When Opportunity Knocks

Standard disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people or actual events is purely coincidental.

You may contact the author at Ulfr57@gmail.com All comments, suggestions and/or obsevations are welcome if presented respectfully.

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"When Opportunity Knocks"

Chapter One:

Well, that just happened!

Matt McCormick had just come from Coach Chuck Myers office after he had asked him to meet him there after his fourth-period phys ed class.

Normally, Matt didn't like anything that took away from his lunchtime break, which always followed his fourth-period gym class. But the coach had promised it wouldn't take long and true to his word, it hadn't.

Not that it really mattered to Matt, he certainly didn't mind being invited into the coach's inner sanctum. It had afforded him at least a few minutes of alone time to ogle the coaches more than ample physical attributes.

And ample they were! At six feet five inches and probably pushing a good two hundred forty or more pounds of pure solid muscle covered densely in dark brown fur from nearly head to toe, he was a walking talking wet dream come true to an eighteen-year-old gay high school senior like Matt.

Matt couldn't begin to recount how many times he had yanked his crank to lurid, mentally constructed late-night fantasies involving the twenty-eight year old, ruggedly handsome, hyper-masculine prime alpha stud, but after that meeting, he was certain he was going to be adding to the list later that evening when he was at home and alone in his room.

Even now, as he exited the gym and began his trek across campus to his next class, he couldn't seem to get the coaches visage out of his head, those full, thick lips, the large brown narrow set eyes, his broad chin, complete with sexy cleft and of course the thick, heavy protruding brow, the slightly offset wide flat nose, that had obviously been broken and poorly reset at one time, which only seemed to add to the masculine mystic and allure that permeated throughout the man.

Matt could feel the all too familiar expansion in the crotch of his bluejeans as his imagination continued to reconstruct the coach in his mind's eye, as he now pictured his massive chest tightly stretching whatever T-shirt he had managed to squeeze himself into, and the tuft of chocolate brown hair that always seemed to escape the neckline and of course those massive bulging shoulders and his huge, thick, muscle corded arms and large hands that Matt could only dream might one day caress or hold him tightly.

As much as Matt enjoyed all those features about Coach Chuck, what really made him weak in the knees was his lower half, those incredibly profuse meaty thighs and those broad hefty calves, two sturdy tree trunks that melded perfectly into the twin massive mounds of his protruding bubble-butt that always seemed to overly stretch any garment he wore, which was almost always either a super tight pair of gym shorts or overly taut sweat pants.

Of course, all these things paled in comparison to the always, ever-present humongous bulge in his straining crotch.

Matt often wondered if what lay underneath was real or whether the coach was stuffing his crotch with either a large grapefruit or a small melon, either way, despite all the coaches other majestic physical attributes, the first thing anyone, with a pair of working eyes, would notice, was that hefty, beefy protuberance between his legs.

Still, it wasn't how much the coach mentally pushed all his buttons that had fueled his imagination, it was the deal he just struck with him that now had Matt all worked up. After all, it wasn't every day that someone handed him a deal that was too good to resist, and if everything panned out the way the coach had agreed to, then one of Matt's lifelong fantasies was about to come true and put an end to an overly lengthy dry spell that would culminate in not only Matt getting laid but would afford him the opportunity to do so at the expense of one of his lifelong nemesis and bullies, James Hatcher!

That name alone invoked a myriad of feelings and memories, some good, but most, pervasively bad, dating back as far as junior high school, seventh grade to be precise.

For quite some time Matt had been coming to the realization that unlike most of his friends, he wasn't developing the same interest and curiosity they were regarding girls; he felt nothing when a group of his buds had huddled together to gawk over the naked images of women in a porn mag one of the guys had stolen from his father's stash.

At that age, Matt had just thought that he might be a late bloomer, that those attractions would come in their own time, but that all changed one Friday afternoon, right after gym class and he had hurried up changing and had just passed the showers and was rounding the corner to where the toilet stalls and urinals were when he saw James Hatcher standing in front of one of the sinks, combing his short-cropped dirty blond hair.

Matt had seen James, otherwise known as Hatch by his jock friends, many times before this, mostly when he was picking on some kid or another and just generally being a complete and utter asshole.

Physically, there were two things one first noticed about Hatch, he was big for his age, not fat, but beefy or what Matt would later come to call, thick, solid.

Matt was sure this was mostly due to him being a farm boy, but also in part to his near single-minded focus on sports, especially football.

His other physical attributes? Well, to say that Hatch was particularly good looking wouldn't have factually been correct, he was ruggedly handsome enough, though he had rather thin set lips and a slightly upturned smallish pug nose, topped by thick brows and two bright blue eyes that seemed as vacuous as the space between his ears.

But, what Hatch lacked in intelligence, he more than compensated for in absolute willful stupidity, which was only surpassed by his self-absorbed arrogance and the firm belief, that because he was bigger and stronger, he was better than everyone else, so much so, that he frequently demonstrated his prowess through physical intimidation.

Sadly, as fate would have it, at the very moment Matt had been passing by, and Hatch stood there, naked as the day he was born, casually combing his hair at the sink and fully exposed to Matt's line of sight, that for the very first time, Matt felt what a growing number of his buddies had felt toward girls, except he was now experiencing it looking at Hatch.

It literally hit him like a ton of bricks, culminating into his openly, doe-eyed, mouth gapingly ogling of Hatches prodigious and ample genitals and the light patch of pubic hair above.

Unfortunately for Matt, Hatch noticed him too.

It wasn't bad enough that Matt first came to the realization he was gay by seeing a naked James Hatcher, no, the often harsh mistress of fate also decided that she would share his moment of self-realization with the one person least suited with the shared burden, resulting in the issuance of those six words that would haunt him for the rest of his young academic life: "What are you lookin' at faggot?"

It still amazed Matt, that after all the years following, and the countless times he had heard Hatch and his jock bros hurl that epitaph at him, and the years following, making him the brunt of a ceaseless barrage of innuendos and stereotypes, until finally growing bored at such an easy target, especially after he publicly came out as gay, that just the remembrance of that one moment and the many more that followed, still made his face blush and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

But as fate would have it and as he had already posited, she was a cruel mistress, it now seemed likely Coach Chuck Myers would become instrumental in a little tit for tat.

High school football ruled in rural Kansas, truth be told, there was little else in lieu of entertainment to be had, especially in the small community of Avalon.

