dudes, Malcolm and I are going out together, so we're being exclusive," Hunter smiled as the others started pulling out their dicks.

"Um, yeah, so you all had your chance at this," said Malcolm, indicating himself.

"Oh, Lawdy, congrats you two!" said Shaughnessy.

"Mm-hm," nodded Bawa. "We thought you were ungettable, Malky."

"Hurry up and rinse off, dudes," urged Hunter, "so my shy boy can shower."

Malcolm and Hunter toasted their new relationship with clinks of beer cans at their usual hangout.

"So, if it's cool with you," said Malcolm deviously, "I'd like to take it slow."

"Oh, yeah, no, I understand," nodded Hunter. "It'll feel just that much better when..." He half-shrugged and winked.

Malcolm knew he had chosen wisely. Chilling with Hunter was pretty close to straight as straight can be. And with his impotence, the teen wasn't giving off any horny vibes. He accepted Hunter's offer to share a third beer to celebrate. Malcolm didn't have to worry about sex at all and was happy just playing hockey.

It was pitch black when Malcolm was awoken by the crush of someone getting on top of him. Pinning him down. Grinding into his crotch. WHAT THE SHIT?!

His hand groped for the lamp switch. Flicked on the light.

Straddling him in his bed was Brittnee.

"Like, hi."

"Fuck you doing here?!"

"'Kay, like, I'm a liiiiiiittle drunk. So, let's, like, see if you really, like, turned gay."

Malcolm noticed she wasn't wearing any panties underneath her skirt. Her pussy was rutting into his tighty-whities.

"Mmmmm, yeeeaaahhhhh," she moaned. "Do me, Malcolm."

Normally, Malcolm would have fucked the chick's brains out. But he couldn't afford to risk the team finding out he was straight.

"Hey," pouted Brittnee, "how come you're not, like, throwing wood? Don't tell me you're, like, really gay?"

Malcolm pushed her off of him. "Get the hell out of my life."

Brittnee tumbled off the bed then leapt up. "'Kay, but, like, you're gonna regret this."

"There's the window," Malcolm pointed.

"You think fags are any different? They, like, only want one thing."

"Don't even. They have more honesty on their pinky finger than you'll ever have."

"Fine. But they don't, like, have this."

And she flashed him her vaj. Within seconds, Malcolm was hard as a rock and spewing weeks' worth of spunk into his briefs!

Relief! Relief at last! He had never felt so happy emptying his ballsack!

Malcolm woke up in bed. It took him a moment to realize he had been dreaming. And it took him another moment to realize it had been a wet dream!

Whatever mess was in his shorts, it was worth it to finally get rid of whatever had been backed up in his aching blue balls. But when Malcolm pulled down the sheets and looked at his crotch, he realized he was bone dry.

Fucking god, he couldn't even come from his own wet dream!

GURGLE.

Malcolm stared between his legs. What was happening down there?

GURGLE.

Could it be... ?

GURGLE.

His briefs.

They were tenting!

That bitch in his dream had reawakened his sexual appetite!

Malcolm fished out his dick and started whacking. But each time he developed a rhythm, the shaft would go flaccid. The fuck?! He'd close his eyes and think about the cooch that Brittnee had flashed in his dream. His cock would twitch and stiffen, making itself ready for beating off. However, it was a Catch-22. As soon as he started jacking, his pud would soften.

His sexual appetite had returned all right, BUT HE COULD NOT COME. Malcolm flipped onto his stomach and screamed into his pillow.

All through practice, the right winger couldn't concentrate. Missing passes. Letting the puck get away from him. Going for his trademark slapshots that failed to end up in the net.

"Hey, sweetie-kins, we don't have a duster on our team, do we?" joked Shaughnessy. That was pretty much the worst insult a hockey player could hear. Normally, Malcolm would go full goon if someone had called him that, but these days he had a reputation as a gay teen to uphold.

"Just having an off night, I guess." The image of Brittnee's cooch was seared into his brain. He could feel the dick between his legs press painfully against his athletic cup.

During his solo showers in the locker room, Malcolm attempted to stroke his hard- on to make it go down, but his body refused to end his misery with even a semblance of an orgasm.

This torture went on for the rest of the week. Another game was coming up soon and he couldn't afford to keep playing so shitty.

Malcolm was convinced he must be releasing pheromones, because Hunter kept boning up in his presence.

"I don't wanna pressure you or anything," his boyfriend said as they checked the scores -- Jets beat the Coyotes 4-3 -- and sipped their second beers.

"And I totally appreciate that," answered Malcolm as he tried to think of other topics to discuss besides sex.

"I'm just wondering how long you think it'll be," continued Hunter.

