Swimming Coach
PART 1
I'm Rob, and I'm
normally the one giving the massages, but it wasn't always that way.
I remember vividly
when a few things in my life changed. I remember the date. I remember the
place. I remember the circumstances.
And, I remember the people, or one particular person, involved.
I was 14. And 8
months, to be more precise.
I didn't think of
myself as anything other than rather ordinary, lacking somewhat in social
confidence, and not a stand-out either academically or in sport. But, having
spent almost three years in high school already, there were things that I had
observed, and new feelings that I had experienced.
Back as a
twelve-year old, I had learned to play both cricket and tennis. Neither of
those required the physical stature to play rugby or soccer, and, because I was
a novice at sport generally, because of ill health for most of my primary
school years, there was no point in even considering trying out for a
competitive team as the sports master encouraged everyone to do.
"House cricket" became my usual weekly non-contact
sport (unless you count being hit by fast cricket balls as `contact'). I knew
the rules and the `mechanics' of the game, but also realised that I had zero
batting technique beyond our backyard `tip and run', but I could bowl, again probably
due to backyard practice, where I spent most of my time with the ball instead
of with the bat. So, it wasn't a total disaster.
Despite being able
to merely defend myself and my wicket with a cricket bat, my hand-eye
coordination seemed to be good enough to connect reasonably well with a non-aggressive
tennis ball. So, "house tennis" became my other non-contact sport. I thought
that if I could master serving, I might even learn to enjoy the game.
To cut a long
story short, he thought that it would be good for me to join the local swimming
club and learn the various swimming strokes properly. He gave me lots of
reasons, but none of them stood out above the others, except that I might look
less like a turtle coming up for air or like a dog retrieving a stick.
So, dressed in my
best Billabong board shorts and T-shirt, I was willing to go along to the local
Council pool early one Wednesday morning in late Spring to sign up. Well, to
try it first! I had my back pack, which contained my school uniform, slung over
one shoulder and my towel over the other.
My Dad had made
all of the enquiries and the head coach was expecting us, me particularly. He
said that he had arranged for one of the seniors from his `elite squad' to look
after me and to show me the ropes while he, himself, was working with some `potential
representative' swimmers. I guess that my Dad had told him of my below-water
skills and my above-water `potential'.
Dad left me,
saying that he would be back in an hour to pick me up and drop me at school. That
first day's first session was to be a short one. That's why we came later than
the usual start time.
`Coach', as he
told me to call him, had motioned to an older-than-me guy to come over, who had
been standing in a small group, but had been watching us since we arrived. I'd
had my eye on him too!
I recognised him
instantly, not that I expected him to know me, and the conversation went like
this:
Coach begins,
"Gino, this is Rob. He's the new guy that we spoke about. Rob, this is Gino,
one of our best swimmers, also studying for his coaching qualification. So, he
will look after you." He smiles, "If there's anything that Gino can't help you
with, then you don't need to know it."
Gino, also
smiling, extends his fist for me to bump. I comply. "Welcome aboard," he tells
me. His dark, dreamy eyes show no sign of recognising me, just as I would have
expected from my school vice-captain, three grades ahead of me.
"Hello Gino," I
say, "and thanks!"
"He's all yours,"
Coach says to Gino, and walks back towards his `squad'.
"C'mon," Gino
says, "I'll show you around and then we'll get you into the water and see what
you can do."
I don't let on
that I know this swimming pool pretty well, and I let him give me the `guided
tour'. It feels nice that the very handsome Gino, the school vice-captain, and
I, the Year 9 nobody, are sort-of hanging out together. We end up in the male
change room.
"To start with,
Robbo," he says, smiling, "we don't swim in board shorts. Everybody wears
Speedos."
Nobody has ever
called me `Robbo' but, coming from Gino, I instantly like the sound of it.
He removes the
towel that has been wrapped around his waist and slings it over his shoulder.
"Like these," he says, as if to reinforce his point.
Let me tell you
about Gino. His name is Gino Napolitano. Italian. Obviously! A year-12 senior.
And our school vice-captain. At school I hear him referred to by his senior
mates as `Gino Italiano'. It's a no-brainer why! Stunningly handsome. Dark wavy
hair. Tanned skin. Great smile. Fantastic body. Broad shoulders. Narrow hips.
Bulges in the right places, back and front. And I heard a rumour that he's
related to the President of Italy. Yeah. Right! And I'm related to the King of
Scotland!
Anyway, there's a
few things that I have always liked about Gino at school. One is the way that
he always smiles when he speaks with anyone. And, at assemblies, he can be
humorous, unlike some of the other prefects and teachers, especially the
headmaster! Another is the way that he walks. Almost gracefully. More like a
soccer player than a rugby hunk. And, the third is...
Well, I first
noticed his body when my Year 7 class was waiting to use the gymnasium one day when
his Year 10s were finishing off their basketball game. Skins versus shirts. He
was on the skins team, and I was mesmerised by all of his muscles, his dark,
short wavy hair, and the bit of hair below his navel. And his brilliant, smiling
laugh.
I don't know how
many goals were scored in those last few minutes, because I wasn't watching the
hoop. Gino's leg muscles, arm muscles, sweaty chest muscles and stomach muscles
were much more interesting. And the way that his shorts fitted him was pretty eye-catching
too! Even with his narrow hips, his backside seemed to fill them up. More
muscles!
And, you know the way that most guys let air into
their Speedos to stop them from clinging when they hop out of the water? Well,
he didn't, and I could see everything, back and front, including the fact that
the hair on his body was gone. I learned later that really good swimmers shave
it off to help them go faster.
Back then, I liked the hair that my own body was starting
to grow. Some of the guys that I played underwater tag with, reckoned that it
would grow faster and thicker if I shaved it. At least, that's what a couple of
their older brothers told them. My hairs have stayed unshaven, and they all seem
to be doing OK!
I've been a great fan
of Gino's ever since, and now, at 14 going on 15, with my body growing and my
dick doing unpredictable things at weird times, I have an even greater
appreciation of his muscly body. And, I like his narrow hips, like mine, and I love
to watch how his grey school trousers are filled up by his backside muscles,
and how they also show this hypnotising rounded tent at the front.
Even though we
have different allocated playground areas, I perv at him whenever I get the
chance, and my dick usually does its uncontrollable `getting-hard' thing.
I could never have
foreseen that Gino and I would be here, talking face to face, just him and me.
And, right now, seeing Gino in his Speedos, up close, I can feel that my dick
is doing its thing again!
"OK, Robbo," he
says, breaking into my memories and other thoughts. "Let's get you a locker to
stash your bag and those board shorts, then we can head to the pool."
We walk in the
direction of the showers and stop at a row of lockers.
"Why don't you
have this one, next to mine," he says.
"What's up?" he
questions, looking at my anxious expression, then my towel.
"Nothing,"
I reply, nervously.
I'm so obviously lying! And his smirk tells me that he
knows why!
"Stiff problem?"
he asks.
I don't know what
to say. I mumble an immature, "Uh-huh."
"Give us a look,"
he smiles. He doesn't wait for my response. He grabs my towel which, I find,
isn't tucked in as securely as I had thought it was.
"Nice!" he
comments looking at what my dick is doing to the front of my Speedos. "Let's
get you into a cold shower. That'll fix it before we go outside."
What I had
thought, a moment ago, was going to be the most embarrassing moment of my entire
life, suddenly isn't. Gino doesn't make fun of me, and he even said that what
he saw was `nice'!
He leads me to the
showers and turns one on.
"Well, are you
getting in, or do you need a push?" he asks. That's his sense of humour which I
have liked so much at school!
I hold my breath,
walk into the spray and instantly shiver. The effect on my dick is quick.
"How's that,
Robbo?" he asks. "More comfortable?"
"Yes, thanks," I
answer him, and brush the wet hair out of my eyes.
"It always works
for me when I'm here. At least, if I'm in the pool it's never a problem." Then
he asks me, "How old are you, Robbo?"
"Nearly fifteen,"
I answer.
"That explains
it!" he smiles. "When I was your age, mine was up and down a hundred times a
day. Very embarrassing!"
"Yeah," I say. "It
happens all the time, lately." Then I smirk at him and say, "But I've never
kept count. I don't think that it's ever made it to a hundred though!"
He laughs, ruffles
my wet hair, hands me back my towel and says, "Hey, I like you, Robbo. I think
that we're both going to have fun teaching you to swim."
Am I dreaming?
Gino and I are talking together about our dicks, and he thinks that teaching me
to swim will be fun for him! I'll bet that it will be more fun for me! At the
pool, as well as in my dreams!
We come outside
and drop our towels by the edge at the shallow end of the pool. I have no idea
what my Dad told the Coach about me, or what Coach passed on to Gino, but I'm
feeling pretty comfortable right now.
"Looks like that's
something else I need to teach you," Gino smiles, coming to me. Then he adds,
"Apart from learning how to start races, you really want to protect those nice balls
of yours!" He looks around, then reaches down between my legs, and says, "It's
OK. Feels like they're both still attached!"
I feel an instant
tingle. The school vice-captain just grabbed me! Gino felt my balls! And we
aren't even playing tag. Pity! Because it would be my turn next.
I smile at him. He
grins back at me. I'm on cloud nine!
I back up to the
edge of the pool, take a deep breath, squat, and push off. I open my eyes and
count the marked lanes as they glide by below me. I come up after seven, but I
think I might have been able to make it all the way! I turn around, flick my
head to get the hair out of my eyes and look at Gino. He has a strange
expression on his face. I see him duck under the water, then he surfaces in
front of me.
"Wow, Robbo!" he
says. "I didn't think that you would be able to do that! Can you do it again?
Try to go all the way, this time."
I wade the few
strides to the edge, turn around and take a huge breath then launch myself.
Five... Six... Seven... I'm hurting. Eight... Made it! I touch the wall, jump up and
gasp for air. I'm surprised when Gino surfaces right beside me.
"Brilliant, Robbo!
Fantastic!" he tells me.
I'm not used to
being praised for anything, and I feel myself blush. If Gino is happy, then so
am I!
"I was watching
your arms and legs underwater", he tells me. "I think you have the makings of a
great breaststroker!"
I don't know what
to say, so I just grin.
"So, now let me
see you swim freestyle. On top of the water this time," he says.
My newly-found
confidence is suddenly shattered. I've tried to do this dozens of times and it has
never worked!
"Just like
before," Gino says. "Push off from the edge and swim out to where I'm
standing."
I watch him wade
half way across the pool. He turns and motions me to `come on'.
I've instantly
gone from elation to humiliation! At least, with water running off my hair and
down my face, he can't see my tears.
He comes to me and
can immediately tell how I'm feeling. He hugs me with one arm. "It's OK,
Robbo," he says, comforting me. "We can fix that. At least you've left me a bit
of room to make some improvement on top of the water!" I love his sense of
humour, and his broad smile makes me feel that I'm not a total failure!
He keeps one arm
over my shoulder and we wade back to the edge. "Let's grab our towels, sit down
and have a chat," he says.
He walks up the
stairs, and doesn't release his clinging Speedos. I follow and, for once, don't
let the air into mine either. I look at his body, and he looks at me looking at
him. "Nice? You like?" he asks.
"Uh-huh," I reply
sheepishly, at being caught out. He smiles at me and ruffles my hair as we sit.
Then he adds, "I'll show you more inside, if you like."
I feel my dick start to swell at the thought!
We talk about my
underwater ability and breaststroke potential. Then he says, "Tomorrow, we'll
concentrate on two things – teaching you to dive and getting used to having
your arms straight out in front of you. We'll use a kickboard for that. So, be
ready for it. Tomorrow your legs will be doing most of the work."
I can cope with
that, I think. My legs should be OK from running, my bowling at cricket, and the
tennis.
"Back in a
minute," he says, then stands and heads in the direction of the office.
I watch his
backside, like I always do at school. Except, here, I can see much more of it, in
his clinging Speedos, than when he's dressed in his school greys. As I think
about everything positive that Gino has told me and what he has seen of me, and
where he has touched me, I already know that I need another cold shower!
But I'm not. "Yes,"
is all that I tell him. He looks at my face. I grin. He grins back, but more
broadly.
He looks directly at my face, as if determining
whether I'm offended, or not. I smile back at him while releasing my own cramped
dick too, without hiding from him what I'm doing.
"Nice!" he says, then, "Come on. Let's
get into the showers before the others finish," he tells me, standing up and
wrapping his towel around his waist.
I copy and follow,
via the office, where he puts the clipboard onto the Coach's table.
Previously, I'd
never really paid attention to how the showers were set up. But I now observe that
there are five on each side of an open space, facing each other. All the water
runs towards a long drain in the middle. Between each shower, on both sides, is
a bit of a wall. So, if you stand closer to the taps, you won't be able to see
the person next to you, but at least three of the people on the other side will
still be in full view. Go figure! Are they only to hold the soap dispensers?
And a single peg – maybe for your swimmers when you take them off?
There are multiple
other pegs on the walls at each end, between the showers.
Gino walks to the
far end and hangs his towel on one of those, then, motioning me to come and use
the shower opposite him, steps into the one on the left.
I hang my towel
and adjust the water temperature before stepping in. I put one hand under the
soap dispenser and press the button with the other. I turn around to face Gino
and start to wash myself.
"I do this after
each session, basically to wash off all of the chlorine," he tells me, and
proceeds to wash his hair and his muscly body. I copy him.
At the sight of
him, my own semi instantly expands to fully hard. Gino is watching me. I ease
my own Speedos down and let him see mine.
"Nice, Robbo!" he
says, again, then proceeds to soap up his dick, balls, and curly black hairs.
He starts to rub
his soapy, hard dick up and down, then points to me. I get it. He wants me to
do the same. I do.
"You ever do this
at home?" he asks.
"No," I reply.
"But it feels good."
Then, he stops
doing it, rinses off all of the soap and adjusts the water temperature. "Cold!"
he says, "You know why." And I watch his dick as it quickly contracts to what I
reckon must be close to his normal `nice' size. Very nice!
I copy him. It
works for me too!
He turns the water
off, grabs his towel and begins to dry himself.
I do too.
He repeats his
earlier words to me, "It is OK to look and to get excited, you know! But make
sure that you use the cold water if you don't want anybody else to see it."
We go to our
lockers and I take out my backpack, unzip it and move my board shorts so that I
can get at my underpants and school uniform. While I'm finishing off drying
myself, Gino just pulls on some track pants and a sweat shirt and, looking for
a moment into my backpack tells me, "Gotta go, Robbo. Breakfast and then school.
I always change into my uniform at home. See you tomorrow."
He wouldn't have
seen more of my uniform than my grey trousers. They're pretty common, but my
shirt and tie were underneath, so he wouldn't have been able to tell that we go
to the same school. I think that I will just keep that information secret for a
while.
"So, how was your
first day?" my Dad asks, when he turns up and finds me waiting just inside the
entrance, near the Coach's office. I'm glad that he is a bit early.
"Terrific," I tell
him. "Gino, my coach, said that I could be a good breaststroker, and tomorrow
he's going to teach me to dive, and not to sink while doing freestyle. And I
made it across the pool in one breath."
"Absolutely!" I
reply, with probably more enthusiasm than he's heard from me since I got that
bike for Christmas, years ago.
We go back into the
Coach's office. Gino has already left. He might have his own car, like a number
of the seniors at school who are old enough to drive. I just haven't seen him
arrive or leave at school. The seniors have their own allocated parking area.
Coach says to my Dad,
"Good report from Gino. I think that we can actually turn this young man into a
swimmer! See you tomorrow, Rob?" he asks and shakes my hand.
"See you tomorrow,
Coach," I say. "Bye!"
"Thanks, Mum.
Thanks, Dad," I tell them.
My sister butts in
and comments, "I'll believe that when I see it! I've never known him turn off
his iPad while I'm still up. And how come he's so happy? What did you do to
him? Are you guys paying him, or something?"