But a year and a half ago a small scandal, that had ultimately led to the resignation of both their former football coach and athletic advisor and the school vice-principal. It had rocked their small community when it was revealed that the former coach and the vice-principal had been "fixing" the grades of players so that they could academically meet the established requirements necessary to qualify to play on the Avalon Stallions football team.

Currently, at was the start of Matt's senior year, and while his social life had up till now been fairly nonexistent due to his status as the only out gay guy in the school, Matt had chosen to devote himself to his studies and had earned himself a perfect 4.0 average throughout high school and was well on his way in earning several scholarships that would cover nearly all his expenses at pretty much any top-level college or university he might apply too.

Matt had spent his time wisely, building his credentials, and had even garnered a part-time job working as a lab assistant to a local pharmaceutical lab under the guidance of the noted and brilliant scientist Doctor Mikal Ventrov, the biological engineer who led the company experimental division, who, for the last five years had been working on what he labeled as a biological enhancement formula for the US government in direct co-operation with the Pentagon.

It was this connection that had brought him to the attention of Coach Myers.

The coach, as it turned out, had served in the Marine Corps and was part of a voluntary participation program through the Pentagon that worked under the guidance of Doctor Ventrov.

It didn't take long, during their conversation, for Matt to deduce that when the coach said volunteer participant he meant literally that, he didn't assist Doctor Ventrov in the lab, he was a test subject and judging by Coach Chuck Myers's current physical state, the good Doctor's experiments seemed to be heading in the right direction.

After having figured that out and by his positive reaction to it, Coach Myers then laid out what he and the Doctor wanted from Matt if he chose to participate and co-operate.

First, Coach Myers had reassured him, that there was nothing nefarious going on here, his job as coach for the school was legitimate. He had finished his tour in the Marine Corps and had decided to stick around to continue helping with the next phase of the Doctor's work and had taken the job as a coach to help supplement his income.

It wasn't until after he started working at Avalon high school that he had seen a potential side perk that might both profit the Doctors secret but voluntary test program and the potential physical benefits the participants might garner.

Which brought the coach to the crux of their meeting and him making Matt an offer that was not just too good to be true, but nearly impossible to refuse.

<<<>>>

As he had sat there, on the small, worn brown leather couch that sat against the far right side wall of the coaches office and the coach moved to sit in the chair behind his desk, first stopping to close the blinds to the large window that overlooked the football teams locker room. Matt couldn't help but enjoy the pervasively strong masculine scent that permeated and suffused the room, most of which, he guessed wafted through the side door that allowed the coach private access to the locker room.

He hadn't seen anyone in the locker room, but obviously, the coach didn't want prying, curious eyes or ears disturbing their conversation.

After finally taking a seat and folding his hands on top of his desk, a serious look of concentration subsuming his facial expressions, Coach Myers laid it all out for him.

He revealed his connection to Dr. Ventrov and the Doctor himself suggesting that he might enlist Matt's aid in the next planned phase and test trials of their latest volunteer's, in part because of his familiarity with the participants, that, and Dr. Ventrov felt that Matt was best suited to the task because of his working knowledge of the nature of his work.

Matt, of course, was a logical safe choice and his co-operation would mean not having to explain the persistent appearance of one of his other lab assistance presence at the school and though they weren't doing anything that was illegal and the four volunteers were fully aware of what they might expect from their involvement, what the Doctor had planned for Matt hadn't exactly been made clear, and would differ from their own participation.

At first, Matt had wrongly assumed that Dr. Ventrov had wanted his assistance in documenting results or possibly administering and tracking the supplements and dosages given each of the volunteers, and while he did want his help with that, he also wanted Matt to volunteer for a side project that would go hand in hand with the one planned for the four other subjects.

Matt had been cautiously dubious as Coach Myers explained the nature of the experiment, but Coach Myers tried to assuage his trepidation by explaining his own experience with the Doctor's treatments.

Two years ago, when he first began the initial trials and started a steady regimen of diet and exercise, all under the close supervision and direction of the Doctor, Coach Myers had weighed in at one hundred and seventy-five pounds and stood a height of five feet nine inches, in the course of just six months, he had grown and developed to his current size and status and had maintained it even after the cessation of the supplements.

The coach had told him that the initial formula used had some minor unexpected side effects, ones the coach seemed somewhat awkwardly reluctant to elaborate on while assuring Matt that the Doctor was hopeful, the latest incarnation of the formula would curtail some of those effects.

Visually, Matt could see the benefits that the supplements had on Coach Myers and he had been twenty-six when he began taking them and Matt had to wonder, that if it had that kind of effect on a fully grown and developed adult male, what kind of effectual outcome might they expect from younger males still in their developmental growth phase?

The coach had just smiled and said that was why this time around, they were going to proceed more cautiously and with lower doses.

He also revealed, they were less concerned with the potential growth as they were the increase in testosterone levels, something he himself had experienced and was now attempting to control through diet, exercise, and calming yoga meditation; which led him into Matt's participation.

The Doctor believed that because the increased production of testosterone was key in the developmental changes, that what they really lacked was a method in controlling or focusing that natural aggression, thinking he had finally come up with a viable solution, one that would dovetail nicely with the Pentagons expectations and potential usage of the supplements on new recruit volunteers.

Their focus had been solely on creating bigger, stronger fighters with increased stamina and drive, and while they had successfully achieved that goal, what they now lacked was a way to focus all those qualities and still maintain order and control.

As the coach rightly observed, what good was all the improvements if those changed by it were uncontrollably flying off in constant rages, or worse yet, defying orders?

It had been a particularly difficult conundrum and one the Doctor wasn't sure how to correct without removing all individuality of the test subject.

The Pentagon had been clear, the American people would never approve of their tax dollars being used to create an army of mindless, aggressive automatons out of their sons, fathers and brothers.

The idea for the solution had presented itself just a few months ago, while the Doctor had sat at home pondering his methodology and wondering if perhaps he should just scrap the project and start from scratch while a show on the animal planet played out across his TV screen.

The topic of the show had been the effects of pheromones to control or illicit certain behaviors between various animals through the use of scent alone.

It had been a eureka moment for the Doctor's research and that was exactly where they saw Matt coming in.

Doctor Ventrov had created a series of supplements and injections that would alter Matt's pheromone output and allow him a level of conscious control over it and hopefully, through it, over the other test subjects as well.

Matt, of course, had been completely dubious about making experimental changes in his body's chemistry and was, at the time, doubtful and reticent about his participation. That was until Coach Myers handed him the four folders on the other test subjects and he noticed the one right on top immediately: James Hatcher!