"Don't wanna rush things, so that it's, you know, meaningful," answered Malcolm. He was wondering now what he'd need to do to get Hunter off his back. It occurred to him for the first time that men were pigs who couldn't wait to get into your pants.

"It's tough for me to resist you, Malcolm," sighed Hunter. "You're a hot guy."

"And you're -- hot as well." It was fucking weird rating another dude in the looks department. Malcolm had never even thought about whether or not a guy was attractive. It just wasn't even a consideration. But Hunter was forcing him to say things that quite frankly made him wanna upchuck. It was perfectly fine for bitches to say that kind of shit about themselves and each other. Dudes doing it was just plain wrong.

"Again, no pressure," cautioned Hunter. "But I don't wanna end up a bed-death couple."

"We won't," reassured Malcolm, before he added, "What's that exactly?"

"You know... The joke they say about lesbians after they get into a relationship. The sex stops. Lesbian bed death."

"That won't be us," Malcolm asserted, wondering why the hell he would even say that and privately hoping there wouldn't be any screwing so he'd never have to think about doing it with someone who had a cock.

"I hope we're destined to be intimate," Hunter said with a faint, bittersweet smile. "Every time I look into your twinkling eyes and chiclet grin after you score a goal, I get weak at the knees. I wanna kiss that ski-jump nose of yours. I can imagine feeling those gorgeous ruby lips on my neck. That flow of hair just flutters perfectly from your helmet. You're a BEAUTY, Malcolm."

The right winger blushed. Shit, guys don't turn red from a compliment! But "beauty" was the highest honor you could receive in the hockey world. Not only was the person telling you you had flow, but it also meant you were amazing on the ice, had the respect of your teammates, possessed great hands for stick handling, could tell the best locker room stories, and had no trouble talking a fan into bed.

"Damn, dude" was all Malcolm could utter, he was so flattered. Ah hell, he was gonna have to offer something back. "Yeah, your black hair's got flow, nice and wavy. Your eyes are so -- what -- brown, too? Also nice. Nose is smooth, not broken, nice. Lips are kinda like mine, nice."

But it was being called a "beauty" that was was giving Malcolm a hard-on and he could see the outline of Hunter's dick straining in his jeans. Realizing where this was headed, Malcolm said, "I should go."

The pressure was getting to Malcolm. So much so that his ass was always itchy. At first he thought it was a rash. But positioning a mirror beneath his spread butt cheeks confirmed there was nothing there but a plain balloon knot. Malcolm had never seen his asshole before. It looked so alien to him. Pretending to be gay had definitely made him think about and do things he'd never even considered before.

The itch persisted and no ointment could provide any relief. So the teen took to using his back scratcher on his pucker. He had to really get it up in there. But those little plastic fingers had some effect at least. Then the weirdest shit happened. The scratcher's hand clawed deeper into the tunnel and he got a little bit of a high.

WHOA! WHAT THE HELL?!

Malcolm vowed to never do that again. But not an hour had passed before the itch was tormenting him and the back scratcher was fingering the entrance to his rectum. The high he had felt came back. His cock got hard. Malcolm was grinning like an idiot.

Just then, his mom walked into the bedroom. "Did you hear me, Malcolm, dinner's --" She paused at the doorway. "Oh. Well, good for you for accepting yourself."

Malcolm pulled up his jeans and whipped the instrument behind his back. "Get outta my room!"

His dad poked his head in. "I take it he was doing something queer."

"You guessed correctly," answered his mom.

Malcolm darted across the room, shoved his parents out into the hallway, and slammed the door. "I'm not fucking gay!"

His cock throbbed, his balls gurgled, and his prostate cried out to be stimulated.

At least... At least... At least he still had hockey.

"You've gone from duster to bender, Howe!" shouted Coach.

It was the last practice before the next game and Malcolm was playing even worse than ever. He could barely skate, never mind control the puck -- hence, a "bender."

"I'll be present for the game, Coach," Malcolm said, more so to boost his low morale than to state his actual belief.

"If not, Howe, we'll have to drop you," threatened Coach.

FUCK NO! NOT BE ON A HOCKEY TEAM?! That was the absolute worst thing Malcolm could hear. He received sympathetic looks from Hunter, but the rest of the team simply glared.

"I'll be the best fucking right winger you'll ever see!" declared Malcolm to the non- believers.

"If you say so, dah-ling," said Shaughnessy as he rolled his eyes.

"Perhaps it might help if you got laid," chuckled Bawa.

"Dudes, lay off my boyfriend," scolded Hunter.

Malcolm didn't know whether to be grateful to his fake significant other or grossed out being treated like a chick who needed defending.

But he was terrified at the prospect of losing out on the opportunity to play the one sport he was born for.