"Maybe he's just
found something that he likes and that he can do," Mum tells her.
"You've gotta be
joking," she says. "Mum, have you ever seen my brother trying to swim?"
Dad tells her,
"Well, little miss smartie britches, the Coach reckons that your brother has
terrific potential as a breaststroker!"
"Will wonders
never cease!" she says, and fills her mouth with another fork-full of mashed
potato.
"Can I ask one
favour?" I put to my parents.
My sister gulps
down her mouthful and blurts, "I knew that there would be a catch to this!"
"Yes. What is it,
honey?" Mum asks me.
"That's a good
idea," Mum says. "Will you still have enough time for everything?"
"Sure," I tell
her. "Besides, my backpack smells tonight after having a wet towel in it all
day, even inside the plastic bag that you gave me."
"OK. That would
work for me too," Mum replies. "Let's try it out tomorrow."
I add, "I'll just
wear my tracksuit to and from swimming. My coach told me today that's what he
does."
"Wash or wipe?" I turn
and ask my sister, who nearly chokes at me actually giving her the choice. We
usually fight over it. I prefer to wipe, for two reasons. Any dishes or
utensils that I consider not washed properly, I dump back into the sink for her
to do again; sometimes I dump some clean ones back anyway just to piss her off,
or I leave wiping up for so long that the dishes are mostly dry.
"You can wash!"
she says, "And you'd better do things properly, like you tell me! Or you'll be
doing them again!"
As I head up to my
room, I hear my sister say, "Dad, are you sure that you brought home the right guy
from the pool today? He's different!"
For tomorrow, I
put a fresh towel alongside my open, airing backpack, and retrieve another pair
of Speedos from my drawer. The only other thing that I need is my thongs. My
sister insists on calling them `flip-flops' and claims that `thongs' are a type
of underwear. Who cares about a name? These just slip on and off my feet
easily. They are not heavy and they dry quickly. To me, and everyone else I
know, they are `thongs'!
I
lay back and run the events of this morning through my head. It's all about
Gino.
My final recollection before my eyelids close is of
Gino, with his brilliant white smile, him feeling my balls, and rubbing his
soapy dick up and down in the shower. Sweet dreams!
I'm already
dressed when I hear a knock on my bedroom door.
I have a glass of
juice and we head off. Dad drops me at the entrance and continues on his way to
work.
"Yes! Great!" I
tell him.
"What? No board
shorts?" he comments, smirking.
"Yeah, well,
seeing you in your trackies yesterday, I decided to wear mine too," I say.
"Cool!" he says.
"Let's change and get straight into the water."
We take the same
lockers as yesterday. I strip down pretty quickly and stash everything into my
locker.
"You need a cold
shower this morning?" he asks, smiling and purposely `checking me out'.
"Not if you
don't," I reply, pointing and staring very deliberately at his Speedos while he
removes his track pants.
I think that this
catches him off guard. He puts his clothes into his locker, grabs his balls and
soft dick, jiggles everything and says, "Nope. They're all good. Let's go."
I like him. And
his sense of humour!
"So, let's work on
the diving first," he says. "The idea is to concentrate on getting your arms
and head into the water before your belly.
He jumps down into
the water, walks out almost two lanes, and faces me.
We practise with
me standing on the edge, hands stretched out above my head and `falling' deep into
the water to retrieve a weighted plastic ring, `knees together and feet last'.
Many failures are mixed with a few successes.
He says, "If you
can do it once, you can do it more than once." It's said encouragingly, not
picking faults with my lousy technique.
Then he gets a
large floating hoop and puts it in front of me. "Hands first, head second, feet
last," he says. "Same as before, and try not to let your body touch the hoop
when you fall in."
I'm totally
surprised at my success!
He takes the hoop and
the weighted ring away. Failure!
He puts the hoop
back. Success!
"OK," he says. "Have
a good look at the hoop, and when I take it away, I want you to imagine that
it's still there."
Success!
I'm thrilled. "Let
me do it again!" I chirp, jumping out of the pool, without letting the air into
my clinging Speedos.
Success!
And again!
"You're doing it!"
he says, and applauds.
"Yeah!" I say, and
can't wait to try it.
"Focus!" Gino
tells me. "Picture the hoop, and do it."
"Do it again, and
come back," Gino calls across from the side where I started.
I clamber out and wait
for two swimmers who are `doing laps' to get out of my way. I concentrate,
picture pushing off, while falling though the imaginary hoop. Perfect! I cheer
myself under the water.
I come up right
next to Gino, who hugs me with one hand and pushes my wet hair out of my eyes
with the other. "Coach will be impressed, when I tell him," Gino says.
"What's next,
Gino?" I ask, feeling on top of the world.
He picks up two
kickboards and hands one to me. "Watch me," he says.
He holds the
kickboard out in front of him, head above water and just kicks, heading part-way
down the pool instead of across it.
He comes back.
"Reckon you can do that?" he asks me.
"Cinch!" I tell
him, and promptly demonstrate what I thought that I saw him doing. There is a
lot of leg splashing but not much forward motion.
"It's different being
on top of the water, isn't it?" he smiles.
He can probably
tell from the dejected expression on my face how I'm feeling inside about my
miserable attempt.
"Hey, Robbo," he
encourages me. "It's OK. That's what I'm here for. To help you."
I'm not convinced,
but Gino is still very positive. "Think of what your diving was like yesterday
and what you've already accomplished this morning!"
I know that he's
right. It's just that I'm not used to achieving things by myself or being
complimented. I look up at him from under my wet, light brown hair and I feel
my face manage a smile. Gino grins back and nods his approval, then gives me a
`thumbs up'.
I jump out and
watch. He checks out my clinging Speedos, winks at me, then grips the ledge at
water level and stretches out his legs then kicks. His extended arms stop him
from going anywhere. "Did you see?" he asks, looking up at me. Then adds, "Nice
view, by the way." He waits for a response.
"Now, watch while
I show you what you were doing," he says. Everything looks the same until he
starts kicking. Water everywhere! He asks me, "So what was different?"
"Lots of splashing,"
I answer.
"Yeah, that was
the result," he tells me, then asks. "But why?"
I shrug.
"Watch again", he
says. "Pay close attention to my knees."
Power kicking
first, followed then by the lots of splashing.
"Well?" he asks.
I answer, "The
first time, your legs were almost straight. The second time your knees were
bent up and sinking."
"Spot on, Robbo,"
he says, glancing up, from my Speedos to my enlightened face. "Jump in and
let's try it."
I'm tempted to do
a bomb, but I'm a little uncertain of how he would react, so I just practise my
fall through my imaginary hoop.
"Perfect!" Gino
says. "Now, grip the edge of the pool and kick the way you normally do."
Lots of splashing.
"I think so," I
say, and try it. The result is that I sink.
"Right," he tells
me. "I'm going to hold up your body so that you don't sink, and you're going to
kick a bit faster. OK?"
"OK!" I say, and
reach out for the wall.
He places his arm
under my body, just above my hips and holds me up. "Now, kick, and keep your
legs stiff."
I do. It works. He
takes his arm away, I slow down, and I sink.
"Again," he says.
This time his arm is a lower and, with his arm in this position, it only takes
a moment and I can feel that my legs aren't the only part of me that is getting
stiff. I reckon that he can feel it too. "Nice!" he says quietly near my ear.
As he pulls his
arm away, slowly, and right across my body this time, instead of just taking it
away, I feel his hand rub right across my hard dick. I say nothing. Neither does
he.
"I think the best
thing now is to go back to the kickboards, and for you to concentrate on
kicking from the hips." Then he adds, "Remember to keep everything stiff. OK?
And I'll do it alongside of you. Stay with me."
I know that it's
probably just his sense of humour, but I could imagine that he is referring to
more than my stiff legs. Or, is he just throwing me a double meaning to see how
I react?
We actually reach
the wall at the deep end of the pool.
"Excellent,
Robbo!" Gino says. "You're doing great. Now let's turn around and go back."
I can feel a pain down
my thighs from keeping everything tight, hard, and stiff.
We reach the
shallow end of the pool again. I'm aching, and we both stand.
"Now," Gino says,
"that wasn't so hard, was it?"
He reaches between
my legs, takes a hold of my `privates' and says, "You're right. It isn't!"
I reply, "I don't
know about you, but I was concentrating. Hard. To keep my legs stiff." Then I
take my life into my hands and do the same to him. I feel his dick. "Not hard either!"
I say. "It must be the cold water!" Then I can't hold back my laughter any
longer. Until he puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes my head under the
water!
"Cheeky devil!" he
says laughing, as I come up for air, spluttering.
"Nobody was
watching," he says. "I checked before I did it." He adds, "Sometimes the Coach
likes to wander around and take videos of people training. He's already got you
a couple of times. I'll bet that you didn't even notice!"
"No, I didn't," I
say. Next, I choose my words very carefully. "Do you ever do that stuff to anybody
at your school? You know, grabbing other guys?"
I
definitely wouldn't want that to happen!
I tell him, "Then, you'd better be more careful doing
it here, too!" I think for a minute, and I have to say, "Gino, can I ask... so why
did you do that to me? Aren't you afraid that I could dob on you? What if I told
my Dad? Or the Coach?"
"You really want
to know why?" he answers, quietly. "Well, right from the moment that Coach
introduced us yesterday, even before that, I've seen your eyes checking out the
front of my towel and you've been constantly staring at the front of my
Speedos, especially when they are wet. That's why. And then there's what we did
in the showers yesterday, and you joking about yours not getting hard a hundred
times a day. Besides, I reckoned that you would be someone who enjoys doing this
stuff too. I'm right, aren't I Robbo? You do enjoy it, don't you? So, I thought
that I could trust you. Can I trust you, Robbo? Not to say anything?"
He sounds very
nervous. Very unlike the school vice-captain with whom I'm familiar.
"Deal!" he says,
puts out his fist, which I bump, and he says, "You have my word. I won't do
anything like that with you ever again, if there is the slightest chance that
anybody might see us. I'll be careful." He smiles and adds, "Thanks, Robbo.
Besides, it's not as though we're likely to bump into each other at any time,
other than here, eh? That might be really awkward if we recognised each other."
Without responding
with a lie, or revealing my secret either, I say, "OK. What's next?"
"This isn't called
swimming training for nothing, you know!" he says. "I want you to do two laps
again, with the kickboard. Down to the other end and back. By yourself. I'll be
watching that you keep your legs sti... straighter, while you're kicking from the
hips. Off you go!"
I concentrate on
doing what Gino has told me. It hurts. But it works! As I come back the other
way, I see him standing at the end of the pool, with his clipboard, writing.
I stop at the
wall, and stand up.
"You are amazing!
You know that?" he says, with his big, white, incredible smile.
"Why?" I ask.
"You know why!" he
says. "You have achieved so much in only two sessions. If you keep up that sort
of progress, you'll soon be wiping my accomplishments out of the club's record
books."
I'm not sure
whether he's suddenly being really positive and raising my expectations of my
potential, or just buttering up my ego to ensure that I won't dob on him to
anyone."
"OK," he says, again
becoming the assistant coach. "Once more. Down and back."
Again, I do it. Again,
it hurts.
"Right," he says.
"Enough for today. Let's go and wash off the chlorine, and talk about
tomorrow."
I'm not sure what
he means, exactly. Is he asking about him grabbing my dick and balls? Or about
the condition of my legs? So, I answer, "My thighs are pretty sore, but
everything else that we did was OK." I grin at him, stressing the `everything
else', wiggling my dick to ensure that he understands.
"Nice!" he answers,
grinning, as much to himself as to me, I think. We keep washing, and both
finish with some necessary cold water.
We dry ourselves
and put on our track suits. We both have light grey ones, but mine is thicker. His
thin one doesn't hide much. Nice!
"Tomorrow, Robbo,"
Gino says, wrapping his Speedos in his towel and putting everything into a
plastic bag, which I copy, "we will do more work with the kick board, but we'll
start with breathing and then we might move on the arm action as well. There
will be a lot more kicking, so I hope that your legs can cope. If your legs get
too sore, we'll leave the arms until next week."
"I do run a lot,"
I tell him, "And I like to play tennis. So, I think that my legs will be OK.
Eventually."
Gino replies,
"Yeah, I run a lot too. I play in my school's first grade soccer team. And I
like tennis. Maybe we could play together sometime, if you like. My school has
tennis courts, and the sports master has given me a key to the gym so that I
can use the showers and toilets any time, even on weekends. I'm one of his favourite
`star athletes'. He trusts me."
I can't believe
what I'm hearing! My school's vice-captain is inviting me to play tennis with
him! I think about asking him the name of his school, just to make
conversation, but, then, he would politely ask me what school I go to, so I
keep quiet, except to say, "Thank you, Gino. Maybe you could help me with my
tennis as well."
He says, "It would
have to be on a Saturday afternoon. We often have time trials in the morning,
or swimming competitions, sometimes against other clubs."
"That's good," I
tell him, because I have jobs to do at home on Saturday mornings, like picking
up the dog poo and mowing the lawn. And my Mum is always telling me, `Make sure
that your room is tidy before you get stuck on your iPad'. I don't know how my
room gets so messy! But I do try to keep it clean, so that Mum doesn't
complain." I smile.
Gino smirks back
at me. "I really like you, Robbo," he says, giving me a friendly punch to my
shoulder. "We could even become friends."
"Nice!" I say,
repeating the words that he has said to me so often. Looking around first, he
grabs me in a headlock and musses up my hair `for being cheeky'.
While he's holding
me, I briefly rest my hand on the front of his thin trackies and say, "Nice!"
Gino's only
response is, "Tomorrow, if we start on time, we might finish early, and, if
your legs are really sore, I'll ask the Coach if we can use the massage table
in the First Aid room, and I can rub them for you."
I'm very tempted
to cheekily ask whether that's all he would like to rub, but I don't. Maybe in
my dreams!
Mum and Dad are
impressed when I tell them of my accomplishment today. My sister doesn't
believe me and insists that I'm lying.
"If I'm lying," I
tell her, "then I'll do the dishes for a month. Wash and wipe! But, if I'm not,
you have to do them. Deal?"
She backs off
pretty quickly. Just like a 12-year-old big mouth!
Friday morning.
I'm up early, ready to go.
"I've never seen
you this keen to do anything before," Mum comments to me as Dad and I head out of
the door.
"Don't complain!"
Dad tells her. "This could be a real change in his life."
"I'm not
complaining," Mum replies. "I think that it's wonderful."
So do I. And my
new motivation is... Gino!
Instead of
dropping me at the entrance, Dad parks and comes in with me.
Gino is waiting.
"Good morning, Mr Armstrong," he says to my Dad. "Good morning, Rob. Ready for
another session?"
"Sure!" I answer,
without wanting to sound too enthusiastic in front of my Dad.
"Good morning,
Gino," Dad says. "How's he going? I just wanted to make sure that he wasn't
exaggerating when he told us what you've managed to teach him in just two
days."
Parents! I shake
my head in disbelief.
Gino first winks
at me then says to my Dad, "Well, Mr Armstrong, I don't know what he told you
but, he's a pretty amazing young guy, and I'm very happy to be his coach! He's
now diving off the edge instead of doing belly flops, he can swim the width of
the pool underwater and he has learned to kick his legs like a swimmer instead
of like someone trying to escape from the clutches of a sea monster."
"Yeah. That last
bit's a fairly accurate description of the style that I'm used to seeing," Dad
says. He turns to me, puts his arm around my shoulders and says, "Sorry, bud,
I'll never doubt you again! And congratulations on what you've achieved in such
a short time. Your sister is lucky that she didn't take that bet about doing
the dishes."
"And just so that
you know, Mr Armstrong," Gino says, "we follow a healthy code of conduct here.