Having studied the effects of pheromones in his online college interim biology course, he knew the various and potential ways pheromones affected a plethora of species. They could induce fight or flight, some could transmit fear or even anger, but the most pervasive use of pheromones was the seduction of potential mating partners. Sex pheromones were common in most species including humans, though to a smaller degree. But Matt thought, what if....?

Matt knew it was juvenile to be concentrating and imagining James Hatcher submissively on his knees obeying his every command, but the thought stuck on replay in his head as he continuously pictured exactly that.

He didn't know or care if Coach Myers knew about his long association and history with Hatch, but the more Matt thought about it, the more he realized, that there was no way he could ever pass up the possibility of humbling the likes of James fucking Hatcher!

<<<>>>

The weekend following Matt's meeting with Coach Myers, found him repeatedly going through the four folders of the perspective test subjects and of course, he quickly noticed that each of them were all close buddies to Hatch and each in their own way, to various degrees, had participated in Hatches relentless taunts and torments of not only himself but anyone else they deemed weaker or inferior, which was pretty much everyone.

Six feet one inch Lance Coleman was like the poster boy of what most would consider good looking, he was slighter of build than the others, something Matt would have dubbed a swimmers build, hairless, smooth and toned body, oval facial shape, blue-eyed, high cheekbones, short but perfectly quaffed golden blond hair and medium-full pouty lips. All in all a striking angelic-like appearance that belied his true nature, with a mouth that would make a drunken sailor cringe.

Five feet eleven-inch Hunter Milsbane was the dark-haired one of the quartet, who generally kept his head buzz cut, but seemed to always have a bad case of five o'clock shadow. He was a bit stockier than the others and had a fair amount of body hair for his eighteen years of age and his thick-lipped, larger than normal mouth and extra-wide flat nose and protruding heavy brow with a rather shallow forehead, made him the more thuggish looking of the group. Other than his dimwittedness, he seemed the least rowdy of them all. Matt was pretty sure that had more to do with his inability to grasp anything that extended beyond his own nose, empathy being a concept beyond his comprehension and he was far more likely to parrot what his buds said or did.

That left Steve Ramsey, or just Ramsey as most people addressed him. What could Matt say, at six feet four inches, Ramsey was stacked like a brick shit house and was probably the only one that spent more time in the team weight room than Hatch himself.

Of all the others, Steve probably came closest to Coach Myers in sheer body size and mass.... Ramsey's muscles seemed to have muscles and as the lead fullback on the team, he had no physical equal and always seemed to mow through any competition.

Of the four, he was also more Matt's type, look's wise anyway. Short cropped, light brown wavy hair, that he usually kept shaved on the sides, usually clean-shaven facially, but with a light covering of body hair except around his genitals and butt crack, where it seemed to grow unusually dense.

Steve also had a rather squared, blockish sort of head shape, with a wide chin and squared jawline with full pouty lips and dimples that made his face light up whenever he smiled, unfortunately, that wasn't very often.

His green, close-knit eyes, betrayed a steely, stern coldness, which, when coupled with his deep, gravelly voice, could intimidate even members of his own group. If there was a natural leader among them, Ramsey would easily be the observational pick, even Hatch seemed wary of him.

From Matt's perspective though, he was the one he had the least amount of interaction with. His attitude seemed more dismissive than belligerent. It was like he tolerated the others and was more likely than not to walk away or ignore them as they tormented or teased others, but he also did nothing to curb their behaviors either, which in Matt's book, made him no better than the rest of them.

There was one extra thing that set Ramsey apart, other than his massively muscular body, and that was his cock and balls, which Matt had caught a glimpse of, only once, and that had been over the summer when his best and only real friend Talia Brooks had practically twisted his arm to come hang out at a keg party her older brother was throwing while their parents were away visiting their mother's grandparents for a couple of days.

There was a large pond on the property and after dark, a number of the party-goers had thought it a good idea to go skinny dipping.

That had seemed the cue for both he and Talia to split and as they attempted to make their way back to her car, a number of the guys came shouting and streaking out of the side door of the small cabin, butt ass naked and Matt had practically walked right into an equally naked Steve Ramsey.

The light from the dusk till dawn light lit the entire area up and Matt got a very up close and personal look at Ramsey's junk when he practically bowled him over on his ass.

Talia, of course, shouted all sorts of profanities at him, and being both a little drunk and slightly surprised by the ferocity of her verbal assault, he had absentmindedly stood almost directly over Matt, before leaning over to pull him up on his knees, leaving Matt in the precarious position of having his face practically in Ramsey's fully exposed crotch.

It was a sight he would not soon forget!

The piece of meat that dangled pendulously between his legs had to be at least as thick as a Redbull can and hung nearly halfway, completely flaccid, down his thick, slightly hirsute thighs, draped over a pair of large lemon sized balls.

Matt could have stayed there forever staring at his meaty member had Talia not shoved Ramsey backward, screaming accusatorily at the top of her lungs: "Get your fucking dick out of his face asshole!"

He remembered how Steve had just shrugged his shoulders, before veering off around him, chasing after the others, before disappearing in the dark as he sat there, dumbfounded while Talia hurled obscenities after him.

As he sat there at his desk in his bedroom, remembering that, albeit, awkward moment, Matt couldn't help but notice the substantial bulge growing in his own sweatpants and he fought the urge to whip it out and stroke it, but fully aware that either his Dad or Mom or worse yet his older brother could come barging in at any moment.

Not that they did often, at least not his parents, but his brother often did, though usually through the shared bathroom door that conjoined their two rooms together.

Boundaries and privacy were two unknown quantities, where siblings were concerned and his older brother Brian lacked any sense of propriety or modesty.

Thankfully, being in college, Brian didn't normally spend a lot of time at home these days, this being one of the growing rare occasions he wasn't out with his girlfriend Merissa.

His brother wasn't a bad guy, a bit thick at times and sometimes a little skittish at any kind of physical contact between them especially after Matt came out as gay, not that there had been a lot of that between them beforehand, but it was still noticeable and a smidge awkward at times.

Matt always found that rather amusing considering Brian was a wrestler and that a good portion of his college tuition was being paid in part by a scholarship he had earned during high school.

Still, the thought of his brothers sometimes skittish behavior when they accidentally touched or brushed against each other, was completely comical considering he seemed to have little or no regard about parading around naked or nearly so, seldom even closing Matt's side of the bathroom door when he either went to take a leak or a shower.