Hanging out at Hunter's place -- Devils beat the Islanders 7-2 -- Malcolm slouched on the sofa and asked for a third beer. He chugged half the contents and was super buzzed.

"Can I put my arm around your shoulder?" Hunter asked.

"Uh... Sure. Why not." Malcolm didn't care anymore. He'd lost his league status, his girl, his rep as a straight stud, his dick control, and now potentially his game. Even though it was a dude's arm comforting him, it kinda felt nice.

Of course it made him erect, because why not. Hunter was already boned up.

"I'd be devastated if you were off the team," Hunter lamented.

"Same," Malcolm something.

"Can I ask you, when was the last time you came?"

"Honestly, I can't even remember."

"Maybe a good jizz might set you straight."

"If it COULD actually happen."

"We should try."

Suddenly, Malcolm realized what Hunter was hinting at.

"Uh... I'm not sure I, um..."

"It's for the sake of your future in hockey."

"But, uh, won't it hurt something fierce --?"

"C'mon, Malcolm, it was easy to see you used to be a goon. The amount of punishment you've endured from all the fights you've been in? This'll be nothing."

Malcolm tried to think clearly past his boozy haze.

Cock throbbing, balls gurgling, prostate crying out.

"Okay."

"Let's go up to my room."

It kinda looked like a straight dude's bedroom. Except cleaner.

The two guys stood by the foot of the bed. Hunter stepped up to him.

But Malcolm backed away. "Uh. So, no kissing, okay? And no hugging. Let me take care of my own dick."

Hunter said, "Oh... Shit, they're right about you!"

Malcolm stared at him. "Huh? What...?"

"The others said you were straight, but I told them no way."

"What? Fuck no! I'm gay! I'm the biggest fag ever! I just... I, uh... Don't like that kissing crap."

Hunter grinned. "Oh! I get it. You like it rough and dirty."

"Huh? Oh, uh, yeah..."

"I can't wait."

"Do we need to get... ?"

Following Hunter's nod of assent, they stripped off all their clothes.

The gay center player had a raging hard-on, but the straight right winger was once again soft. Malcolm was pissed to discover Hunter had an inch more cock than he had when erect, but he masked his irritation with a joke. "Guess you REALLY want this."

Hunter chuckled. "More than anything."

They laughed and avoided eye contact.

"What now?"

"Wait here." Hunter went to the nightstand, lubed up his dick, and returned to the foot of the bed. "Turn around."

Malcolm did as he was instructed. He couldn't believe he was going through with this. Two callused hands gripped his hips.

Malcolm would have preferred no touching.

"Tell me if this hurts."

A fireball struck Malcolm in the ass! He hissed and winced. GodDAMN, it was like receiving a punch -- but not the quick punches he was used to on the ice, but a long, sustained, TAKING FOR-FUCKING-EVER punch. Malcolm had hoped the alcohol would dull the pain, but that was NOT happening.

"Christ Almighty!"

"Just relax. Clenching will only make it worse."

Malcolm tried to relax. HOW THE FUCK DID GAY GUYS ENDURE THIS AWFUL PAIN? He forced himself to accept into his asshole what he knew to be Hunter's cockhead. It was nasty as hell.

"That's good, Malcolm. I need more of my dick in you."

"HHHHHHHNNNNNNNNNNH!!!" This was like a visit to the dentist without anesthesia. Except instead of getting a tooth PULLED, it was being SHOVED BACK IN.

"Malcolm, you just don't know how much I've wanted to be inside you."

The right winger was in too much pain to answer.

"I'm going balls deep."

Malcolm was about to tell Hunter to stop when it felt like the rest of a broadsword being thrust into his body. "OH GOD, IT FEELS --!"

The warmth of a perfect summer's day supernovaed in his ass and radiated out from his prostate. His balls purred and his cock stood to attention.

"-- GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!"

"Oooooohhhh, Malcolm. I feel so close to you right now. I need to know you want it." Hunter kissed and nibbled at Malcolm's neck, a clear rules violation, but Malcolm sensed what was happening would make him come. Never in a million years did he think he'd let a dude fuck him in the ass. But godDAMN that dick was doing shit to the straight dude that took him to the horniest paradise on Earth. He needed it.

"F-Fuck me," the right winger gasped.

He felt the dick withdraw, and HELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL it was massaging that love nub up his poop chute. Then the dick slid back in and GAAAWWWWWWWWWWWD it was like Malcolm was coming in slow motion even though his dick wasn't ready to shoot.

"Say it again, Malcolm. Say it."

Hunter reached around, gripped Malcolm's erection and gave it a few gentle tugs, which should have made the dick shrivel up, but instead it was throbbing.

"Nnnngh," was the only protest Malcolm could offer.

"Say it!"