`What we discuss with each other at the pool, stays at the pool.' That way,
everyone can feel confident about sharing anything without it going any
further, except of course, if they give their permission. We insist on
everyone's privacy being protected, both at the pool and even away from it."
Privacy away from
the pool? I feel really guilty for what I know, and for what Gino doesn't.
I'm instantly glad
that I've never commented about him to any of my class mates!
"Excellent!" my
Dad says.
Then Gino adds,
"And, people generally only talk about their home life to tell me something
good that has happened, or if they need to ask for some help." Gino turns to me
and asks, "Is it OK, Rob, for me to share with your dad what you mentioned to
me yesterday?"
I have no idea
what he is talking about, and try to replay the whole of Thursday morning with
Gino in my head to recall anything bad that I might have said. Did I ask for
help?
Confused, but a
little fearful, I shrug, trusting him.
Gino says, "He's
only told me two things, Mr Armstrong: one, that his sister is sometimes a pain
in the butt, and two, that you are an amazingly encouraging and supportive dad."
He looks at me and smirks, "I hope it was OK to share that, Rob."
We watch Dad drive
away and then we walk, with Gino's arm over my shoulder, until we see someone
and then he takes it away.
"What was that all
about?" I say to him as we enter the change room. "When did I say that stuff about
my Dad, and how come you know my sister?"
"Sometimes," he
tells me, "we tell our parents what they would want to hear. And I don't know
your sister, but I have three of my own."
"How did you even
know that I had a sister?" I ask as I strip off my track suit.
"Your dad told
me," Gino says. "Don't you remember him saying how lucky she was for not taking
your bet?"
"You are one smart
dude," I tell him, punching him on the shoulder. Then for some reason, I add, "I
think that you'd make a great boyfriend for someone."
"And who might
that be?" he asks, stopping still and looking at me.
"How would I
know?" I say, smirking. "I suppose anyone who wants a handsome, intelligent,
funny champion athlete as a boyfriend." Then I add, "Who also has a `nice' body,
by the way!" And I ask, "Do you know any candidates?"
"Not at the
moment," he replies. "Do you?"
"Maybe." I tell
him, then I say, "Hey, haven't we got work to do?"
"Do you need a
cold shower, first?" Gino asks, smiling.
"Not now. But maybe
later," I reply. "How about you?"
"You wish!" he
says, punching my shoulder in mock retaliation.
We spend a lot of time
practising my diving, underwater swimming across the pool and using the kickboard
up and down the lane.
"Right," Gino
says. "Time to watch me do something else."
He demonstrates
breathing. Holding onto the edge, he puts his face into the water, blows
bubbles, then turns it to the side, to take another breath. And repeats it five
times. "Got it?" he asks.
"Sure!" I tell him
and I do it, perfectly.
"Well, I wasn't
expecting that!" he says. "OK. This time, I want you to turn your face to the
other side when you breathe, so that you can find out which side feels more
natural for you.
I do it on the
other side. "No difference," I say.
I do it. "No
problem," I tell him. "So, what do I need to do?"
"Nothing, Robbo!
Full of surprises, aren't you?" he replies. I have no idea what he's talking
about and I can't tell if he's serious, or being sarcastic for some reason.
But he actually
looks excited about something.
His only response
is to say, "OK. Time to use the kickboard and incorporate the breathing. But,
first, do you have any goggles?"
"No," I answer. "Do I need some? I didn't know
that I needed goggles."
"They're not
absolutely necessary," Gino tells me. "But people wear them for two reasons: to
help protect their eyes from chlorine irritation, and to help them see
underwater. I have a couple of pairs. If you like, I will give you one of mine.
To keep."
"Thank you, very
much, Gino," I answer.
A gift? From the
vice-captain! Really?
"Hang
about there in the water," he says. "I'll be back in a minute."
He disappears into
the change room.
While he is away,
I look at the activity going on around me. Everybody is busily focussed on
doing something. Swimming. Being coached. Coaching. Talking. Listening. And all
areas of the pools are being utilised. Small groups and individuals. Even the
diving boards. And there's all the noise as well. And I spot the Coach, with
his iPad, videoing a couple of people diving.
Gino returns with
two pairs of goggles. "Blue or red?" he asks me.
"Blue, please," I
reply, then I add, "I was afraid that you might have brought me a pink pair."
"What would you
have said, if I did?" he asks, smirking.
"I would have
said, `thank you', worn them today and then asked my Dad to buy me a blue or
black pair. Pink is definitely not my colour. You should see my sister's room!
Pink and Purple! Yuk!"
"Then the blue
ones are yours," he says. "Come here and I'll fit them properly for you."
He sits on the
edge of the pool with his heels on the ledge in the water, and gets me to stand
so that my head is actually between his elevated knees. I am only centimetres
away from his dick and balls while he is putting the goggles on me and
adjusting the straps.
"How's that?" he
asks.
"Nice!" I answer,
then deliberately look from his Speedos up to his dark eyes and then back
again.
"Would you like an
even closer look, Robbo?" he asks. I stare up at his face and he swallows
nervously.
"Not now, and not
here," I say, and then I back away from him.
"You are like me!"
he says, grinning. "I can tell."
"I don't think
so!" I tell him. Then I smile back at him and say, "I'm not Italian and I'm not
a swimming champion."
"Well, `No', and `Not
yet'," he says. "We can't do anything about the first one, but let's keep
working on the second one, eh?"
We move right to
the end of the lane that we have been working in and he says, "Same as before
with the kickboard. From the hips. Got it? Stiff."
"Not at the
moment," I answer him. "The water's too cold."
"Come on, Robbo,"
he says. "Time to be serious for a while. OK?"
"Sorry, Gino," I
say, apologetically. "Yes, I remember."
"Only this time, I
want you to keep your face in the water. Breathe when you need to, first one
side and then the other. Can you do that?"
"I can try," I say
back.
And I push off.
Kicking. Don't bend my knees. Breathe right. Keep them stiff. Breathe left.
Ignore the 20-cent coin on the bottom of the pool. Breathe right. Kicking.
Breathing.
I get to the end
of the pool and Gino is waiting. He says, "Absolutely perfect, Robbo. Let's see
how many laps you can do, exactly like that. All right?"
"Sure!" I say and
push off.
Breathing.
Kicking. Sore hips. Keep going. End of pool. Can't see Gino. Go back again.
Sore hips and thighs now. Don't stop.
I get back to the
deep end and I see Coach standing with Gino. They're talking. None of my
business. Turn and do it all again!
Kicking. Aching.
Shallow end. I stand up and rub my legs.
Coach and Gino are
crouching at the end of the lane in front of me, waiting. "Hey, Rob," Coach
says, "I was watching what you were doing. Have you learned all of that since
Wednesday?"
"I guess so, Coach," I answer. "Because I
couldn't do it before. You can ask my Dad." Then I add, "Gino taught me how.
He's really good."
I turn and look at
Gino. He smiles and mouths the words, `Thank you'.
Coach says, "I
can't wait to see what you can do when Gino gets your arms going next week!
Great work, Rob. How are the legs at the moment? Getting sore?"
"Yes, Coach, but
nothing that I can't handle. I think," I say, so that he doesn't think that I
give up easily.
"Good attitude!"
Coach smiles at me. "Why don't you do two more laps and then rest. Then, Gino
will give your legs a rub down for you to help get rid of the lactic acid and
prevent cramps. We don't want you in agony at school."
"Yes, Coach," I
say.
Just before I
start my next lap, I hear Coach say to Gino, "Remember the rules, Gino. Keep
the Sick Bay door open at all times."
"Yes, Coach," Gino
tells him. Then I don't hear any more with my head in the water, my legs
kicking and my heart beating.
When I get back to
where Gino is, my legs are killing me!
"What's up,
Robbo?" Gino asks me.
"My legs are
really, really sore now." I tell him.
"OK. Use the
stairs then come with me" Gino tells me. "Leave the kickboard on the edge of
the pool. We'll have a warm shower to rinse off the chlorine, then towel off
and go to the Sick Bay."
I hang my towel on
a hook, adjust the water so that it is really warm and give myself a quick
wash. Speedos on. Gino does the same. We watch each other. He needs some cold
water, but I don't.
60 seconds is all
that I need. I turn off the water, grab my towel and start to dry myself. I
think that if I stand here any longer and watch Gino dealing with his `stiff
problem', then I might need to get back under the cold water myself. So, I go
out to where the lockers are.
Gino joins me,
towel over his shoulder. "OK. Come on," he says and I follow. I love walking
behind his wet Speedos! His wet, clingy Speedos!
"OK," he says.
"This is the massage table. Your face goes in the hole so that you can breathe
while I'm working on your back. Then we'll turn you over. Arms by your side."
He lays a towel on
the table and I climb on. Face in the hole like he told me.
"Ever had a
massage?" he asks.
"No," I say.
"Just relax, then I'll
get to work, using a bit of massage oil."
He does that a few
times then also works on the tops of my arms.
"This is just to
help your muscles relax and get used to my touch," he says.
"It feels really
good," I tell him.
He works on my
back for a little while then he spreads more oil on my thighs. He rubs them
from my backside to my knees. Down and up and down. "Open your legs a bit
wider," he says. I do and he rubs across my thighs. Both sides. Soft and hard.
A couple of times I feel him get pretty close to my balls, but I say nothing.
"Right-o,"
I hear, "turn over."
As I turn over,
I'm expecting to see the door wide open, but it's not. I say to him, "Didn't I
hear Coach say to leave the door open?"
"Well, it's not
shut, not quite, so therefore it's open," Gino says.
"Is that what Coach
meant?" I ask.
"OK, Robbo," he
says, "arms alongside your body again."
Now I can observe
what he's doing. He uses a squirt bottle to put oil onto one hand, then he rubs
his hands together and spreads the oil on the front of my thighs. "Quad
muscles," Gino tells me.
"You can either
prop yourself on your elbows and watch or just lie back and totally relax," he
says. "Your choice."
I watch for a
while, as he repeats what he did on the backs of my legs. Down and up. This
time, however, he doesn't seem to avoid my balls like he did before, and he
lets the back of his fingers rub along the sides of them as he comes right up
to the top of each leg.
I look at his
face. He turns to look at mine. "You OK?" he asks.
I grin, "Yes. It's
OK."
"Rubbing upwards
is the best way to move the lactic acid along," he explains, as if that is the
reason why he keeps brushing against my balls, while pressing into my muscles
with his hands.
"You still OK?" he
asks again.
For the second
time, I just say, "Yes." And I relax.
I raise my head to
look.
"Is everything
OK?" he asks, pausing with the palm of his hand resting right on top of my `privates'.
"I'd be lying if I
said that I wasn't enjoying it," I tell him. "Are you sure that this is OK?"
"Why? Are you
going to tell?" he asks, very nervously.
"I told you that
you can trust me not to tell, Gino," I say. "And, you are doing it so that
nobody can see, like we agreed. So, I guess that it's OK. And it feels nice."
"You can feel mine
if you like," he says, pressing his dick against my arm a couple of times, as
if nudging it into action.
"What if somebody
comes in?" I ask. Now I'm nervous! But excited!
"They won't.
Besides, it'll just be quick, then we can wrap our towels around ourselves and
go have a cold shower," he replies.
If you had told me
on Wednesday morning that, by Friday, the school vice-captain would be playing
with my dick and balls, and letting me do the same to him, I would have said
that you were taking some kind of mind-altering drug!
"You're not going
to put your hand inside my Speedos, though, are you?" I ask.
"No," he says.
Then he adds, "Not if you don't want me to. Not today."
At
that thought, I feel my dick jump.
This feels
amazing. I let out a moan of pleasure.
"OK. That's
enough," he says. "We've been in here for sufficient time for me to have massaged
your legs. Let's go."
He adjusts his
erection then wraps his towel around him.
I get off the
table and do the same.
He opens the door
wide. "Well, look at that!" he comments. "It's staying open properly, now!"
I look at him. He grins
cheesily. I smile.
We head for the
showers, `to wash off the oil' first and then to make good use of the cold
water.
When we both have
our track suits on, he tells me to follow him to the Coach's office.
"How are your legs,
Rob?" Coach asks me, as we enter.
"Did you know,
Coach," I say, "that Gino is just as good at massaging away my pain as he is at
creating it?"
"Work you hard out
there today, did he?" Coach asks.
My brain says, `And
he worked me to hard somewhere else too', but I answer, "No pain, no gain, I
guess, as I have heard my Dad say. Now I know what he means!"
"Do you know,
Rob," Coach says, looking and sounding very serious, "that some people take months
to get to where you are after only 3 sessions?"
"No, I didn't know
that Coach," I say. "I guess that Gino must be some sort of magician!"
Gino smiles at me.
Then Coach says,
"I can really sense that you two are going to be great together!"
My brain says, `I
hope so!' I glance at Gino. His eyes and one raised eyebrow are saying, `Me
too!'
At that moment, my
Dad knocks at Coach's door.
"Mr Armstrong. Come
in!" Coach calls to him. "I have something to show you! Come around to this
side."
My Dad walks
around the desk and stands next to Coach who picks up an iPad and touches the
screen a few times. Even though I can't see anything, I hear what sounds like
everybody outside in the pool.
"Is that what Rob
will be able to achieve after you've had him here for a while?" Dad asks. "How
long do you think that will take?"
I suddenly realise
what Coach is showing to my Dad.
Coach, Gino and I
all smile at each other.
"And, we wouldn't
want you to think that your son is lying at home when he tells your family what
he has accomplished," Coach says. "Gino told me of your conversation this
morning. If you give me your email address," Coach tells Dad, "I'll send you
the clip so that you can show your wife."
Gino adds, "And,
Rob, see if your sister is willing to take that bet about doing the dishes,
after you tell her what you achieved today, but before your dad shows her the
video."
We all laugh, as if
my sister is suddenly our common enemy.
Coach is right.
Gino and I are going to be great together! I sense it. I feel it. I know it. I
want it!
Dad tells me,
"Rob, if you're happy to continue with the swimming lessons, now that you've
had a taste of them, I'll just fix up the paper work with the Coach and I'll be
out in a couple of minutes." That's his way of telling me to `Go outside'!
Gino says, "No
competition tomorrow morning? Right, Coach?"
"Nothing's changed,
Gino. It's a rest day. See you on Monday. And, terrific work this week!" Coach
tells him. "Have a great weekend!"
"Goodbye, Mr
Armstrong," Gino says to my Dad."
Dad shakes his
hand. "Thanks, Gino. You've worked a miracle with Rob. We owe you, greatly!"
"Just happy to
help, Mr Armstrong," Gino says. "Now I should be off home for some breakfast
and then get to school for my first class."
"Goodbye Coach," I
say.
Gino and I walk
out together. He asks me, "Hey, Robbo, I don't suppose you'd like to have a
game of tennis tomorrow afternoon?"
"How would that
work?" I ask him.
"Well, if you can
have one of your parents bring you here around one o'clock, I'll pick you up
and drive us to my school. We'll just play for an hour, maybe two, then I can
either bring you back here, or drop you home. Do you want to check with your dad
before I leave? I'm happy to wait."
"Sure," I say.
"How long do you think he will be with Coach? Won't you be late for your
class?"
"Plenty of time,"
he says. "I'll just eat breakfast faster, or take something with me."
Dad emerges. "That
was easy," he says. "Coach says that you really have great potential if you
stick with it. I'm surprised, but very happy for you, son."
"Thanks, Dad," I
tell him. "But I don't think that I could do this, if it wasn't for Gino. He
just seems to bring out the best in me, and he's had me doing things that I could
never have imagined I would be doing!"
Gino's, on the other hand, I'm not sure about. Is it
telling me to shut up? Did I just say too much? I've never seen this anxious expression
before, at school.
"Dad?" I ask,
without beating around the bush, "Would it be OK if I play tennis tomorrow
afternoon after I've done my jobs?"