Matt didn't really mind though. Over the years, like everything else, he had just gotten used to it.

<<<>>>

Monday morning had come around faster than Matt would have thought and as three o'clock drew nearer and his sixth-period science class came to a close, Matt had begun to wonder if the coach had either forgotten about Matt or had decided against going through with the project altogether.

Matt knew, that despite the coach's claims and Dr. Ventrov's assurances, that what they were doing couldn't exactly be on the up and up, and he had begun to wonder if maybe they had reconsidered his involvement or that of the other four.

If what the doctor asserted came true and he was indeed able to greatly enhance the physical performances of the four football players, Matt had to wonder if that was in the best interest of those around them and he couldn't help be a little concerned about, not only his own safety but that of the other students attending Avalon High.

For most of the day, one phrase kept replaying over and over in his head: "Absolute power corrupts absolutely." and seeing as who the coach and Dr.Ventrov had selected, it didn't actually instill him with confidence that what they were doing wouldn't or couldn't backfire in the most horrible of ways.

After the three o'clock bell had rung and he stepped out of the classroom and headed toward his locker, Matt felt almost kind of relieved he had made it through the end of the day without hearing from Coach Myers.

As Matt finished uploading his backpack with the various books he would need at home later to do his homework, his thoughts turned toward Talia, who had asked him at lunch if he wanted to hit their favorite downtown bookstore/coffee shop and check out their latest releases.

Neither of them could afford the prices of new books, but they were always adding older ones to the bargain bin section and they were usually successful in finding at least one or two books of interest, that, and it was always a hoot hanging out with Talia.

Talia was like a perfect blend between Velma and Daphne from Scooby-Doo and she had often made a similar comparison about him concerning Freddie and Shaggy and they had even taken to calling her little blue Chevy Trailblazer The Mystery Machine.

Though neither of them was particularly interested in solving mysteries or dealing with the supernatural, Talia had a way of making even the most mundane task of her day seem like some great adventure, which was in keeping with their number one mantra: "What we don't know, we'll make up!", which was usually followed by Talia adding: "Only the names have been changed to persecute the guilty and of course the people we don't like, at any given time."

It was with that thought of seeking Talia out, that he closed his locker door only to be startled by the presence of Hunter Milsbane glowering vacuously back at him, as he leaned against the locker right next to his: "Coach said to fetch ya and bring your ass over to the gym PDQ!" he finally blurted out, before turning and stomping down the hallway toward the general direction of the gym, not once bothering to look back to see if he was following.

He stood there for a moment, staring after the disappearing form of Hunter Milsbane, still torn between saying fuck it all and going in search of Talia or heading to the gym, and then who knows what.

One thing did occur to him however, Coach had said, that it was Doctor Ventrov's intent to enhance and heighten Matt's ability to control his pheromone's, believing that eventually, Matt would then be able to control or at least strongly influence the other four and knowing who these particular four were and mindful of the bullshit they were already capable of, there was no way he could ever just allow them to run amok all hyped up on the doc's supplements without at least trying to level the playing field, that is if it worked at all.

<<<<>>>>

"Earth to Matt!" He heard his lifelong best friend Talia Brooks muse as she waved her hand in front of his face in an attempt to draw him out of his own head.

It was Friday and Matt's mind was focused on one thing right now, waiting for that three o'clock bell signaling what was rapidly becoming one of his favorite chores, measurement day!

As he sat there in the school commons, absentmindedly nibbling on his half of the BMT sub that Talia had brought to share with him for lunch that day, he found it near impossible to focus on anything other than the task awaiting him after classes ended. Still, he tried to will himself back to the present and take in whatever Talia had been rambling on about.

"I'm sorry Talia, my heads all over the place today." he offered in lieu of the real reason he was so distracted.

"It's that after fucking school project again isn't it?" the disdain in her voice was unmistakable: "Seriously Matt, I know ya got that major drool thing happen'in for the new coach, Mr. Hunky MacHump-a -lot, but is it really worth it having to stomach even five minutes being around that walking talking douche-bag Hatch and his band of knuckle draggers?"

The sad part about what she was saying wasn't that she was just right, but that despite being true, he was still looking forward to it.

"It's not as bad as you think Talia, the coach is pretty good at keeping them in line." That was an exaggeration of course. While it was true Hatch and the others did manage to barely keep a lid on their usual tactics, the moment the coach would step away, their true nature would surface and almost always at his expense. But, after a month of their bullshit, Matt was either growing a thicker skin or what they thought just mattered less and less to him, either way, it didn't put a hamper on his enjoyment of his Friday duties.

Matt watched as Talia just shrugged her shoulders, and rolled her eyes at him before she thankfully let it drop and changed the topic: "As I was saying earlier, while you were zoned out in La La land, Blake Wiley was asking questions about you yesterday afternoon, while I was getting my tires rotated at his dad's shop."

Blake Wiley was of course the school gear head who worked at his dad's auto repair shop right on the outskirts of town. He was also Captain of the school baseball team, a bit of a loner socially and what Matt would have defined as your stereotypical man's man, the strong silent type, and most definitely not someone who had ever shown even the slightest bit of interest in him, or had ever shown that he even knew Matt existed, not in all the years they went to school together. Then again, what guy did?

Matt being gay, made him pretty much social poison among guys his own age, especially those he went to school with. He knew the unspoken bro code would have called into question any guys macho cred, if they so much as even acknowledged his existence as anything other than the school homo, let alone being seen hanging out with him, so it shouldn't have come as any surprise to Talia when Matt just responded with a simple: "Bullshit!" before quickly adding: "Its more likely he was buttering you up, because he knows we're best friends, just so he could earn brownie points." Matt scrunched his face up into a mocking kissy-face, concluding: "He's just another, in a long line of guys, just trying to get into your pants baby girl."

Talia punched him in the shoulder playfully before responding quizzically: "Is that why he was asking if you have a boyfriend or was seeing anyone?"

Matt just stared back at her dumbfounded, certain that she had just misinterpreted what he had actually said and putting her own spin on it. He loved Talia, but he also knew she was prone to hyperbole at times, plus, he shared two classes with Blake, even sat right in front of him in his fifth-period world studies class and he had never even so much as said boo to him, in all this time, why was now different?

"I still call bullshit Brooks and I might also add, its not very nice to tease your best friend like that," Matt said, giving her a stern scornful look.