Malcolm didn't want to. But he was afraid Hunter might stop.

"F-Fuck m-m-eeeee," said the straight bottom.

"Tell me you want it harder," moaned Hunter.

He took his hand off the dick so he could grip Malcolm's hips again. That should have been a relief, but Malcolm's dick didn't feel that way. It wanted the pretend boyfriend's hand back.

"H-H-Harderrrrrrr," Malcolm said in a state of delirium.

"Beg me to pound you," grunted Hunter.

Malcolm never begged. Okay, rarely. "P-Please, please, Hunter. P-Pound me."

His dick was rock hard, his balls were boiling, and his brain was fuzzy.

"Let me know you love me popping your ass cherry."

"Fuck! Unnnn... P-Pop my ch-cherry..."

"Ask me to make you my bitch."

"...Huh?"

"Admit you're just a dirty little cock slut!"

"Wh-What?"

Holy shit, Malcolm was about to come! But what the hell was happening with his fake boyfriend?!

"You stupid fucking whore, you're nothing but a boy pussy, a little cum skank!"

"H-Hunter --"

"You goddamn cockhound, my spooge is gonna shoot up your lying bitch ass!"

Hunter fired his load straight up Malcolm's stink rocket.

OH MY GOOD GOD, IT WAS HAPPENING!

MALCOLM WAS COMING!!!

A massive geyser of jizz torpedoed across the room and blasted the wall! More ropes streaked through the air and splattered across the rug! Malcolm cried out in bliss and relief! This was the single greatest ejaculation ever!

With a S-L-U-U-U-U-U-U-U-R-R-R-R-R-R-P, Hunter ripped his cock out and left what must have been a gaping hole the size of Long Island in the straight boy's tunnel.

Malcolm just stood there, dazed and satisfied.

Suddenly, he heard tinny sounds of applause and hooting.

Hunter had opened up his computer. Onscreen were the cheering hockey players!

Mortified, Malcolm scooped his jeans up off the floor and covered his crotch. "Wh- What going on?"

"You've just been deflowered by the Cherry Popper!" squeed Bawa.

"Who?"

"Cherry Popper," said Hunter. "That's my nickname."

"He's de-virginated everyone on the team!" giggled Shaughnessy.

Malcolm whirled on Hunter. "The fuck they talking about?"

"Hey," smirked Hunter. "I got a rep to uphold. You're just another notch in my belt."

Malcolm couldn't believe his ears. "You mean this has all been an act?!"

"You're one to talk!" sneered Hunter.

"I don't know what you're --"

"Aw, c'mon, we could tell you were a breeder from day one. Even Coach figured it out, but he doesn't care 'cause all that matters to him is winning."

Malcolm was floored. HOW THE HELL DID THEY FIGURE IT OUT?!

Onscreen, Shaughnessy kept giggling. "You straight boys are dumb as shit."

"You really do underestimate us fags, don't you?" accused Bawa.

"I... I'm going to the cops," said Malcolm defensively.

"And tell them what?" laughed Hunter. "That you posed as a queer to infiltrate a gay hockey team and willingly offered up your ass to its star player?"

"It's my word against yours!" Malcolm had already crawled into his pants and was putting on his shirt.

"Oh, Malky. Not according to Mr. Web Cam," chortled Bawa.

"You fucking recorded this?!" Malcolm's junk was still sighing with relief.

"Just for our own protection. And private use," said Hunter. "Unless you want Mommy and Daddy to have more evidence you're a fudge packer."

Malcolm's eyes widened!

"Oh, sweetie-kins," smiled Shaughnessy. "Don't you think we did a little investigating after you failed to set off any of our gaydar?"

"Here's the deal," smiled Hunter. "You can keep playing for our team if you keep taking one for the team."

"HAH?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm through with you. I got what I wanted for now. The fair thing to do is to share you with the rest of the team."

"HAH?"

"It's not like you won't enjoy it. The proof is in the buckets of cum you'll have to mop up."

"With your tongue!" laughed Gomez.

"Yeah," chuckled Hunter. "With your tongue."

Malcolm just stared. He felt angry and betrayed. Did he love hockey enough to go through with this humiliation? Did he actually need to come that badly to be treated like a bitch?

After licking up the last of his spooge off the wall, the straight dude agreed to let Bawa do him up the ass next.

He had no choice. And it wasn't all bad. At least he was getting some. Plus, those climaxes from a stimulated prostate were the most intense he'd ever experienced.

On the upside, Malcolm still wasn't forced to join their circle jerks. On the downside, he was still expected to participate by kneeling in the middle of them so they could spunk all over him.

This wasn't exactly where he thought he'd end up. However...

Malcolm Howe would be the best damn right winger in the gay hockey world!