"How come?" Dad asks.
"When? Where? Who with? Where did that come from?"
Gino really got my
Dad on side this morning. My turn to repay the favour! "Gino and I were talking
earlier about the other things that we do. When I said that I liked tennis, he
told me that he was going to play tennis with a couple of friends later tomorrow
and that it would be OK with him, if I wanted, to come along and just have a
hit with them. One of them is a junior coach, so I might pick up a few
pointers, especially with my serving. May I, please, Dad?"
I can see my Dad's
brain working overtime.
He turns to Gino.
"Gino, that's very generous of you. And it's obvious that Rob really responds
to you. However, I think that it might be too much of an imposition to saddle
you with him for the afternoon."
My heart sinks.
"Whatever you say,
Mr Armstrong," Gino says. "But, when I offered, I thought that if Rob could
spare the time to come along, he would actually be doing me a favour. It would
have meant that I wouldn't have to bring one of my annoying little sisters to
make up a foursome. And it could just be four of us guys: a very different vibe
to having a little sister tag along! But you are Rob's father so whatever you
say, goes. It did occur to me that it would be an opportunity for Rob to get a
few tips from a tennis coach and for him and me to bond a bit which might help in
his swimming. But, maybe, I was only being selfish." He turns to me. "Maybe
some other time, then. OK, Rob?"
He pats me on the
shoulder.
I look at Dad's
face, and he can see the disappointment on mine. There is a long pause.
"What about
transport?" Dad asks. "His mother is taking our daughter to the movies tomorrow
at two o'clock, and I have a morning golf game that won't finish until about
three."
OMG. Yes! He's
weakening. Gino could, what's the expression? `...Sell ice to an eskimo'!
"I understand,"
Gino says. "Rob told me that you only live about five minutes from here, so if
it would be inconvenient for Mrs Armstrong to drop Rob here on her way to the
movies, I would be happy to pick him up and also drop him home afterwards. No
imposition for me, either way."
I look back at
Dad's face, expectantly. Pleadingly.
"Well, I think
that we can work something out," Dad says, smiling at me and ruffling my hair.
"If you give me your mobile number, Gino, I'll talk to my wife and text you to let
you know which option will fit in better with us and then arrange the details.
Is that OK?"
"Of course, Mr
Armstrong. Whatever you say," Gino tells him.
Dad takes out his
phone to record Gino's number, which I memorise as he says it and as Dad
repeats it. As soon as I get home, I'm going to write it down.
Gino and I bump
fists. He and Dad shake hands.
"See you tomorrow,
Rob," Gino says.
"Message you
later, Gino," Dad tells him. "And thank you."
Dad and I get into
our car and we watch Gino slide into a black Alfa Romeo. With `P' plates. It looks new.
"Nice car!" Dad
says. "Is it his mother's or his father's. Do you know?"
"Actually, I think
I heard Gino tell someone that it was a present from his grandfather for his
eighteenth birthday recently," I reply.
Dad sits until
Gino drives off first.
"What are you waiting
for?" I ask.
"I just wanted to
see how he drives that thing," Dad replies. "If you're going to get into a
sports car with him, I just wanted to make sure that he was a responsible
driver."
"And...?" I ask.
"Top marks!" Dad
says. "You'll be fine!"
We
drive. I smile, reciting Gino's number in my head.
"Do you know what
Gino's last name is?" Dad asks. "I'll put it into my phone when we get home.
"It's Napolitano,"
I tell him.
"I know that name
from somewhere," Dad comments.
"It sounds like a
pretty common Italian name to me," I say. "Like Giuseppe and Giorgio and
Luigi."
"Hmm," Dad says. "Maybe
a pizza or an ice cream? Or something that I heard in the news? I just can't
put my finger on it, but... oh, well, it doesn't matter!"
As soon as we get
home, the first thing that Dad says to Mum is "Guess what sort of car Rob's
young swim coach drives? No, you'll never guess. It's a late model Alfa Romeo.
A birthday gift from his grandfather, apparently."
"Really?" Mum
says. "He must have a rich grandfather."
"And you'll never
guess what he taught Rob to do today!"
"Well,
while I'm not guessing at things," Mum says, "why don't you just tell me that
too?"
"You tell her,
Rob," Dad says.
I see my sister eavesdropping.
As usual. Great!
"Well," I say,
loudly enough for her to hear, "I did eight laps of the pool, with my face in
the water and breathing to both sides. Or was it ten?"
My sister goes
into a prolonged, forced coughing fit, which is her usual non-verbal way of
saying `Bullshit!'
I turn and
challenge her. "Wanna bet?"
"How much?" she
sneers.
"Same as last
night. Dishes for a month!" I say, with a confidence which obviously annoys
her.
"Agreed!" she snaps,
taking the bait. "And if you can't actually prove that you can even swim half a
lap like that, then you lose. Haha! And I have Mum and Dad as witnesses."
"Deal, then! And I'll
prove it tonight," I say. "Right now, I need to get dressed for school and have
some breakfast."
When I emerge from
my bedroom, Mum and Dad have already had the conversation about me playing
tennis tomorrow. Dad tells me, "Rather than having Mum drop you at the pool and
have you potentially waiting around for Gino, we think that it would be better
if he picks you up here, seeing that he has offered. I'll send him a text
message."
That reminds me. I
go back to my room, sit down at my desk, and write down Gino's number before I
forget it.
I
suddenly have one of those weird feelings that somebody is watching me.
I turn around and Dad is standing in my doorway. "Rob,
can we chat?" he says.
I have this sudden,
creepy feeling that I am about to get a lecture about something. Maybe about
Gino. Does Dad think that Gino is too old for me to be friends with? Or am I
going to be warned that I have to finish all of my jobs tomorrow or to tell me
that he's changed his mind about me playing tennis.
"Sure," I say,
nervously.
Dad sits on my
bed. "Rob," he starts, "I think that the time has come for us to talk about something."
"I already know
about the birds and the bees, Dad," I jump in and tell him, smirking.
He laughs. "No,
not that!" Then he says, "In the past, Mum and I have felt that you were too
young to have your own mobile phone. We now think that it's time."
"What?" I say,
shocked.
"I realised it
this morning when I found myself agreeing to make all the arrangements for you
to play tennis with Gino. That wasn't right. You are old enough and mature
enough to do that kind of thing yourself. It's just that you've just grown up
so fast! Look at you!"
I have to say to
Dad, "All of the boys at school have a mobile. Sometimes they make fun of me
because I don't have one." And I tell him, "That's why I don't have many
friends. Some of them call me a `mummy's boy' and push me around."
"What?" Dad says,
appearing genuinely shocked. "I didn't know that.? That's awful! Why didn't
you tell us, Rob? I'm so sorry!"
He stands up and
hugs me.
I say, "I didn't
want to worry you, Dad. I've learned to put up with it. It's OK."
"No, it's not OK!"
Dad says. He suddenly has tears in his eyes. "I feel terrible that I have actually
caused you to be bullied. I remember that you asked me if you could have a
phone when you turned twelve. And I wasn't really in a good mood when I told
you `No'. But you haven't asked me since. Why not?"
"Well, you told me
that I needed to grow up first, and that you would tell me when you felt that the
time was right. I didn't want to cause an argument with you, Dad, by asking
again."
He reaches for a
tissue from the box on my desk and wipes his eyes. He hugs me again.
"Well, I don't
know what to say," he tells me. "I didn't realise that I was so controlling.
I'm so sorry, Rob. But, to try to begin making it up to you, I'll organise a mobile
phone for you today." He pauses. There is silence. "There I go again, making
decisions for you." He wipes his eyes for a second time. "What if I pick you up
from school this afternoon and we'll go and pick out any one that you want?"
"Are you serious?"
I ask. I'm overwhelmed. I feel the tears pour out of my eyes, and grab a
tissue. "Thank you!" I manage to squeak out. And I hug him.
"What time does
your last class finish?" Dad asks.
"2:30 today," I say.
"I'll be there, the
usual spot. Is that OK?"
"Yes, Dad. Thank
you," I tell him. And I hug him again.
"In the meantime,
I'll text Gino that we'd like to accept his offer of picking you up here
tomorrow, and that you will message him tonight, the time and any other
arrangements."
"Thanks, Dad," I
say again.
He hugs me, then
says, "Come, on, son. Breakfast!" He adds, "Oh, and when Coach sends me the
video of you in the pool, I'll forward it to your email address so that you can
show it to your sister yourself on your iPad."
"Thanks Dad!" I
tell him, almost laughing. "I'll enjoy that!"
"I thought that you
would!" he tells me.
We go to breakfast
with his arm over my shoulder.
This has already
been the best day of my life! And it isn't even 8:30 in the morning yet!
Saturday. I wake
up happy, even though my pyjamas are wet, again. I had a great dream about Gino
massaging me and letting me have a good feel of his `privates'. I can't get
over it, me playing with the dick and balls of `Gino Italiano', the Year 12 school
vice-captain!
And
now, as a bonus, I don't have to do the dishes for a month!
However, I did suggest that he sign up to the cheapest
plan which allows unlimited texts. So, no real problem! And, because I use our
home wi-fi for my iPad, there won't be a lot of data usage on my phone. I reckon
that I'm even going to make extra money on this deal!
Last night, after
I had put Mum and Dad into `Contacts' on my phone, the next person was Gino
Napolitano. Then I texted him and gave him my address. He is going to pick me
up at one o'clock and told me to make sure that all of my jobs were done early.
He also said that he would show me an app which was encrypted so that messages
and video were secure from hacking, and we could message each other privately,
if I wanted to.
Nice!
I bag up all of
the dog poo early, and get started on washing Dad's car before he goes to golf.
The grass won't need cutting this week, but I will do the edges, which I
skipped last week.
Dad comes out from
the garage with his golf clubs. "Nice job, son," he comments. Then he says, "If
ever you want to learn to play golf, just let me know. I would be proud to have
you play with me."
Now, if Gino had
said that, I would think of something totally different to what Dad meant.
"Have a good
game!" I tell him, then head to the garage for the edger.
My jobs are all
done by 11:00. And, I made sure at breakfast that I used as many things as
possible for my sister to wash. Cereal bowl and spoon. Plate for toast and
butter knife. Different knife for the marmalade. Coffee mug. Teaspoon. To rub
salt into the wounds, I said to her, "You'd better make sure that you wash
those properly or the person drying might get you to do them again. Oh, hey, that
would be you!"
If looks could
kill! And, if Mum and Dad hadn't been around, I'm sure that she would have
given me `the finger', or said something starting with `fuck' and ending in
`off'.
These are the same blue ones that I picked out at the
shop after I first saw Gino wearing that colour over two years ago. They're
tight on me now, but I don't care. I have a new-found liking for Speedos. Particularly
wet ones! Especially when Gino is in them!
I fill in time, by
checking options on my phone and downloading apps that I think I might use.
Alerted by the
sound of its engine, I look up and, from my window overlooking the front yard,
I see Gino's black Alfa pull into our driveway. I immediately grab my tennis
racquet and my phone and head downstairs. There is a knock at the door. Mum
gets there first.
"Good afternoon,
Mrs Armstrong," he says. "I'm Gino, Rob's swimming coach."
"Pleased to meet
you Gino," I hear Mum tell him. "Rob should be down in a..."
She doesn't have
to finish. I appear beside her. "Hi Gino," I chirp.
"Hello Rob," he
says. "All of your jobs finished?"
I look at Mum's
face. I can tell that she approves of him instantly.
I call to my
sister, "See you later, Sis. Enjoy your movie!"
This time, from
where Mum can't see her, I do get `the finger'.
Mum bends down to
kiss me goodbye. I must turn fire-engine red with embarrassment.
Gino notices it
and tells me, "It's OK to kiss your mother, Rob. We Italians do that all of the
time. Mothers. Aunts. Cousins. Even Uncles. And, usually, one on each cheek."
To pick up on what
Gino has said, I kiss Mum on each side of her face.
"Thanks, Gino,"
Mum tells him. "You two have a good game. See you later, Rob."
Mum and my sister
stand at the door and watch Gino's Alfa growl slowly out of the drive. Mum is
smiling. My sister has no expression on her face. Maybe disbelief, that her
number-one tormenter is riding off in a brand-new Alfa Romeo, with a handsome teenage
Italian.
Gino opens with,
"So, is your sister doing the dishes for a month?"
"Absolutely!" I
laugh. "She fell for it hook, line and sinker. I didn't show her the video
until after she had committed to the bet, and she's even the one who suggested
that Mum and Dad were witnesses to it, thinking that I would back out."
"What did she say
when she saw it?" he asks.
"She reckoned that
it wasn't me in the pool. So, I went and grabbed my Speedos, so that she could
see that they were the same ones. And Dad told her that Coach had filmed me and
he could guarantee that it was me." I chuckle.
"You have a wicked
sense of humour," Gino says, patting me on the thigh. Then he adds, "I like
that!"
"I like your sense
of humour, too," I tell him, and pat him back. He turns and flashes me a brilliant
smile.
We are silent for
a couple of minutes. We drive past the Swimming Centre and Gino asks, "By the
way, how are your legs this morning?"
"Great," I tell
him. "You have magic hands."
"I could teach
you, if you like," he says.
"Teach me what?" I
ask.
"Massage. My uncle
taught me. It's easy when you know how. And your hands get to feel things and
sense things, so you can tell what to do."
"Yes,"
I say, smiling, "Your hands have already felt a few things of mine, haven't
they?"
"So have yours, eh?" he asks. "Did you enjoy that?"
"Yes," I answer. I
don't know where this conversation is going, but my dick starts to `do its
thing'.
He notices,
reaches across, and puts his hand on it. "How many are you up to today? Not a
hundred yet?"
"Probably only
half-way there," I tell him, jokingly. Then I ask, "What about you?"
"Right, now, about
the same," he says, beaming while watching the road. Then he turns to me and grins,
"You can check it out, if you like. Just to make sure that I'm not lying."
At his invitation,
I reach across and his hard dick is pointing sideways, towards me, as if
waiting for my hand. I wrap my fingers around as much of it as I can in his
shorts, and it jumps. "It likes you," he chuckles.
"Nice," I tell
him. "And mine obviously likes you too," I say, as it jumps in his hand.
"Later," he says,
taking his hand back. I remove mine as well.
I don't know if
his stiffness goes down, but mine doesn't until we get to the school.
I don't let on
that I recognise anything.
He drives in and down
to the tennis courts and gym and pulls up. There is an SUV already there, with
two people on the first tennis court.
The most obvious
thing that I notice, apart from thinking that one of them looks familiar, is
that the other one is in a wheel chair.
"Before we get
out," Gino explains, "there are a few things that I should tell you. The guy
who is not in the wheel chair was our school captain two years ago. He was our `School
Champion' tennis player, too, and has played the junior circuit around the
world, with some success. Now, he is a senior. He is my tennis coach."
Ah, yes. Now I know
him. He was the captain in the year that I started here. He probably won't
recognise me.
"And the guy in
the wheel chair, is his young brother. He doesn't come here to my school. He
goes to a sports academy so that he can get specialist help. He's tipped to become
a really good wheelchair athlete. Just look at him move that contraption around
the court! Wheelchair tennis players get two bounces of the ball before they
have to hit it back, instead of the usual one, to enable them to get to it."
"He's pretty
good!" I comment, after watching for a while.
"And he's been
able to beat me a couple of times," Gino says. "I used to go easy on him, but,
not since the first time that he thrashed me! He can move pretty quickly. Their
names are Carlos and Franco."
Ah, yes, it's Franco
that I remember!
"I've told Franco
that I'm bringing a member of my swimming squad with me instead of my sister,
and that you would like to play tennis, but are only a beginner at the moment.
So, he knows a little bit about you."
"Not, too much, I
hope," I say.