Talia just glowered back at him, before mockingly responding with a hint of feigned indignation: "I guess that's it then, no point in you tagging along with Blake, Roger, and I when we go to the drive-in tonight."

Matt knew Roger Westlake was Talia's on again off again, go-to booty call, and quasi boyfriend, but he couldn't imagine why Blake Wiley would ever agree to something like that, especially if he knew Matt was going to be tagging along.

"Now I know your full of crap!" Matt blurted suspiciously, growing a little irate, certain this was some sort of setup because she had deluded herself into thinking someone like Blake Wiley would be on board with this, making Matt wonder if he even knew who she was trying to fix him up with and only being able to picture it all ending in total disaster with Matt's utter humiliation when her cack-handed machinations and matchmaking came boiling to the surface.

"Only one way to find out gay boy!" Talia concluded as she stood up to make her way back to the school building, smiling wickedly as she turned her head to look back over her shoulder at him: "Be ready to go by seven, that's when we'll be picking you up." she laughed as she walked away, stating just loud enough for him to hear as she walked away: "And for gawds sake, wear something nice for a change."

<<<>>>

The rest of Matt's afternoon seemed to drag, he had even thought to try calling Talia's bluff by talking to Blake himself during their fifth-period class, but as he entered the class and headed toward his desk, Blake seemed preoccupied talking to the girl behind him and one of his buds in the other row beside them.

Not once, did Blake even take a sideways glance at him as he hovered by his desk, trying to build up the courage to just say high, but, before he could even stammer out a greeting, Mr. Kline, their teacher told them all to quiet down and take their seats and then proceeded to drop a pop quiz on them and Matt never even got out so much as a grunt the entire period.

Downtrodden and even more certain than before that Talia was full of it, Matt had zoned completely out during his sixth period.

It wasn't until he had entered the gym weight room and began gathering the tablet and measurement devices he used to electronically document the personal data Dr. Ventrov required, that his mood began to slowly shift.

There was just something about running his hands over the sweaty flesh and hardened muscles of four hyper-masculine guys, that just seemed to melt away whatever other problems he might have troubling his mind.

Still, he had whipped through both Hunter's and Lance's weekly physicals and was nearly finished with Ramsey's measurements, before the close-up sight of Ramsay's bloated, overstuffed jockstrap pouch finally distracted him enough to bring his head back down out of the cloudy morass that consumed his thoughts, that and Steve's deep gravely voice: "You 'bout done down there, I really want to hit the showers so I can get out of here."

The unexpected jolt of Ramsey's voice, as he knelt before him, his hands wrapped around one of his huge oaken thighs with a tape measure, made his left hand jerk away slightly, fully brushing the back of it against his overstuffed, sweaty jock, forcing him to blush and mumble a quick apology, and chancing a lookup into Steve's usually icy glare, but not this time.

Ramsey actually cracked a small smile back at him before stating: "It's kewl bro, just don't be do'in that to much. Here lately I've developed a bit of a hair-trigger and it don't take my boy parts much to rev 'em up and I don't think you want that happenin' while you got your face so close to 'em."

Matt was about to respond when the last of the four subjects entered the room, marking his presence by declaring boldly: "You're forgetting who you talkin' to bro?" Hatch high-fived Steve as Ramsey stepped over allowing Hatch to assume his place, glaring down at Matt with a huge sneer on his face, adding: "Fag boy here would probably love nuthin' more than coping a feel of that big ol' cunt wrecker of yours."

As Matt blushed furiously, he watched peripherally as Ramsey headed down the hall toward the shower room, laughingly stating over his shoulder as he did so: "If I don't get laid soon, he might just get the opportunity!"

Judging by the way Hatch was talking, Matt knew he could assume the coach was otherwise occupied and there was a slim chance of him overhearing Hatch's homophobic bullshit; something Coach Myers had made perfectly clear he wouldn't tolerate out of any of them, when Hatch had made the mistake, during their first meeting, over a month ago, when upon seeing him there with the coach, asked: "Why is that homo part of their group?"

Despite the coach's warning, however, Hatch still found opportunities to make his feelings known, that very moment being a perfect example.

Still, Matt had a job to do and whether Hatch took it seriously or not, he did, as he picked up his tablet and started running down the questionnaire James had to answer so Matt could fill in his responses.

Luckily, Hatch seemed to settle down as they ran through it all, giving his usual pert, short answers, without the usual snarkiness.

They had just finished up, and Matt went to grab his tape measure when Ramsey came back, and after quickly dressing and telling Hatch to give him a call later, he exited leaving the two of them completely alone for the first time since this all began.

Matt tried to be as nonchalant as he could as he began taking and documenting the various measurements, and as usual, being impressed with the substantial gains in both muscle size and density.

All of them had shown great gains in size overall, noting that each, in varying degrees had not only been packing on muscle, but all of them had even begun to grow in height as well, with Ramsey and Hatch gaining the most.

The Doctor had speculated that it might have something to do with both of them spending more time working out than the others.

Matt had changed too, nothing like theirs, but he had noticed a distinct increase in his olfactory senses, smells had become far more distinct and identifiable and detectable over greater distances.

His chest had expanded a little and of course, the first thing that was noticeable was the size and firmness of his butt, something both his Mom and Dad had made comments on, his Mom wondering if maybe he was working to hard and his Dad defending him, winking at him from across the kitchen table as he explained how boys his age tended to grow in spurts to his concerned mother.

There were other things too, but they were harder to pin down and Doctor Ventrov seemed reluctant to hazard a guess, leaving Matt with the dubious and distinct feeling he wasn't exactly being completely straightforward about what he knew or suspected. Still, Matt had to say, he felt pretty damn good overall.

Matt had just finished measuring Hatch's inside arms length and chest diameter, which he had trouble reaching around without practically hugging him when Hatch chuckled slightly: "Bet you just love having your face buried in my sweaty T-shirt don'tch'ya?"

Trying to just ignore him, Matt dropped down on one knee, trying to avoid eye contact as much as possible. It wasn't that Hatch was wrong, it was just that there was no way Matt was going to admit to it.

Feeling a certain tension building between them, Matt decided it was probably best to just get this over with as fast as possible, only needing Hatch's thigh and calf measurements and his inside seem length.

As Matt encircled his right calf with the measuring tape, he began running the monthly totals in his head.

Overall, for both him and Ramsey it was like they both had proportionally expanded a total of a little over an inch. Not just in height, but girth as well.