"Listen, Robbo,"
Gino says, seriously. "There are some things that I would never tell anyone, if
you know what I mean. And I'm trusting you to do the same. Are we on the same
page?"
"Perfectly," I
tell him. "There are things that I wouldn't want my parents to know, or my
sister, or any guys at my school."
"Did you just tell
me that you are gay?" I ask, surprised.
"Can I trust you
to keep that secret for me, Robbo?" he says, looking almost pleadingly into my
eyes. "You are the only person that I've ever confided in!"
"Of course, Gino! I
promise," I say. Then I add, "I don't know if I'm gay, but I really enjoy being
with you and mucking around with you."
"What about in the
pool, when you grabbed my dick and balls? That wasn't very careful," I tell
him.
"There is one good
point to what you did though," I say, smiling.
"What's that?" he
asks, with a funny expression on his face.
He grins back, and
ruffles my hair.
"OK. Let's go.
Franko and Carlos will have to leave soon. They have hung around, just so that
they can meet you and give you a few tips, then they have other commitments."
I have to ask, "Is
Franco or Carlos gay? And do they know that you are?"
I recall my words. I get what he means. I thought that
it was funny at the time, but now that I think about it, it was pretty stupid
and risky, for Gino and me both.
"My lips are
sealed," I say, making a zipper motion across my mouth, and grinning.
Franco and Carlos
are terrific. I hit balls with them and Franco gives me some coaching on the
position of my feet and my arm and body positions in preparation for hitting a
shot.
"He's a quick
learner!" Franco tells Gino.
"Same in the
pool," Gino replies.
I say to Franco, "But,
I really have trouble with serving."
He looks at his
watch. "Maybe next week, if you are able to come back. In the meantime,
practise with Gino what I have shown you. Rome wasn't built in a day!"
We say goodbye,
with the expectation that I will be back next Saturday afternoon. And, I think,
with the promise of some free, expert coaching from Franco, it will be a
legitimate excuse, if I need one, to come again with Gino.
"Getting tired?"
Gino asks.
"Yes, a bit," I
answer. "My shoulders, arms and legs have been getting a real workout."
"How about a
shower and a massage," Gino asks. "I have the keys to the gym."
"Sure," I say.
Then I add, "It looks like a great gym, from the outside." It's not exactly
like telling a lie, but I don't want to let on that I already know what it's
like inside."
Gino locks the
gate to the courts. We put our racquets and tennis balls into his car, and he
grabs two towels.
We enter the gym
and Gino disables the alarm. "I've also turned off the CCTV," he tells me.
"Remind me to put everything back on again when we leave, if I forget. OK?"
"Sure!" I answer.
Then I deliberately throw in, "Wow! This is really nice!"
"It's what our
school fees help pay for," he replies.
I
have a sudden appreciation of my parents' commitment in sending me to a private
boys' school.
Then he leads me
to the Sick Bay, unlocked, and we go in. I've never been in here before. Never
needed to.
"Just like
yesterday," he says, pointing at the table. "We can shower afterwards. Face in
the hole while I do your back."
A difference that
I notice here is that, instead of having to use a towel, there is a wide roll
of paper towelling on the wall. Gino tears off a length of it and lays in on
the table.
I strip down to my
Speedos. Gino whistles. "Nice!" he says, then removes his own clothes. We are
standing in identical swimming costumes! "Hey, come and look in the mirror," he
says.
"Yeah, well I did
tell you that they get a fair bit of exercise," I say.
He gives his
`privates' a jiggle. I can tell that not everything in there is totally soft.
I lie, face-down.
"Same as yesterday?" I ask.
"Yep!" he answers
and gets to work on my shoulders.
"This feels so
good," I tell him. "Did you say that you can teach me to do this?"
"Absolutely," he
says, "And you can have my body to practise on."
"Nice!" I moan, as
he digs into a sore spot near my right shoulder blade.
I note that he
does everything exactly the same as yesterday, including avoiding my balls
while he is doing my thighs, "Hamstrings," he says, adding to my anatomical
knowledge.
I turn over and he
starts at the top, but this time, includes my chest. "Pecs," he comments. Then
he moves down to my "Abs".
With more oil he
re-commences on my quads. And, just like yesterday, he brushes against my balls
on his upstrokes.
We get to the
point where, yesterday, he massaged across my quads instead of up and down, and
I wonder whether he will do exactly the same things. My dick hardens in
anticipation that he will.
When I feel him
lean his body against my arm. I know that we are in instant-replay mode, or
`Groundhog Day'.
"Same as
yesterday?" I ask him.
He laughs, does
his cross-over from one leg to the other routine, and his hand rests on my hard
dick. "Erection. Woody. Hard-on. Stiff problem," he rattles off, not knowing
the extent of my vocabulary.
I reach for his
Speedos, hold my hand there and say, "Balls. Bollocks. Nuts. Family Jewels."
He laughs, and
adds, "And `testicles'."
"Yeah, I knew
that," I tell him, and move to his "Penis! My vocabulary isn't totally lacking,
you know."
We play with each
other, for longer than time permitted yesterday. Then he asks me, "May I put my
hand inside today?"
I'm tempted to say
`Go for it', but all that comes out is "Uh-huh".
"Nice!" he says
and plays with them.
He comes back up
and wraps his hands around my hard-on and rubs it up and down a couple of
times. Then he pulls his hand out and proceeds to remove his own Speedos,
totally. His erection is pointing towards my stomach. "It's long," I tell him, wrapping
my fingers around it and feeling it jerk.
"And yours is
thick," he says, taking hold of it again.
We start playing
with each other and I copy exactly what he does to mine. Mainly up and down
movements.
Then he pauses,
and slowly begins to pull my Speedos down, probably waiting for me to say `Stop!',
which I don't.
I lift my hips to
help him remove them and as a sign of my willingness.
He takes hold of
my erection in one hand and my balls in his other. "Nice!"
After a minute or
so, he says, "Wait!" and he gets the massage oil, squirting some on my dick and
some on his own.
We re-commence.
"Shit! That feels
nice!" I tell him.
"So does your
hand!" he replies.
"What's that?" I
ask him.
"You've never done
this before?" answering my question with one of his own.
"No," I say. "What
just happened? What is this stuff?" Then, taking deep breaths, I add, "Man,
that felt almost painful, but fantastic!"
I touch it. It
feels very slippery. Sticky. Sort of like the front of my wet pyjamas. Hmm.
"Well," Gino tells
me. "What we were doing is called `masturbating' or `wanking' or `jacking off',
and what came out we can refer to as `spunk' or `dick cream'. And there are
other words for both."
"Oh!" I say,
joining the dots in my mind about what I have overheard some other guys talking
about.
I repeat, "Shit,
that felt so good." Then I say, "But yours didn't do that. Does yours do that
too?"
"Nearly every
day," he says. "Do you want to make mine do it?"
"Yeah! How?" I
ask.
"Just keep doing
what you were doing with your hand, like I did to you. I was getting close."
I look at the streaks
all over my body. Gino tears a small piece off the paper towelling and wipes it
off. "I'll flush this bit down the toilet when we've finished," he tells me.
"The rest can go into the bin."
His dick is still
rock-hard! He squirts some more oil onto it and I resume masturbating him.
Wanking him. Jacking him off. I like my new vocabulary, now with meaning!
Every now and then
his dick jerks by itself. I like it when it does that. I keep going and I hear
him gasp, "Keep going. I'm really close. It's coming! Then, as he grabs my hand
and points his dick at my chest, he shouts, "Now!" and his fires out a whole
lot of spunk too. Spurt after spurt of it. "Ohhh!" he moans. "So Nice!" And it
seems like he is gasping for breath. When his breathing gets back to normal, he
says, "Wow! Thank you, Robbo. You were terrific!"
He cleans my body
up for a second time and wipes off some extra cream that has leaked out of my
dick, and his.
"Thank you, Robbo.
It was so good watching you spurt and then feeling you do it to me."
"And, thank you,
Gino, for teaching me. I loved it! Can we do it again next week, please?"
"I hope so,
sport," he says. "Now let's go to the showers via the toilets while I get rid
of `the evidence'. Besides, I need to pee."
"Me too", I say,
and I am about to head off to the toilets when I remember that I'm not supposed
to know where anything is. I gather my clothes and follow him.
"Showers to the
right; dressing room and lockers straight ahead; toilets to the left," he says.
We adjust the
water, step in and I squirt some of the liquid soap onto my hand.
"Want to wash each
other?" Gino asks.
"Yeah!" I say, and
turn my back to him.
He starts at my
neck and works his way down, fairly thoroughly, spending a lot of time on my "glutes".
I feel him slide a
finger between my legs. I'm not sure that I like him rubbing around my arse
hole. "Please, Gino, I don't like that."
"Sorry," he says.
"Turn around."
Again, he starts
at the top, works his way down my front and I love the feeling of his soapy
hands on my dick and balls.
"Rinse off," he
says. "Your turn," and he turns around.
I wash his back
muscles and massage his glutes just like he did to me. Then his legs. Then his
bulky pecs and his flat abs. His dick is hard again, but I enjoy `cleaning' it,
and his balls. I finish with his legs. Can you believe it? Me in the showers,
with the school vice-captain. Naked. And feeling each other's body?
He hugs me. This
feels so good.
"You're going to
need some cold water," I tell him, and I step out, take one of the towels and
dry myself while I watch Gino `cooling off'.
We get dressed.
Gino resets the alarm and re-activates the CCTV. He didn't need a reminder.
We get into his
car but instead of starting it, he turns sideways in his seat, facing me and
says, "I hope that I haven't offended you with anything that we've done, Robbo.
I enjoyed every moment of everything, including watching Franco give you some
pointers. But, especially the stuff in the gym."
"It's all good,
Gino. I'm not offended. I loved it. But, can I ask you one question?"
"Sure, Robbo," he
says. "What would you like to know?"
"What
were you trying to do wiggling your finger around my arse hole?"
I think that he is
stunned. "Well, I'm told that some gay guys like that. So maybe you're not gay,
and you just enjoy the other mucking-around stuff."
I
answer, "Do you like having a finger do that to you?"
"I don't know,
Robbo," he says, very quietly, "And, I've never had this conversation with
another guy before, so I can't really answer you."
"Thank you for
being honest with me, Gino," I say, "and for trusting me, and for teaching me
things, and for getting Franco to help me, and for making me feel so good!"
"No worries,
Robbo," he says, "and I'm sorry about the finger. Can we still be friends?"
I'm cruel. I don't
answer straight away. I just stare at him with the best expressionless face
that I can muster. He suddenly looks very nervous. Then I lean towards him and
say, "Come closer, and I will tell you." He leans towards me. I take his head
in both of my hands and I say, "I like having you as my best Italian friend!"
and I kiss him on both cheeks.
I think that he is
going to cry. He kisses me back and says something in Italian, which I think is
all good.
"OK. Home, Gino,
and don't spare the horses!" I say to him.
He laughs.
We're good!
When Mum and Dad
get home, I tell them about my tennis lesson and who gave it to me.
"Wow!" Mum says,
"You're starting to move in influential circles, aren't you?"
Monday's swimming
practice goes well. Very professional. Today I learn to take one arm at a time
off the kickboard while I'm breathing on that side and how to take it backwards
then forwards again. Gino and I both behave ourselves. Even in the showers. Cold
water really helps.
Tuesday in the
pool, I get the arm motions going properly. `Fluently' is the word that Gino
uses.
Later, at our
school assembly, my class is seated to the side of the auditorium and half-way
back, so I'm fairly sure that Gino won't spot me. He's the prefect speaking
today and telling the juniors of the importance of having at least one good
friend whom you can trust. He shares some funny moments but gets serious when
he moves to introduce the topic of the day, `Teenage Suicide'.
He introduces the
guest speaker for the day, from Lifeline, who tells us how to look out for a
friend who may be at risk and in need of help, and how each of us might even
prevent the death of one of our friends by being alert to certain signs, what
we can say, and how we might help. She shows us, in her visual presentation,
some statistics. My eyes fill up when she mentions the proportion of soldiers,
teenage drug takers and gay young men who take their own lives, some due mainly
to bullying or their perceived rejection by people who should love them, feel shame
about something, or their isolation – real or self-imposed.
I'm shocked that,
on her checklist of things to look out for, I mentally tick many boxes that
apply to Gino. It's all I can do to stop myself from crying. I use my
handkerchief to blow my nose as quietly as I can and then, while I have it up
there, wipe my eyes. I stare at Gino's face. From this distance, I can't tell
if he is upset, or just thinking. I feel his pain, at not having anyone that he
can talk to about being gay.
On Wednesday
morning, I try really hard to achieve what he is trying to teach me and I take
every opportunity to thank him, and to tell him how much I owe to him and appreciate
him and how I will always be his trustworthy friend.
I continue my
praise and thanks in the showers, tell him that I'm really looking forward to next
Saturday, and say to him as privately as I can manage it, that he can even
`give me the finger' if he wants to do that. He hugs me and we go to get
dressed.
He waves goodbye
to Dad and me and we all head off on our own ways.
I'm in my usual seat, three from the front, in the aisle
closest to the door. I like to turn sideways in my chair, lean against the wall
and use the back of the chair as an armrest.
Oh no! I turn my body back to the front and put my
head down so that Gino won't recognise me.
I have my phone
out on the desk and, a few minutes later, I see a message flash onto the screen
at the same time as the alert goes off. Loudly. Aargh! I was so engrossed in my
book that I forgot to turn it off!
All eyes turn
towards me, as I read the message:
"Whose phone was
that?" Gino says, looking up from the teacher's desk, with his own phone still in
his hand.
I've just shattered the security of him being secretly
gay in this school!
What can I say?
"I'm very sorry Sir, it's a new phone and I forgot that it was on. I'll turn it
off now."
Gino responds in a
very authoritarian voice, "Very well, lad. But, don't let it happen again!"
"Yes, Sir. I mean
no, Sir," I stammer.
Then he adds, "And
I will speak with you after class when everyone else goes to lunch."
"Yes, Sir," I say,
and absorb the tut-tuts and `ooh-aah's from the people around me.
<<I'm sorry,
Gino. I didn't know how to tell you>>
He replies:
<<You
lied to me. I thought that we were going to trust each other and be truthful
>>
I say:
<<Gino, I
didn't lie. I just didn't want you to get hurt if anyone found out that you
were friends with a boy in Year 9>>
He says:
<<Well, I am
hurt. It's as good as a lie. Some friend!>> plus an angry emoji.
My
eyes fill with tears. Another box ticked on his `suicide-alert list'. Betrayed!
"Who said that?"
Gino demands, jumping to his feet.
I've never seen
him angry before. Not ever! And, I don't think that anyone else has either!
There is absolute
silence! Everyone is motionless.
The culprit slowly
stands.
"What's your name,
lad?" Gino demands, strongly.
"Peter, Sir," he
replies.
"Peter... what?"
"Peter Johnson,
Sir," he says, defensively.
"Well, Mr
Johnson," Gino puts to him. "Didn't you learn anything in yesterday's
assembly?"
"Yes, Sir," he
replies.
"And what was it that
you learned, Mr Johnson?"
"That we should be
careful of other people's feelings, Sir," he replies, standing stiffly, "and
not say or do anything to hurt them, Sir, because we don't know how it might
affect them, Sir."
"Well, it is good
to know that you were not asleep, Mr Johnson," Gino rails on him, "but that
won't save you from a Prefects' Detention tomorrow at lunchtime. Come and get
your slip."
Gino returns to
the teacher's desk and takes out a Detention Slip from his folder. I've seen other
people's before, but I've never had one.
Peter takes it and
says, "Thank you, Sir," and turns to head back to his seat.
"Just a minute, Mr
Johnson," Gino continues. "I'm not finished with you yet."
Everyone
in the room looks stunned at Gino's out-of-usual-character sternness.
"You will
apologise to Mr Armstrong there, and if I ever hear of you making comments like
that ever again, to Mr Armstrong or anyone else, I will have you before the
headmaster. Do I make myself clear, Mr Johnson?"
It dawns on me
that Gino didn't ask for my name, and yet he has used it. I wonder if anyone
else picked up on that. Hopefully, they might just think that he has had dealing
with me in the past, for whatever reason!
"Yes, Sir, Mr
Napolitano. Very clear, Sir," he says. Now Peter is close to crying. Rumour has
it that he's on a final warning from the headmaster. It's only his star role on
the football team that has saved him from being suspended previously.
"Well?" Gino says,
raising his voice. "We're waiting."
Peter comes to me
and says, "Rob, I'm very sorry for what I said and for offending you. Will you
accept my apology?" He puts out his hand for me to shake. It's all very formal
and proper and gentlemanly.
I reply, "Thank
you, Peter, and yes, I accept your apology."
Gino says more
calmly, "You may sit down Mr Johnson." He continues, but reverting to his angry
voice, "And who was it that sniggered in agreement with Mr Johnson's comment?"
There is no
confession.
And the silence
becomes absolute!
Gino waits.
"Mr Johnson, stand
up again, please," Gino says, very calmly. "Now, gentlemen, if the person who
sniggered does not own up within the next 10 seconds, Mr Johnson will be given
a red card. Do you all know what that means?"
Peter
turns on Jack and growls, "Man up, you louse!"
"Was it you, lad?"
Gino asks, pointing at Jack, who is shamed into standing. He confesses.
"And your name
is...? Gino puts to him, returning to the desk and taking out another Detention
Slip.
"Jack Miller,
Sir," he says very tentatively.
"Mr Miller, you
will join Mr Johnson at lunchtime tomorrow," Gino tells him, more in control of
his voice, but still very authoritatively. "Firstly, Mr Miller, you will
apologise to Mr Armstrong, then both you and Mr Johnson will come and stand at
the front of the room."
"But...," Jack
starts.
Peter cuts him
off. "Just do it, you louse!"
Jack comes to me,
extends his hand, and says, "I'm sorry Rob. It won't happen again."
"Thank you, Jack,"
I tell him.
Then he stops and says to them, but for everybody's
benefit, glancing around, "There is a lesson here, gentlemen. Anyone who is
willing to humiliate others is not worthy of another person's friendship. And
anyone who will not admit to doing wrong is not to be trusted. A gentleman
should always be trustworthy. I will say no more about it, and see the two of you
outside the Prefects' Common Room tomorrow at the beginning of lunchtime."
"Yes, Sir. Thank
you, Sir," they both say and sit down.
`Trustworthy'
keeps sounding in my head.
There is a deathly
silence in the room until the bell rings.
Then, Gino says,
"The class will stand." He waits until all are standing, motionless, then he says,
"Class dismissed, except for you, Mr Armstrong. And the last person out, please
close the door."
I want to go to
him.
I can't bear to
see my hero, and my only friend, in pain.
I have to go to
him.
Maybe he doesn't
hear me coming because he flinches when I put my hands on his shoulders.
He is silent.
I slowly start to
massage his shoulders, copying how he has done it to me, twice already.
I'm
expecting him to scream something like, `Go away!' or `Liar!' or `Leave me
alone!'
But, maybe it's a
good sign that he's saying nothing.
I keep massaging.
Around his shoulder blades and across his shoulders to the top of his arms. I
try to make it a real massage, using my thumbs to rub and squeeze deeply, to
try to ease his pain, even if it isn't physical.
He takes a deep
breath. Here it comes! Now I'm going to cop it!
Instead of
yelling, he asks, softly, "Who taught you to do that, lad? It feels really
nice."
"My best friend,
Sir," I answer. "He's very good at it."
"Why do you think
that he's your best friend, lad?" Gino says.
"Because he told
me so, Sir, and sent me a love-heart emoji," I say, and keep massaging.
"Is that the only
reason, lad?" he replies.
"No, Sir," I say.
"He's my best friend because I really want to make him happy."
"And just how would
you intend to make him happy, lad?" he asks.
"By being there
for him, whenever he wants me to be, Sir, and to learn everything that he
teaches me, as best as I can, and to keep all of his secrets." Then I add, "And
by learning to speak to him in Italian."
"What would you
say to him, lad, if you could speak Italian?"
"I think, Sir,
that I would say, `Grazie per essere il mio migliore amico in tutto il mondo."
Gino turns in the
chair and grins at me. "Where did you learn that? Your pronunciation is
terrible!"
"Off the internet,
but I don't know how it's supposed to sound, properly," I say to him, smiling.
He repeats my
words, with the most musical Italian pronunciation, then gives me back the
translation, "Thank you for being my very best friend in the whole world."
"I know what it
means," I tell him. "That's why I learned it."
"So, you would
like to be an Italian, would you?" he asks.
"Oh, yes, Sir," I
answer.
Without speaking,
he stands, grabs my head, and kisses me on both cheeks. "That will do for
starters," he says. Then he hugs me.
I kiss him back as
tenderly as I can, on both cheeks, and ask, "Did I do it right, Sir?"
"Since the
beginning of Year 7," I say. "This is my third year."
"Then, how come
I've never seen you before?" he asks.
"Big fish like you
probably don't look at little fish like me in a large ocean," I reply. Then I
add, "But this little fish has certainly been watching one particular big fish
for nearly three years."
"Do you like
fishing?" Gino asks, changing the subject, but using my analogy.
"Would you like to
go fishing on a big boat and catch big fish?" he asks. "I could arrange that."
"I think that I
might have caught a big fish already!" I smile at him. "One who can not only
swim, but who plays tennis, and gives terrific massages."
He gets it!
"My uncle goes
fishing for marlin," Gino says. "Tag and release. Let me know if you want to
try it."
"I'm happy to try
anything once," I say.
He grins at me as
though he might have something new in mind.
Gino has recovered
his composure, and I reinforce the point to him that I want to keep out of his
way at school, so that nobody suspects that we are `best friends', "migliori
amici".
He,
again, shakes his head at my pronunciation.
He looks at me and says slowly, "Migliori amici," in
beautiful Italian, using his hand expressively as if to emphasise the
pronunciation.
"Migliori amici," I repeat, smiling, and attempting to
copy his pronunciation, and hand gesture.
He laughs and we hug.
"You go first, to the Year 9 lunch area," he tells me.
"In case anybody is watching, I'll wait for a minute and then head in the
opposite direction to the Prefects' Common Room. That's what anyone would be
expecting."
On my inside, I'm
thrilled. However, sensing that people from my class are milling around, waiting
for me, staring at me, I put my head down and walk as though I have been
chastised, trying not to appear happy.
PART 2
As I walk, the
words keep repeating in my head, as if on a continuous loop, "Migliori amici.
Best friends."
The afternoon
lessons fly by.
Mum picks me up
and comments as we drive, "Did you have a good day, dear?"
"Yes, Mum," I
reply. "It was a great day!"
"Why?" she asks.
I reply, "Swimming
was great this morning, and I've almost got the hang of the arms and breathing
going properly. Coach says that we'll try it without the kickboard next week."
"Is that all?" she
says.
"No. Not really,"
I answer, thinking of what I can tell her, and what I can't say. "Some of the
teachers were at a conference today, so we had some study periods just before
and after lunch." I add, "It was good, because I was able to do all of my
homework and catch up on some reading for English."
"That's good," Mum
says, while keeping her eyes on the road.
I feel that it's
my turn to ask a question. "Why?"
"Why, what?" Mum
replies, glancing at me quickly.
"Why did you ask
me if I'd had a good day?" I put to her. "You haven't asked me that since I was
in about Grade 2, that I can remember."
"Well, you just
seem happier than usual," Mum replies. "Especially this afternoon. Can't a
mother ask her son why he's in such a good mood?"
I know, from
experience, that Mum can ask lots of questions and end up finding out all sorts
of things that my sister and I didn't want to divulge.
Maybe I can,
truthfully, tell her a whole lot of things that will get `Mrs Sherlock Holmes'
off my case! "Well," I start, "I think that I've finally found something that
I'm good at. My coach says that I have a lot of potential and he is amazed at
how much I've been able to achieve in just one week. He said that my ability
was actually there all along, hiding, and that I just needed to `let it out'."
Then, to my agenda
not hers, I add everything that I think Mum might want to pick up on. "I've
learnt how to dive, and I can swim the width of the pool underwater, and I can
now kick properly, and breath to both sides, and I've just about mastered
coordinating the arms."
"Anything else?"
she asks, not taking my diversionary bait.
I have to think
harder. "Well, the other boys have stopped making fun of me for not having a
mobile phone," I tell her. "That makes a big difference at school."
"Is that all?" she
says.
See what I mean?
Sherlock Holmes! Or is she playing `Twenty Questions' with me?
I'm not sure where
this is going, and I'm starting to feel a little uncomfortable. I definitely
don't want to mention my `Migliori amici'. I should look up the Italian for
`best friend', singular instead of `...friends', plural.
"I can't think of
anything else at the moment," I tell her. "Except, maybe, I'm enjoying not
doing the dishes for the rest of the month."
She turns and
looks at me, smiles, then focusses back on the road.
I can't help
feeling that there's something else on her mind. I hope that it's not about
Gino, or she will ask too many questions. Hasn't she extracted enough?
She doesn't say
anything else, so neither do I.
Thursday morning.
We start with a couple of laps of just plain leg work, using the kick board.
Then a few more with the breathing included, and then we introduce the arm
motions.
"Fantastic work,
Robbo!" Gino tells me as I stand up at the shallow end. He bends down, extends
his fist and I bump it.
"Thanks," I tell
him.
"Before we do
something different, can you just do two more laps. Except, this time, after
you take a breath on each side twice, I'd like you to speed up your kicking for
the next two. And repeat that pattern all of the way down and back. Normal
kicking for two breaths on each side and faster kicking on each side for two,
and so on. Can you do that?"
"Let me try it," I
say. The first time that I speed up it feels weird. But my legs quickly adjust,
and I soon discover a rhythm. On the way back up the pool, each time that I
breathe on the side towards the edge, I become aware of two people looking at me.
Not just looking, but watching me, and walking along with me, and talking
together. When I finish the second lap, the `watchers' head towards the office.
Gino makes no
comment about them but compliments me, "Excellent, Robbo, excellent!"
Putting the
kickboard onto the concrete at the end of pool, I say, "Thanks, Gino. What's
next?"
"Do you remember
that I first commented on your potential as a breast stroker?" he asks.
"Yes," I reply.
"Well," he says,
"let's work a bit on that. We should start with the proper kicking."
"OK," I say.
Gino continues, "I
want you to hop out of the pool and watch me while I demonstrate."
As I leverage
myself out of the pool at the end, he glances at my clinging Speedos, then he
picks up the kickboard and jumps in. If he could read my mind, he would hear,
`It's OK to look!' as if it was giving him permission. I smile at him. And he
looks again. LOL
Gino explains the
kicking mechanics and invites me to observe while he demonstrates, while
holding the kickboard.
I walk alongside
the pool and note what it looks like from the side. He turns and repeats the
half-dozen kicks back to where he started.
"Now, stand at the
end, and watch it from behind," Gino says.
I like this angle!
But it's hard to concentrate on the kick and not on his tight, athletic glutes.
I force myself to note how his legs part and come back together. It even
looks good as he heads back towards me. My brain assembles the side-on and
back-side views together. LOL.
"Jump in and try
it," Gino tells me, standing up. "I'll walk alongside you on the edge of the
pool. Just a short way down and back, like I did."
The first thing
that I do, like he did, was check out the clinging Speedos. Nice. Haha, I know
exactly what's underneath!
I push the
kickboard down the pool a bit and back. I realise that it's not too much
different to how I had already been swimming under water.
"Pretty good for a
first effort," Gino tells me. "Almost right!"
He explains what
I'm doing, and what he wants me to adjust.
Second time, he
gives me a thumbs-up. "OK. Let's see you do a full lap," he says.
He offers tips and
encouragement from the edge as he walks alongside me, and explains where the
power in the stroke comes from. At the deep end, he grabs another kick board
and jumps in beside me. "Glide for a little longer," he says. "I'll swim with
you. Do what I do. Stroke for stroke."
We head back
towards the shallow end and, with Gino alongside me, I quickly sync with his
rhythm.
I glance to the
other side, and the `watchers' are back! Walking and watching and whispering.
Again, they head for the office. I can't even imagine what they have been
looking at.
We stand up and
Gino is very complimentary. We grab our towels and head for the showers. We
hang our towels on the pegs. Gino looks around and, seeing nobody, pulls me
into a close hug, with one hand on my backside. "You are a really incredible
guy!" he says, then immediately releases me.
We wash off the
chlorine, dry ourselves and pull on our tracksuits.
I don't see him at
school, except once, as I pass him once in a corridor. I'm alone. He's walking with
a couple of other prefects. His only acknowledgment of me is a quick wink.
Nobody else would have noticed! Migliori amici! Secret ones. I wonder what the
Italian is for `secret friends'.
On the way home,
Dad only asks me `sensible' questions. "How's it going?" is the first one. "Are
you playing tennis again on Saturday?" is his second.
The first is easy
to answer, and I give him a run-down of everything. To the second one I reply,
"I think so, but I'll have to check with Gino that it's still OK," adding, "I
hope that I get some help with my serve from Franco, the tennis coach, this week."
He changes the
subject, and comments on how much more `subdued' my sister has been for the
past few nights. I grin broadly. He notices. He grins back at me.
Friday is mostly a
repeat of Thursday. Except that, instead of the `watchers' I notice the
presence of the Coach at one stage, who is out of his office.
At the end of our
session the Coach intercepts us on the way to the dressing sheds and says,
"Hello Rob. Gino, can you please get dressed and then come and have a talk with
me in the office." It sounds more like an instruction than a question.
"What's
happening?" I ask Gino as soon as the Coach leaves us alone.
"No idea!" he
replies. "It could also be something about the competition tomorrow morning."
We shower and
change quickly. While getting dressed, Gino asks, "You still OK for tennis
tomorrow, Robbo? Same arrangement as last week? Pick you up at one o'clock?
Message me if anything changes."
"Absolutely!" I
reply, grinning. "I'm really looking forward to it."
"Me too!" Gino
says, then comments, "Well, I'd better see what the Coach wants. Maybe he wants
to change the order of our relay team."
"OK. See you at
one," I tell him and say, "I'll just wait inside now until I see my Dad." We
bump fists. At least we can do that in public!
Gino goes into the
Coach's office and pushes the door behind him, but it doesn't fully shut.
I look out into
the car park where Dad usually pulls up. He's not here yet.
I step back a few
metres and can hear the Coach's voice from his office, "Gino, I had one of the
other coaches come and talk to me about what you have been doing with our new
boy, Rob Armstrong."
"What do you mean,
Coach?" I hear Gino reply.
He sounds very
nervous.
I suddenly feel
very nervous.
Has someone
reported what Gino and I have been doing? How did they know?
The Coach says,
"One of the other coaches was watching the two of you together and came to see
me about it. Based on what he told me, I called in a couple of outsiders to
watch you as well. You would have seen them yesterday."
"Yes, I did," Gino
answers. "I wondered who they were."
"And today, I've
been watching you more closely myself," I hear the Coach say.
I see Dad's car
pulling into the car park entrance and, suddenly remember that, in my haste,
I've left my towel in the change room. I dash to retrieve it, sling it over my
shoulder, then hurry back.
I realise that
I've missed some of what the Coach is telling Gino but, as I pick up my
backpack to head out to Dad, I hear the Coach say, "I've already had a
conversation with your headmaster, late yesterday afternoon. I'm going to be
sorry to see you leave us, Gino."
It almost stops me
in my tracks, but I keep walking, and use a corner of my towel to wipe my eyes.