Hatch's calf had measured just around eighteen inches at the beginning of the month, the same as his biceps, but now it measured at nineteen and a quarter, again, the same as the biceps. Even his chest had increased in girth by the same factor.

Hatch's overall height went from 6 feet exactly to 6 feet one and a quarter inch and his weight had jumped from two hundred and two pounds to just shy of two hundred and fourteen, all of it appears to be solid muscle.

Matt had also noticed that the number of weights they used in the gym had gone up substantially, as well as the number of reps they each did.

Pondering the stats and the current growth ratios, Matt almost subconsciously had wrapped the cloth tape around the widest part of James's thigh, his one hand resting flatly against his firm muscle taut skin as he entered the numbers with the other into his tablet.

He let the one end of the tape drop to the floor as he clasped the other end between his thumb and forefinger and maneuvered it up Hatch's inner thigh, right up to where his taint began.

Matt could feel the bulging heat of Hatch's bloated jock pouch press against the back of his hand and as he looked from the floor measurement to the one that met his crotch, Matt's eyes finally took in the fullness of Hatch's jockstrap.

He didn't mean to stare, but to a gay guy like Matt, the sight was nearly hypnotic.

Matt was no virgin, he had fooled around with a couple of guys before, even went as far as getting fucked for the first time this last summer, during their family's yearly vacation trip to the beach.

But neither of the guys he had ever fooled around with, were built anything like Hatch, or any of the other guys in the program, and judging by the growing bulge in Hatch's now straining pouch, they hadn't measured up in another significant way.

Hatch's snarky, mocking voice quickly brought him back to reality: "Like whatchya see faggot?"

The reddening blush that swept across his face didn't stop there, it felt like his entire body now flushed a rosy crimson as he chanced a quick glance into the steely blue eyes staring icy daggers down at him, a lascivious smirk on his face.

Matt's first instinct was to pull away and climb to his feet and pretend nothing had really happened, but before he could make a move, Hatch's right hand shot down and caught his left wrist, the one still holding the end of the measuring tape: "I think you should take one more measurement." Hatch insisted, pulling Matt's hand closer to his crotch.

Like a moth to a flame, Matt watched as Hatch used his other hand to pull back the pouch of his straining jockstrap.

Jerking back slightly, as the contents of his jock plopped out into full view, his thick rigid meat nearly slapping against his chin. Matt gawked at it in mesmerizing fascination.

From the bulbous, fully exposed, nearly lavender-hued glistening glans to the veiny thick shaft, right down to the girthy base, Hatch's dick was a work of wonder.

Not even in his favorite porn vids had he ever seen such an impressive display of pure, unadulterated masculinity on display. The thing pulsated and throbbed visibly with each beat of his heart, causing Matt to lick his lips subconsciously in anticipation, his mouth watering with desire and with an unquenchable hunger and need to wrap the velveteen tip of his schlong with his already gaping lips and swaddle it with his wet tongue.

Matt could feel Hatch draw his hand closer to his prick, felt it as he wrapped Matt's fingers around his beefy shaft, his fingers barely meeting around its girthy rigidity: "Stop droolin' fag boy and measure it." he heard James growl, deep and throaty, his voice thick with lust and need.

Obediently, Matt found his hands shakily moving, almost of their own accord as he pressed the tape end against the top side of his shaft, right against his hairy groin, and stretched it out to the palpitating, helmet-shaped tip, his hesitant, stammering voice pronouncing the results with a nearly hushed, reverential solemnity.

Matt's mental image of himself, kneeling there, like some novitiate postulant, worshiping at the altar of Hatch's divine, unapologetic masculinity, made his entire body shudder and quiver, not just with nervous anxiety, but with a profound hunger and desire to please the possessor of such a nearly divine sepulcher of pure phallic perfection and virility.

Somewhere, deep within his rooted subconsciousness, Matt's mind had correlated his being gay with the first man who had made him realize that he was, and despite his experiences since, or maybe as a result of it, kneeling there at Hatch's feet, his big pulsating nine and a half inch dick firmly grasped in his left hand, felt like it was the only place he had ever wanted or was meant to be.

Matt was suddenly brought back to reality as Hatch jerked away from his grasping hand, spouting contemptuously and with a sadistic chuckle: "Silly faggot, don't you know, dick's are for chicks!"

It was more of a declaration than a question, but it still caused him to blush furiously with embarrassment as he watched Hatch spin around, whipping off his sweat-stained T-shirt and pealing out of his jockstrap before grabbing a towel out of his locker.

Matt awkwardly shuffled to his feet, not knowing if he should be angrier at Hatch or with himself and still trying to decide which was more prevalent, when Hatch whirled to face him as he threw his towel over his shoulder, arrogantly regarding him up and down, like he was appraising and assessing his handiwork, before boldly proclaiming: "I'm hittin' the showers, if you a good little faggot, I might let you wash the sweat off my balls."

With that, he tossed Matt a bar of soap he had pulled out with his towel, before turning once again, and cockily sauntering down the dimly lit corridor to the communal showers.

Matt stood there for a moment, his mouth agape as he tried to summon a witty, sarcastic retort, but being unable to muster so much as a stutter or anything other than a frustrating groan as he stared after him. Even worse, he still felt compelled to follow after him, to give in to his baser need, wants and hunger, to satiate the burning desire deep within, that still yearned and called for him to sacrificially offer himself up in token submission to a physically superior male.

Inexorably, Matt felt his body pull him toward the shower room, subsuming his reason and sense of self-preservation, regarding each shaking step forward an aching act of traitorous submission in what he knew would be an admission of subservience to a bloviating despot who would do nothing more than heap one abusive demand after another on him in a never-ending cycle of use and abasement, fostered only by an innate and hedonistic hunger for physical and carnal gratification at the hands of a sadistic, facile throwback whose pervasive, an egotistical ideology that gleaned him the superior alpha male worthy of the supplication and worship of those he deemed inferior.

Matt knew all this, felt it with every fiber of his being, yet still, his feet moved him obediently toward it, drawn like the lamb toward sacrifice and the potential slaughter of what was left of his dignity.

Rounding the corner into the main shower, Matt instantly caught sight of Hatch in all his glistening glory as a steady spray of water cascaded over the majestic bounty of his muscular form.

As he timidly approached, the bar of soap in hand, like an acolyte seeking absolution through punitive communion with his deity, he waited, with bated breath, to perform his penance through the emulation and adoration of the living embodiment of masculinity that baptized himself in spouting gust of water made holy and sanctified by the absorption of the sweaty patina that adorned his sacred flesh in a musky, virile vestment.