"Hi, sport," Dad
says, as I open the door. "Chlorine a bit strong this morning, was it?"
I'm glad that he
doesn't focus on my miserable face, choosing instead to navigate his way to the
car park exit.
It's only five
minutes to our place, and Dad fills in that time telling me all sorts of stuff
about some guy at his work leaving, which might be a good opportunity for Dad.
I grunt responses
to some of Dad's statements at what seem to be appropriate places but I don't
really hear what he is telling me. My mind is focussed totally on Gino.
Is he going to be
arrested for mucking around with me? He's 18 years old, and I haven't reached 16
yet, the age of consent.
How could anybody
know anything? We've been really careful since those first two days. Did
somebody see him grabbing me in the pool that day? Or again the second day? Or
hugging me? Or messing up my hair? Or hear us in the showers? Or in the First
Aid room?
I'm really worried
for him.
What will my
parents say, and do, when they find out?
And, what will
happen to Gino at school?
It's all my fault
for constantly checking out his body that first day! If I hadn't done that, he
wouldn't have done anything with me and he wouldn't be in trouble with the law
now.
I recall the
Lifeline talk in assembly, and all of Gino's checked boxes, and I pray that he
doesn't take his own life out of desperation and fear of shaming his family!
I put on a brave
face over breakfast and, given a choice, let Dad drive me to school instead of
Mum. I'd rather get an earful of irrelevant information than a Sherlock Holmes'
interrogation!
While Dad is
driving and talking, I look up the Italian for `best friend', instead of
`friends', on my phone and commit it to memory. And, I even find `amici
segreti', secret friends, and `amico segreto', secret friend.
"See you this
afternoon, buddy," Dad says, before he drives off.
I walk down the
driveway. My heart is thumping and my whole body is sweating. I don't see
Gino's car. It's not where I discovered that he parks it. He needs his
`migliori amico' now more than ever. I want to find him. I have to find him,
but I don't know whether I should approach him, or what I should say if I do
find him.
The bell for first
period rings and I still haven't seen Gino.
At morning recess,
I stroll through the Senior's playground, hoping to spot him. I even check the
canteen in case he's on duty. His usual car space is still empty. Nothing.
By lunchtime, I'm
feeling exhausted. Physically and emotionally. Why isn't he here?
I sit in a quiet,
shaded area by myself and a million `if-only' regrets run through my head. If
I'm feeling this bad, I can't imagine what Gino must be experiencing.
My phone buzzes.
It's a message from Gino, <Hi Robbo. We need to talk. Not now. Really busy.
Tomorrow at tennis. Ciao mio migliore amico> plus a love-heart. It's the
love-heart that breaks me up, and I try to conceal my tears.
Thankfully there
is nobody near me.
He has been
interrogated by the police all day and he still thinks to sends me a
love-heart!
My <R U OK?>
text to him doesn't get a response.
I blow my nose and
wipe my eyes. And try to breathe. I can't say anything to Dad about Gino
without incriminating myself, so when he picks me up, I just ask him a couple
of questions about work. This keeps him talking for the five-minute drive home.
I go straight to
my room to change, and manage to avoid Mum until she calls me for dinner, by
which time I'm feeling more in control of my emotions.
Fortunately, my
sister's babble doesn't allow for any other conversation.
I excuse myself
from the table, saying that I was in the middle of a game on my iPad and that
I'm keen to get back to it.
There are no
questions.
I lie on my bed,
thinking. Overthinking everything. Negative consequences. And regrets. And I
remember what I heard the Coach say. That he had already spoken to our
headmaster, who, I'm sure, would have immediately contacted Gino's parents.
I worry that Gino
might consider taking his own life overnight.
My only comfort is
that he still wants to talk with me and still wants to play tennis tomorrow,
which tells me that he's not locked up! Not yet! I pray, really hard, that God
will keep him safe until I see him.
Again, my
<Gino, R U OK?> remains unanswered.
I do not sleep
well.
I must have slept
at some time because I stir only at the knocking on my bedroom door.
"Yeah?" I mumble,
forcing at least one of my eyes open.
Dad comes in,
closes the door, and sits at the end of my bed. "Are you all right, son?" he
asks.
"Huh?" the mouth
part of my body responds.
He repeats his
question and adds, "Did you have some kind of nightmare during the night? I haven't
heard you make those kinds of groaning noises since you were a little kid. Do
you remember back then?"
"Not really," I
tell him. "What was that all about?"
Dad takes hold of
one of my feet, and jiggles it as he talks to me. "You used to have bad dreams
about all kinds of things, but usually being chased by some kind of monster."
"Oh, yes," I say.
"Thanks for reminding me." Sarcasm!
"So, are you OK,
Rob?" Dad asks for a third time.
His words
instantly remind me of my messages to Gino. But Dad needs an answer.
Fortunately, my creative brain is up to the task. "I don't remember much Dad,"
I tell him. "Except maybe that there was a whole bunch of guys at school,
jealous of my new iPhone, that were trying to get it away from me."
I turn to my night
stand and look at my phone. I need to check if Gino responded during the night.
Dad follows my
eyes. "It's still here!" he chuckles to me. "Looks like the bad guys didn't get
it. You must have outrun them!"
"Thanks, Dad," I
tell him. "I'm fine, but thanks for checking in on me."
"Love you, son,"
he says. "See you for breakfast in about ten minutes?"
"Sure," I reply.
He pats my leg,
stands up and closes my door again on his way out.
I grab my phone.
This is urgent! I see the notification of a message from Gino! Yes! At last! I
open it and read: <Hey, Robbo. SUP? Pick you up at 1:00. Talk then. G>
I look at the time
when he sent it. 2:05 am? What the hell was he doing awake at that time? Was he
thinking of doing something bad to himself? Unlikely, because he was thinking
of me and said he would be picking me up later. Was he getting an earful from
his family? I hope not. Maybe he just needed to pee.
Hey! The power of
suggestion! My feet quickly find the floor and I check the front of my pyjamas
before heading for the toilet. Not wet and sticky. Phew! Hurry!
I pull down the
front of my pyjamas and underpants and let fly! With my hand firmly wrapped
around my semi-hard morning wood, I imagine Gino holding me and me holding him.
And of letting fly a stream of white stuff on the massage table in the gym at
school.
It becomes more
difficult to pee as my dick gets harder. Now that I know how, I'm really
tempted to jack off, but I really want Gino to do it for me.
Cold water on my
face and arms helps `things' to go down.
I'm in a much
better mood than I was twelve hours ago, and I enjoy breakfast. Making fun of
my newly-discovered abilities, my little sister doesn't even get under my skin.
She'll be sorry!
At the right time, she's going to end up doing the dishes for a way lot longer
than a month. Haha!
Dad says he has an
early golf game.
My sister is going
to a friend's place for the weekend. Yeah!
Mum's going
shopping.
And I'm going to
play with Gino. On the tennis court, and in the gym!
Dog poo first.
I'm really excited
to hear the low growl of Gino's car, as he changes gears, and approaches our
driveway. He's early! And, I'm down the stairs and opening the door almost
before he turns off the engine. He gets out of the car and walks toward the
house, probably expecting to greet Mum or Dad again.
"Jobs all done?"
he asks, smirking at me.
I don't understand
why he's in such a good mood. "Yes," I tell him. "I've been waiting for you.
I've been home alone for about an hour. Everyone's out. Golf. Sleepover.
Shopping."
"Happy to see me,
are you?" he asks, checking out the front of my tennis shorts.
"You have no
idea!" I say. Then I ask, "Hey, would you like to come up and see my bedroom?"
He is silent for a
few moments.
"Are you sure that
it's OK?" he asks.
"No better time!"
I tell him. "Mum shops for hours. Dad won't be back till this afternoon and my
sister is gone for the rest of the weekend."
I look at his
tennis shorts. I reckon that he's happy to see me too. "C'mon," I say to him.
Inside, I waste no
time in leading him up to my room and I close the door. I don't need to, but
I'm not used to leaving it open.
He makes a comment
about how neat and clean my room is.
I reply, "Well, I
don't want my mother coming in here to tidy things up! She might find things
that I don't want her to see."
Gino doesn't ask,
but I think of damp pyjama pants and a couple of sexy magazines under my
mattress.
It's not hard to
`show him around'; I just point at things. My bed is last.
"This where I
dream about you, mio migliore amico," I tell him.
"Is it
comfortable, Robbo?" he asks, grinning.
I couldn't have
planned a better excuse to get him onto it.
"Try it!" I say.
He sits, bounces a
few times, then lays himself down, with his head on my pillow.
"What do you
think?" I ask.
"Very
comfortable," he replies. Then he looks into my eyes and asks, "What's it like
with two people?"
"I don't know." I
tell him. "Never had a chance to try that!"
"Want to find out,
now?" he says, smiling.
Hey! I don't need
a second invitation! This is almost like one of my recent dreams!
He moves over a
little and I lay myself down next to him. He takes my hand, and we just lie
together. I'm in heaven! Then, "Not bad for two," I say.
"But there's
really not much room, is there?" Gino answers, "What about this then...?" and he
rolls on top of me. Then he kisses me on both cheeks. I kiss him back. On both
cheeks.
We both laugh. He
moves sort-of like doing a push up and rubs his hard dick against mine. "Nice!"
he says.
"Hey, can I please
try that?" I ask.
He rolls off me,
onto his back, and helps me onto him. He wraps his arms around me then lets one
hand grasp my butt. I feel his hips rise and fall, lifting me up and down, and
I love feeling of his dick and mine pressing against each other."
"How long will
your mother be?" he asks.
"Not sure," I tell
him. "But, she's only been gone for an hour. She told me which shopping centre
she was going, and that's about 20 minutes away. I can't imagine that she'd be
back for at least another 15 minutes. At least. Maybe a half hour. Maybe even
longer. Why?"
"How would you
like to do this with no clothes on?" He asks. "We could be quick."
I wasn't expecting
this, but my throbbing dick makes an instant decision for me. Without
answering, I roll sideways, stand up and start to strip off. Gino does the
same. Matching Speedos again today, I see! Our dicks are both fully stiff with
excitement.
He pulls me into a
hug and, with our naked bodies pressing against each other and our hands
squeezing each other's butts, we swap Italian kisses.
We urge each other
to my bed, how we were a couple of minutes ago, with me on top of him. We
wrestle and push our bodies together and roll back and forth. We end up with
him on top of me.
"Wait, Robbo," he
tells me. He raises himself enough to push his dick under my balls and between
my legs. Then he lays on me again and he starts pushing it in and out, between
my legs.
I suddenly feel
that it's very slippery down there and he starts to groan as he pushes. I grab
both of his glutes and feel them contract each time that he pushes. I love
feeling his glutes and of his dick sliding between my legs!
"Oh, Robbo," he
says. "This is so amazing. You want to try it?"
He doesn't wait
for an answer, rolls us over so that he is on the bottom, then helps me to put
my dick between his legs. I push a couple of times. He says, "Stop for a
minute." He pushes me off him, then I watch as he squeezes his dick from the
bottom to the top, then rubs my dick. It's really slippery.
"Where did that
come from?" I ask him. "It feels like the massage oil, only better."
"It's called
`pre-cum' and happens when I get excited and before I spurt," he says,
returning my dick to its former position.
I let the full
weight of my body down onto his, and my dick glides and sinks between his legs.
I restart pushing. I make my hips rise up and I push down. "OMG!" I tell him.
"You were right. This feels absolutely fantastic." I keep going, making `oh
yeah' sounds until I feel a tingle. I say, "Gino, I think that I'm going to..."
I freeze. He
quickly pushes my hips up, grabs my dick and holds it, pointing at his stomach.
I spurt and spurt and spurt. Most of it is in his hand. Some is on his stomach
and in his hairs. He wets his dick with his handful of my stuff, then holds me
against him and starts to push against my body. I feel him sliding on my
stomach. I hear him groaning. I feel him spurting. I feel him relax. I love the
feeling of his sexy body against mine, with me lying on him.
"Well, I hadn't
planned for that to happen," he whispers to me. "But I'm really glad that it
did. What about you, Rob? Are you OK?"
My brain is
constantly repeating, `I'm having sex with my school vice-captain! I'm having
sex with my best friend! I'm having sex with my swimming coach! I'm having
sex!'
"Absolutely!" I
tell him, interrupting my own day dreams. "I'll remember this day forever!
Especially since I may never see you again."
I regret my words
immediately. I'm not supposed to know about him being locked up by the police! I
hope that they're not watching my house, and that they haven't been using that
eavesdropping sound-technology that I see on TV to listen in on us.
"What?" Gino says,
looking up at me, his face changing instantly from thrilled to terrified. "What
are you saying?"
"Isn't that what
you wanted to tell me about today?" I ask him.
"Where on earth
did that come from?" he questions me, his body tensing.
I say, "I didn't
mean to overhear what the Coach said to you yesterday, Gino. I'm sorry. I
thought that you were going to tell me today about being arrested by the police
and locked up."
"What?" Gino
repeats. "Whatever gave you that idea?"
"While I was
waiting for my Dad yesterday, the Coach's door wasn't closed properly," I say,
very apologetically. "I heard the Coach say that you had been reported by one
of the other coaches for mucking around with me. Coach told him to watch us
carefully and then he called in two plainclothes detectives who were watching
us on Thursday. I also heard him say that he had already told the headmaster
about it, and that he would be sorry because you had to leave. I thought he
meant that you were going to be sent to jail."
His body relaxes.
His face alters. He starts laughing. "You're having me on, Robbo. You're
playing a joke on me, aren't you, you little devil? That was really cruel,
Robbo. Why would you do that?"
He starts to
tickle me. However, I don't giggle. I start to cry. "Why are you laughing?" I blubber
to him. "It's not funny. I don't want you to be locked up. It's all my fault. I
started it all by checking out the dick in your Speedos!"
He hugs me with
one arm, squeezes my butt with the other then starts to rock me. I feel like a
baby. He kisses me. Not Italian-style. First on my wet eyes, then, holding my
head with both hands, on the mouth. "You are priceless!" he tells me.
He just holds me
until I regain some composure.
"So, you're not
going to be locked up?" I ask him.
"No." is his
simple answer.
"But I heard..." I
start.
He cuts me off.
"Let's have this conversation in the car. Carlos and Franco will be waiting for
us. Do you have any tissues?" he asks, looking around, and at all the stuff on
our bodies.
"Better than
that," I tell him, reaching under my pillow. And I produce my pyjama pants. He
laughs. So do I. They weren't wet and sticky this morning, but they certainly will
be now! And not just my spunk! Now they'll have Gino's too. I'll probably add
more tonight. LOL.
He cleans us both
up and we get dressed. I gather my tennis gear.
"Hey," he says.
You'd better open a window to let some fresh air in. Or let some smelly air
out!
As we get into his
car, he puts my backpack behind us, reaches for his gym bag, and produces some
deodorant. "Here, spray this under your shirt. You'll smell nicer," he tells
me.
I do it, then he
takes the can from me and `sweetens up' his own body too.
We don't speak
again until the car is in top gear. Then he starts, "Franco is going to give
you some help with serving today. I spoke with him yesterday."
"Tell me about
yesterday," I say. "What was so funny about what I heard? And don't leave out
anything or it could get painful!" I put my hand in his lap and feel for his
balls.
"Have you ever
heard the expression `A little knowledge is dangerous'?" he asks.
"What does that
have to do with anything?" I answer, loving the roundness of his balls in his
shorts. He parts his legs to give me better access. He likes this! He's gay.
Maybe I'm gay, because I love it too.
"It has everything
to do with yesterday," he says. "You only heard part of what the Coach told me,
and then you made up a whole incorrect story around the missing bits. That was
dangerous!"
"So, what did I
miss?" I ask.
"Did you miss me?"
he answers, easily locating my semi-hard dick with his gear-changing hand.
"Of course I did!"