"Ya just gonna stand there gawking ya stupid fucking queer..." Hatch sneered, the right corner of his mouth drawn up into a sardonic grimace as he side-eyed him from over his right shoulder, his back to him, adding: "Or are ya gonna scrub my back like a good little faggot?"

Matt fought the urge to lash out at him as he watched his hands dip into the water to wet the soap Hatch had given him, before he tentatively touched his upper shoulders, where they joined his bull-like neck and began gently massaging, with his soapy fingers, spreading it out across his broad muscle rippling back.

In those few moments, where his nimble digits danced over Hatch's firm but yielding flesh, kneading the swollen muscles of his statuesque perfection, Matt lost himself in the performance of his task, realizing, at that moment, there was nothing else he would rather be doing, even as he knelt down to run the gathering creamy froth with the palms of his hands over his rock hard glutes and oaken thighs.

Matt could feel his own cock pulsate against the straining fabric of his workout shorts as he lovingly molded his hands over the glorious mounds of Hatch's buttocks, building his courage, before allowing the edge of one hand to slip between his slightly furred crack until his lubricated fingertips grazed provocatively over the tight puckered ring of his anus.

Instantly, Hatch swung around, his fat, turgid cock slapping against Matt's left cheek with a resounding thud as Hatch glowered down at him, his face contorted into a wicked grimace: "Paws off the turd factory dipshit..." Hatch cautioned, his voice a mixture of mild amusement and stern severity, before reaching down and yanking Matt to his feet and shoving his face into his right armpit: "For that, you can lick the stink right out of my pits with your fucking tongue!"

He knew he should have been repulsed, but the heady musk of Hatch's hairy pit wafted into his nostril's causing his eyes to nearly roll back into his head at the initial intake of his pungent aroma.

Bereft of choice and an unquenchable need to savor the smells that washed over and filled his senses, Matt found himself mindlessly obeying as his tongue darted out and began swabbing his hirsute cleft.

After a few moments, Hatch yanked him back by his hair, and practically spat in his face: "I think fag boy likes my stink dont'ch'ya?" Again, it was more of a declaration than a question, ending with Hatch concluding: "Good thing I got another one for ya to enjoy!"

Hatch practically rammed his face into his other pit and began grinding his mouth against the coarse hairs, commanding him to lick it nice and clean.

Matt did as he was instructed, both appalled and completely turned on by both his gruffness and the heady masculine stench of his hairy sweat trench, lapping ferociously, licking away and swallowing the preponderance of pungent perspiration.

After a few minutes and seemingly satisfied with his performance of his duty, Hatch laughingly pulled him back, his face a mask of lascivious mockery as he shoved Matt down on his knees before reaching over and shutting the showerhead off while still maintaining his fist full of Matt's hair in his large hand.

"Ya did such a nice job on my pits, I've decided to let ya do the same thing to my big ol' hairy balls..." Hatch said coyly, as he plunged Matt's head into his crotch and began rubbing his bloated nads against his nose and mouth and generally grinding them all over his face, his fat dong bouncing suggestively against the top and sides of his head as he did so: "Do a good job fag and I might give ya big reward!" Matt heard him chuckle, just as he reached down and gathered his nutsack between his forefinger and thumb with one hand and forcing Matt's mouth open with the fingers of the other and stuffing his plum size testicles into his mouth.

"Ya look like a fucking chipmunk." Hatch chortled as he appraised his handiwork, staring down at him with his icy cold blue eyes, baring his teeth in a toothy, wicked smile: "Clean 'em real good and I might let you become my official ball washer, wouldn't ya really like that Matty?"

Hatch didn't wait for a response, not that Matt could with his mouth stuffed to near bursting with his bull sized balls stuffed into his overstuffed orifice, instead, he just tightened his hold on the hair on the top of his head and nodded it up and down in faux agreement, musing haughtily: "I knew you'd see it my way, all you fags dream about being able to suck the sweat off a real man's balls."

Hatch started laughing again as he ground Matt's face into his hairy groin as Matt did the unthinkable, by finding himself responding and doing exactly what Hatch commanded; licking and sucking the prodigious gonads subsuming his mouth, gulping down mouthfuls of spit with a few strands of ball hair and residual testicular perspiration.

Matt couldn't explain why he was doing it, any more than he could explain why his own dick was throbbing in the confines of his shorts. All he knew for a certainty was that he couldn't stop himself and probably wouldn't, even if he could. There was just something about both the person he was with and his disjointed recognition that this was the guy that made him realize he was gay in the first place that seemed somehow fitting. Dovetailing his past with his present in a sort of cathartic, mutual acceptance of who and what he was.

Matt sucked obediently, swabbing Hatch's balls with broad, almost loving strokes of his tongue, enticing them to relinquish their pungent muck and allow him to swipe it away in gulping swallows until they were perfectly clean of all but his drooling spittle.

Hatch had taken to resting his upper back against the cool tiles of the locker room shower as Matt adoringly worshiped his huge nuts as the otherwise silent room echoed faintly of their increasing moans and satisfying groans.

After an indeterminable amount of time passed by, Hatch looked down at Matt, haphazardly plucking his now tight, swollen, spit-soaked balls from his still suckling mouth.

Grunting his satisfaction, Hatch mused: "Now that we know what a good ball washer you are, let's see how good you are at knob polishing pussy lips."

Matt didn't have time to protest, he barely had time to draw a deep breath before James jabbed the blunt end of his drooling phallus past his lips and into the back of his throat causing Matt to gag instantly at its invasive girth.

The head alone was about as thick as a large lemon and it ground tightly against his uvula, crushing it tightly against the roof of his sinus cavity, blocking all air intake.

He tried to pull away from the invading organ, but Hatch had a vice-like grip on the back of his head and neck holding him securely in place as he continuously poked and fished around using his massive glands, to find purchase into the awaiting depths of his esophagus.

In the end, all Matt could do was to latch onto and tightly grip the massive steely mounds of James's buttocks and squeeze as hard as he could, just as Hatch found its opening and plunged to the balls into his spasming throat.

Hatch groaned from somewhere deep in his chest, issuing words like a rolling rumble of grunts: "Damn faggot, no girl has ever been able to take my fat dick down her throat before, if I knew what a good cocksucker you were, I'd been pounding my pud down your fuckin' sweet mouth pussy years ago!"