I tell him, and I open my legs wider. "But that's not what I meant."
"Let me start at
the beginning," Gino says. "Firstly, the other coach didn't see us mucking
around together. I told you that I was being careful, didn't I? What he saw was
me coaching you and noticing a miraculous change in your ability. And that's
what he told the Coach."
"So, he didn't
report you for anything?" I ask.
"Only for being a
terrific coach," Gino answers me. "He should have reported you instead, for
being a terrific student!"
"What about the
two guys who were watching us on Thursday?" I put to him. "Weren't they
police?"
"Hardly," Gino
replies. "I didn't know who they were at the time, but it turns out that they
were two staff from the Australian Institute of Sport, who were invited by the
Coach to watch you, Robbo. He showed them the first videos that he had taken of
you, then suggested that they look at you now. Do you remember what you were
like in that video that Coach sent to your dad?"
"Hell, yeah!" I
answer. "And, that video got me out of doing dishes for a month."
"Apparently, they
had a long discussion with the Coach, then said that, based on the improvement
that they saw in you, and after watching me interact with you, and if you
continued to improve under my coaching, then they were prepared to possibly
offer me a full scholarship to study coaching at the AIS, in conjunction with
the Australian National University, starting next year. That would include accommodation,
meals, and all tuition fees. Not that my family couldn't afford it anyway, but
it's the achievement and the honour of the thing that is so wonderful! And I
would be able to work with Australia's top swimmers and other athletes,
including our Olympic team members. The coach was so pleased for me that he
rang the headmaster at school and shared the good news with him."
"Where is the
AIS?" I ask. "Will you have to move away?"
Gino says, "It's
in Canberra. That's only a couple of hours down the motorway. Three at the
most."
"So, you will be
moving away!" I state, and remove my hand from his shorts, as a show of my
displeasure.
Gino doesn't
remove his hand, but gives my balls a jiggle. "C'mon, Robbo," he says. "I am
leaving school at the end of this year anyway, and who knows where I might have
ended up. This way, we will still be close enough for me to come home at
weekends, and get together with you, if you want me to."
"Of course, I want
you to!" I tell him. "Especially after what we just did in my bedroom! I want
you every weekend."
He takes hold of
my hand and guides it back to the front of his shorts. "We have months to sort
out the details. Maybe your parents would let you come and visit me during the
holidays, maybe stay a while. I haven't checked everything out yet, but there might
even be a possibility at the AIS for you, too, if you keep improving like you
have done so far. I reckon that the Coach may want to enter you in our club
competitions soon. What do you think of that?"
I think to myself,
`So if I don't improve, Gino won't be offered a scholarship and he won't have
to move.' However, I couldn't do that to him! This is important to him! And for
me! With Gino's help I can become a somebody instead of a mummy's-boy-nobody.
I face the reality
of what Gino has said, and accept that things could be a lot worse!
Gino removes his
hand from my shorts as we approach the school. "Ok. Here we are! We'd better
allow our excitements time to go down! Think of being in a really cold shower."
It takes a couple
of minutes to slowly drive down to the tennis courts. By then, "I reckon that
I'm OK to get out now," I tell Gino. He knows what I mean.
"Give me an extra
minute," Gino smiles. "I think that I'll adjust my imaginary shower from cold
to freezing. And have my mother walk in on me. That'll do it."
I tune in to his
imagination, and picture my Mum doing the same to me. My dick shrinks even
further!
We collect our
tennis racquets and head into the courts. Franco and Carlos come over to greet
us.
"Hello Rob," they
both say to me, and we bump fists. I acknowledge them by name. Gino does the
same.
Franco starts,
"Have you been practising what you learned last week, Rob?"
I have to be
honest. "Not much, Franco. Either my sister or my Mum kept complaining about
the continual thumping of the tennis ball on the back wall of our house, and I
had to stop. So, my practice time was very limited because there are not many
times when I'm home alone!"
Gino looks at me
and winks. I smirk. My balls tingle.
"Ok, let's have a
bit of a hit, in pairs. We can swap around," Franco says. "Then, when you are
warmed up, we can have a look at your serve. Carlos can start with Gino, and
you and I can hit together."
Franco and I move
to the adjacent court. He is very gentle, hitting balls to positions on either
my forehand or backhand so that I can easily do the footwork and backswing
preparation.
"Good... Very good..."
he encourages. "Get the front foot set a bit sooner..."
I'm feeling very
good about how I'm hitting them.
"Excellent!"
Franco calls from the other end of the court. "You could do with a bit more
practice. Let's hope that your sister and mother go out a bit more often!"
Gino hears. He and
I look across at each other and grin. He misses the ball from Carlos.
"OK! Let's swap,"
Franco announces. "Carlos with Rob and Gino with me." Then he adds to his
brother, "Be kind to him Carlos!"
I enjoy hitting
with Carlos. He and I both return the ball so that it's within easy reach.
However, he gradually turns up the intensity and offers me some advice of his
own. "Get set as soon as you can. Move into position and then take the racquet
back, ready to hit. A bit more side-on for a better swing."
We get a good
rhythm going. Even Franco and Gino stop to watch. At the end of a long rally,
they both applaud.
"OK, Rob," Franco
says. "Come over here, and we'll look at your serve. Gino and Carlos can play a
set and then you can play with Gino when Carlos and I leave.
Gino looks at me.
He and I obviously read much more into Franco's words than what was intended.
LOL.
He gets me to show
him how I set up and serve, and is very patient and encouraging in correcting
just about everything that I do.
In the end, I'm
getting about three quarters of my serves over the net and into the right
court.
"Don't worry about
hitting them hard," Franco tells me. "That will come with practice." He
finishes with, "Excellent work! You might end up playing tennis for your school
in another year or so! Keep at it, Rob."
We watch the `end'
of the set between Gino and Carlos, with Franco giving me pointers on what each
of them is doing well.
They call it a
draw at 4 games each.
I have to confess,
but not to Franco, that I was focussing a lot on Gino's fantastic backside.
"OK, we need to be
off," Franco says, looking at his watch. "Good to see you guys again. Not sure
what we're doing next week. Gino and I can text each other. C'mon Carlos, let's
go."
I thank Franco for
all of his help and we bump fists.
Carlos and I shake
hands and he encourages me to keep practising. "I look forward to being here on
the day that you can beat Gino!" he tells me.
"I heard that!"
Gino trumpets to Carlos. "And I look forward to seeing him beat you too."
Franco adds his
bit, "Who knows, he could possibly beat both of you one day!"
With laughter all
`round, they leave.
"So, now we can
play together," Gino says. Then he adds, "Out here, or inside?"
Gino locks the
courts and the racquets go back into the car.
We go into the gym
and, like last week, Gino deactivates the alarm and the CCTV, and locks the
door behind us. We strip down to our Speedos and I surprise myself by my
boldness. "Where should we play, Gino? Massage table or showers?"
"We can do both,
Robbo," Gino answers. "It depends on where you would like to finish, if you know
what I mean!"
I'm not feeling at
all inhibited with him. "You mean, where do we want to spurt, don't you?"
"That's exactly
what I meant, Robbo. Your choice," he tells me.
"Well, I enjoyed
what we did last week on the massage table," I say. "But I really enjoyed what
we did on my bed earlier, too. What do you think, Gino?"
He offers, "What
if we start on the massage table, get each other really excited, without
spurting, then finish each other off in the showers if we soap up our bodies
and rub them together, like in your room?"
"Excellent!" I
tell him. "But I have one request."
"What would you
like, Robbo?" he asks me.
"Instead of me
lying on the table, can I massage you first and do what you did to me last
week?"
"Sure!" he says.
"And maybe I can help your massage technique. Although, there was nothing wrong
with how you did my neck and shoulders the other day at school!"
He sets everything
up, including the oil.
"Leave your
Speedos on, too," I say. "Just like last time."
I put the oil on
his muscly back and broad shoulders and spread it around. Across. Back and
forth. Up and down.
Last week I
enjoyed his hands on my body. Now, I love feeling his excellent body. I'm
already getting hard!
"You can press a
bit harder," he comments. "I won't break."
I do it all again,
pressing more deeply. "Oh, nice!" he groans. "Excellent!"
"Time for the
legs," I say, as if I'm in charge.
In response, he
opens them, more than I did the first time, then, "Go for it!" he tells me.
I spread some oil
on both thighs, even his calves. I firmly rub one leg from near his backside
down to his ankle then up again, stopping just short of his Speedos. I can see
where his balls are. But not yet!
Three times, like
he did to me. I do his other leg exactly the same. Fantastic muscles!
I even remember
his words, and I repeat them. "Right-o. Turn over."
"Great job, so
far," he says, lying on his back. "And nice touch, by including my calves!"
And, just like he
doesn't adjust his clinging Speedos at the pool, he makes no attempt to release
the swelling in the front of them now. I'm sure that it's sticking up way more
than mine did last week!
I start on his
chest, but it's less of a massage and more of me just getting the chance to
play with his firm pecs and his flat abs. I store the feeling away in my memory
for a `nice' dream at night.
Then I oil his
"quad muscles," naming them as I do it.
"You remembered!"
he comments.
"I try to remember
everything," I reply. "Tell me if I miss something."
"No prob, Rob!" he
says, then laughs at his mini poetry.
"Like I've never
heard that before!" I jokingly sneer at him.
I spread the oil
downwards but apply more pressure working back up. Working up the inside of his
thigh, it's hard to avoid his balls, so I don't even try, like he didn't. I
press right into the crease of his leg and his dick jumps.
Three times.
I do the same to
the other thigh, deliberately brushing his other ball, and enjoying watching
the effect on his dick when I push in, underneath it.
I see a wet patch
on his Speedos near the end of his dick.
With his hand by
his side, he doesn't wait for me to rub my body against him. He reaches for the
front of my Speedos and starts to play.
This all feels so
naughty, and yet so exciting!
I've been
anticipating and looking forward to the next bit. I rub across his quads and
work my way right up to the top. Without delaying anything, I move my hand
right on top of his erection and leave it there.
Well, I don't just
leave it there. I start to play with him, like he's doing to me.
When his dick
jumps, so does mine. Unlike last time, I pull the top of his Speedos down,
releasing his stiffness. It virtually jumps out.
I play with his
hairs, and his balls and his dick, which is already leaking pre-cum.
"Do we need to go
to the showers yet?" I ask him, showing him how wet and sticky and excited he
already is, by rubbing it down his penis.
"Not just yet," he
replies, and his hand pulls down the front of my Speedos and hitches it under
my balls. Everything is hanging out and sticking up.
We play with each
other.
I love it!
"Do you want me to
massage you, or just keep playing until we need to go to the showers?" he asks.
"You could massage
me in the showers," I reply, and I keep playing. So does he.
It's only when my
own dick gets wet and slippery and I start to moan, that Gino says, "It's
probably time to move now."
We don't bother
covering ourselves with towels and head straight for the showers. Gino adjusts
the water, steps in, fills his hands with liquid soap and motions me to join
him.
He pulls me into a
close hug and immediately begins to soap up my back as far down as he can
reach, which is past my glutes. He washes between my legs, brushing over my
hole multiple times, without stopping to `give me the finger'.
Then, with me
leaning my front against him, he gives me a stand-up version of a back massage,
with soap instead of oil.
I feel great. I
love his hands rubbing all over me.
"OK. My turn," I
say and he lets me do the same to him. It feels weirdly wonderful washing his
backside and between his legs.
I decide to be
daring and I rub a soapy finger deliberately back and forth across his hole.
"What are you
doing?" he asks.
"I thought that
you said you might like this," I tell him. "So, I'm seeing if you do."
"Keep going," he
laughs. "You can even put it in, if you want to."
After a while he
reaches for more soap. He washes under his balls and between his legs, then
takes hold of my dick and positions it where he has just soaped. "Go for it,"
he says, "Just like on your bed this morning."
I know what he
means and, holding his hips, I push my almost-fifteen-year-old dick in as far
as it will go, with me leaning fully against him. It's so soapy and slippery,
and feels so good. I pull it out then watch it disappear again. And again.
Then I hold myself
against him and just let my hips take over; pushing in and pulling out.
"OMG," I say. Then
I let out an expression that I'm not used to saying, "Fuck, this is so good!"
When I start to
speed up, Gino asks, "You want to spurt or wait?"
"I don't think
that I can wait," I say. "I'm gonna spurt. It's coming!"
He reaches for my
glutes and grips them as they contract while I push and push and spurt.
"Aargh!" I shout
again and again.
He wraps his arms
around me and holds my body against his, allowing me time to catch my breath.
"You liked that,
didn't you?" he asks.
"What do you
reckon?" I answer. "This is the best feeling that I've ever had. Fuck! OMG!"
We separate and he
washes my dick.
"Your turn!" I
tell him. "Go for it! I want you to have fun like I just did."
He positions my
back against the wall, soaps himself up, and also under my balls, then he
slowly `inserts' his dick between my legs. All the way. Then slowly pulls it
back. "Watch!" he tells me.
His dick
disappears and reappears. I hold my dick out of the way so that I can get a
better view. I love the view of it going in and out!
Then he surprises
me. "Turn around," he says. I face the wall and I feel his dick going in
between my legs and pushing up against my balls as it comes through. He pulls
back and does it again.
"It feels even
better like this, from the back," he tells me. "I love the feeling of your
muscly young backside on my stomach."
Then he turns us
both around so that his back is leaning against the wall and my backside is
still against his front. He puts his arms around me, takes hold of my dick with
one hand, then really starts pushing his in and out.
I see the head of
it poke out from under my tight balls with each of his thrusts.
This is so sexy
that my own dick gets hard again.
He keeps going.
Pushing, thrusting, thrusting.
He starts to groan
and I feel his body start to tremble, from his knees up. He holds me tighter.
"I'm gonna cum Robbo," he growls. I feel one really hard thrust against my
backside, and he lets out a loud `F_AR_K'! I watch his dick spurting from under
my balls. Like a hose.
Again, and again.
He trembles and
spurts and shakes and spurts.
When he relaxes
his grip, I spin around and hug him, face to face, with one hand on his dick
and the other around him on his backside.
He gives me a
`Gino kiss', one on each cheek and one on the lips, then looks down and says,
"Looks as though you are still excited! Would you like me to try to get you to
spurt again?"
"I'm not sure that
I can," I say. "But you can try. How do you want me?"
"Just stand with
your back against the wall and leave the rest to me," he says.
Then he kneels
down in front of me.
Don't tell me that
he's going to...
But he does!
With the help of
one hand, he takes my hard-on into his mouth and starts sucking it. With the
other hand under my balls, he reaches for my hole, pushes the end of his finger
in, and slowly wiggles it around.
I'm about to say
something, but it feels so good that I just let him continue, and moan with the
feelings of incredible pleasure that he is giving me.
I get totally lost
in the ecstasy of what I'm feeling that I forget to warn him. It's only when I
spurt that I realise my dick is still in his mouth.
I suddenly become
very weak, but feeling secure, I just go limp in Gino's arms.
"OMG, Robbo," he
finally says, when I recover, "That was three times in only a couple of hours.
Are you going to wipe all of my achievements out of the record books?"
"I'm still not up
to a hundred today, yet!" I grin at him.
We laugh and share
expletives of mutual satisfaction, have a final wash and head out to get
dressed.
I have a whole new
appreciation of his body, and of my own. He wants mine and I want his.
I think that I'm
gay.
I will never,
ever, be able to look at his body in his tight school uniform again without
picturing him naked! And imagining him ready to rip everything off and have sex
with me.
How can I
realistically wait another whole week before I get to do all of this again?
And, what else can he I learn from him?
-----
If you like these stories, please take a couple of minutes to email me
at
rob.zz@hotmail.com
I do try to reply to everyone. Please be patient.
-----
It is my intention to write a `massaging' story for each letter of the
alphabet.
-----
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