His words met with only gurgles and coughing grunts as Matt struggled for air, knowing full well the only reason he couldn't hurl the last vestiges of his lunch, was because Hatch had his entire throat blocked with his bloated staff.

Undeterred by Matt's feeble protestations, Hatch began a slow rhythmic motion, pulling the helmet-shaped head of his dong just to the back of his throat, allowing only the thinnest of a wisp of air to be sucked past it before plunging back into its fullest depths with Hatch incessantly grinding his wiry pubes against his lips and nostrils.

Hatch's speed slowly picked up and it wasn't long before he was practically slamming his pelvis against Matt's overly stretched lips, smashing his nose into his furry pubes with each inward thrust.

"Gawd dayam, you fuckin' queer you can suck a dick!"James growled furiously, stepping up his tempo and an endless stream of profanities: "Mutha fuck fag slut, take it bitch."

Matt was too lost in his own head to pay him any notice, a semi could have crashed through the wall and it would have had less impact on him as Hatch's pile driving pecker had as he incessantly ravaged his mouth and throat, leaving Matt to feel like he was nothing more than a rag doll in the stalwart youths oral rampage.

Without preamble or warning, after a few grueling minutes, Hatch slammed a final time into his esophagus, his turgid rod tensing and pulsating as his big balls ground against his chin.

Matt chanced a look up Hatch's heaving abdomen, and through his watery eyes he could see his head thrown back and his mouth wide open, his face a howling silent grimace as the first blast of jetting jism splashed into the deepest depths of his throat.

The thick ropes of hot sperm nearly scalding the delicate membranes of his oral cavity as it gushed forcibly into his gullet, Matt did his best to gulp his viscous goo down as fast as possible and just as he thought he was going to pass out from a lack of oxygen, he felt Hatch's tight grip on his head lesson slightly as the near-endless flow ebbed to a steady drool from the tip of his palpitating glans, pulling back slowly until the wide girth of his coronal ridge popped past his constrictive cavity until only the massive glans remained in his mouth.

Matt sucked in deep breaths through his nose as he continuously suckled the still drooling head of Hatch's dong, finding he was actually savoring the tasty pungent starchy mix of sweet and salty juices.

Once again, Matt chanced a brief glance up Hatch's torso, his eyes meeting James's just as a broad evil grin split his face and a snarling retort escaped his twisted curling lips: "Did ya think I was done ya stupid faggot?"

His words barely registered to Matt as Hatch's grip once again tightened on his head and Hatch rammed Matts face into his hairy crotch, his legs stepping over Matt's shoulders as his massive muscular thighs crushed his head between them and Hatch began relentlessly pounding his burgeoning schlong rapid-fire into his mouth.

Matt was forced back until he rested on his forearms, all the while Hatch jack-hammered into his aching throat and esophagus, kneeling down into a crouch, using the full force of his hips and thighs to pound relentlessly into his ravaged maw.

There were no thoughts left in Matt's head, he was nothing more than a sucking hole wrapped around Hatch's raping dick, plundering in abject wanton abandon as he assailed him yet again in a steady stream of profanities: "Gawd dayam fukin' queer faggot eat my fuckin' cock like the little fukin' pussy ass homo you really are!"

Matt responded with a never-ending stream of frothy gurgles as Hatch bruised his lips and chin with the might of his pounding steely pole and the jaw-jarring smacks of his tight engorged balls.

"You fukin wanted this you pole smokin' pansy, now take it like the cock goblin' little queer as faggot you've dreamed of being since you first laid eyes on my fukin redneck alpha dick!"

Hatch might as well have been speaking in a foreign language as far as Matt was concerned, all that mattered to him was the joyous rapture he felt at completely surrendering to his violent berserk frenzy.

Matt felt like Hatcher was pouring his strength, his passions into him and it made him swoon into a deep fugue-like state, the raw swollen tissue of his abused and ravaged throat was transformed into the perfect sheath for James's stabbing fleshy sword as Matt's membranous oral tissues salivated copiously, gushing around the base of his massive six-inch girth to flow into a heaping puddle of frothy mucous down his chin, throat, chest, and sides, to finally pool on the tiled floor below them.

Matt wasn't the only one who felt it, Hatch sensed the very moment Matt completely surrendered to him, the very instant his mouth succumbed and became the pussy mouth he had willed him to be and it clicked something deep and primordial throughout his consciousness, an animalistic release of pure and unfettered, carnal dominance that exploded from the base of his swelling cock to explode in a maelstrom of rocketing blast that sent his body into a quivering, shaking mass of uncontrollable ecstasy, reducing James Hatcher into a mumbling, blubbering mass of mindless euphoric bliss: "My fukin' pussy ... my fag hole... mine ..." he repeated over and over again as wave after tsunamic wave of jetting jizz erupted from his fleshy canon, practically pissing cum into the suckling recesses of Matt's all-consuming mouth.

For what seemed like minutes, Hatcher deluged Matt's throat with torrents of thick, ropy, hot sperm, nearly twice as much as the first time, his balls a tight pulsating mound of contractions, dredging their depths of every single drop of virile, potent seed stored within to blast within the confines of the undulating sheath of Matt's pharynx.

Time seemed to stand still as they succumbed to their various roles, each filling his portion to the completion and fulfillment of the other and as the last dregs of seminal juices belched into Matt's suckling maw, a completely sated James Hatcher, slowly began to extricate the glistening expanse of his softening schlong, until the bloated head slipped from Matt's mouth with a resounding pop that echoed off the tiled walls of the Avalon Stallions locker room showers.

With Matt staring wantonly back up at him, still smacking his lips hungrily, James Hatcher reached down and patted his head like he would a pet dog: "Damn fine blowjob cocksucker..."He huffed, in between gasp for breath: "Who knows, if you keep being a good little faggot, I might let ya do it again."

Matt didn't doubt that part in the slightest, he knew that despite all the macho bluster, now that Hatch had a taste of true passion, he'd be back again and again and before long, with what he suspected now, there would come a time that James fuckin' Hatcher would beg him for his services.

Matt forced himself to his feet and began stripping off his soiled clothing, noting the gooey mess in his own shorts when he shot his load while Hatch assaulted his throat that second time and as he turned the shower on, he watched peripherally as Hatch exited the shower room, shouting over his shoulder: "Don't drop the soap faggot, save that for next time."

Matt just shook his head, a faint grin on his lips as he heard Hatch chuckle all the way down the corridor, back to the locker room.