My Life in Stages, Part 1


This story is a work of fiction, a protected form of expression. Any similarity to real people or events, either living or dead, is entirely coincidental and unintentional.

As well, this story deals with both romantic and sexual situations between males, both adult and minor. If you object to this type of content, are under the age of majority in your jurisdiction, or it is illegal in jurisdiction to view such content, please leave this page. By continuing to read, you acknowledge that you are of legal age to view this material and wish to do so. The author of this piece, and its hosting site, take no responsibility for any damages which occur from your decision to read this material.

Additionally, this story takes place in a fictional world where sexually transmitted diseases do not exist and sexual activity among minors and between minors and adults is both common and accepted. In real life, please protect yourself and your sexual partners. Always practice safe sex with the consenting adult of your choice. The author does not advocate nor condone unsafe sex or sexual activity with minors.

Finally, this story is just one part of a multi-part series which examines love, relationships, personal growth, and sexuality. While sexuality will feature prominently in the story, not every chapter will have graphic sexual elements.

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It was more than 20 years ago when I first met Isaac. He was shy, withdrawn, and generally uninterested in other people. He would walk through the halls of Norman Junior High School with his nose buried in a book, deftly avoiding obstacles and stepping over outstretched feet, those meant to trip him, with the aid of only his instincts and his peripheral vision. He was an interesting boy, one who I couldn't help but take an interest in.

Time has been good to him, I thought to myself as he sat on the opposite end of the sofa. At 32, he looked suave, intelligent, and self-assured. Gone were the nerdy days of his past, replaced by a demeanor that neither he, nor I, would have ever foreseen in his future. While I sat on the sofa with him, his three sons played on the floor near us, occasionally fighting over the controller for the game they were playing.

"Do you remember Lance Perkins?" Isaac asked me, his way of breaking the tension that had formed between us. Tonight was the first time we had seen each other since high school graduation, 15 years ago. We had hit it off naturally; perhaps due to our shared history, perhaps due to our shared present. But, still, a slight tension hung in the air between us. There were so many things being left unspoken in the moment, so many "elephants in the room," so to speak. Isaac's decision to bring up Lance was, most likely, simply his attempt to avoid talking about the very thing we both knew we wanted to talk about.

"Yeah, I remember him," I said, smiling a bit. Lance was a fellow graduate, another member of Norman High School's class of 2002. He had been a cocky shit, to be honest.

"I ran in to him at a ... party ..." Isaac began, glancing down at his three sons, then over at me. `Party' was a euphemism, I knew. But, honestly, I wasn't sure what it was a euphemism for.

"Is he still a dick?" I asked, smiling and sipping on my wine.

"No," he smirked, "but he does suck them."

I nearly spit out my wine.

"Lance?!" I said, maybe a bit louder than necessary. "Are you sure?"

Isaac laughed, and reached down between his legs, giving his cock a squeeze. Through the thin fabric of his pants, I could tell that the memory had made him hard. I could also tell two other things. First, he had grown quite a bit in that department since our childhood, impressive given the size I remember from years ago. Second, he didn't wear underwear.

Some things never change, I thought to myself about the latter observation.

"Oh, trust me, Eli," he said with knowing smirk, "I'm sure. I was sure three times that night."

I laughed, but glanced down nervously at his three boys. They, however, seemed oblivious to our presence as they continued on with their games. They were all so much like their father, especially the middle one.

There was Jack, the oldest boy. He was 14, born shortly after we had graduated high school. His dark hair took after his father, as did his slim build and full head of dark hair. Then, two years later, came the twins. Nolan and Levi were born only a few minutes apart. Being fraternal twins, they actually looked very little alike. Levi was smaller than Nolan, strawberry blond to the other boy's raven hair, and generally trim to Nolan's more husky stature. All three kids were, in every way, stunningly beautiful boys. I couldn't help but sneak glances at them from time to time, especially dressed as they were, in little more than their thin pajama bottoms.

Isaac's late wife, who passed away two years ago, was pregnant within 10 minutes of leaving high school, married within 15, and divorced shortly thereafter. Isaac and Jessica never made sense, even when we were still in school. I often wondered whether Isaac and Jessica were together due a genuine love and affection, or out of some sort of convenience factor and a desire to not be alone. Jessica was, like Isaac, a social outcast among the student hierarchy of Norman High School. She was small, incredibly intelligent (like Isaac), socially awkward, and painfully shy. Though both of them were good looking individuals, their quirks and generally "nerd" demeanor had made them essentially dateless among the other Norman Panthers.

But, for some reason, they worked. Or, at least, they worked long enough to marry and produce three beautiful sons. They divorced eventually, shortly after Nolan and Levi's birth, but that was due to Isaac being gay more than it was due to a bad marriage.

"So," I said, my eyes still locked on the hard bulge in Isaac's lapped, "I guess you and I weren't the only closet cases in school, were we?"

"No, we weren't. That's for sure." Isaac laughed and shook his head, amused.

This broke the tension quite a bit. It allowed us both to relax, and within a few minutes, we were back to being the kids we were in school. We laughed with each other, told inappropriate jokes, and began to flirt more openly with one another. His hand would frequently stroke my knee. Mine would explore his thigh as my mind drifted back to an earlier stage of our lives.


Two decades prior, I had apprehensively moved from River Bluff Elementary School to Norman Junior High School, home of the Junior Panthers (the high school was the panthers, and we had to work up to that title apparently).

On the first day of the new year, I sat in Mr. Taylor's home room. It was 8:00 in the morning, and I was terrified. Three different elementary schools fed in to the junior high school, and River Bluff was the smallest of the three. As a result, out of the 20 students in my homeroom, on two others were from my elementary. Both of those were girls, and even at 12 years old, I knew that I wanted to spend time with boys and not girls.

"Franklin, Elijah," Mr. Taylor had called out.

"Here," I said, my pubescent voice cracking ever-so-slightly. "And I go by Eli, sir."

"Alrighty, Eli," the teacher said warmly, a smile crossing his face. "Well, you will be in the third row, third seat."

I made my way to my seat, directly behind Rachel Edwards, a girl who would eventually, though I didn't know it at the time, become the bane of my existence. Behind me came Ben Foster, a nice boy with horrible personal hygiene. Then, Mr. Taylor started in on the next row. Jaimie Harrison and Brayden Jones took the first two seats, leaving Isaac Matthews to sit next to me and Sarah Perkins to sit behind him.

After Mr. Taylor had sufficiently filled all of the seats in the room, he started us on the first task which would cement Isaac's and my lifelong friendship.

"Since this is your first year in junior high school, and the first time you have ever had to change teachers for different subjects, the school has decided to try something new this year. Each of you will be assigned a `block buddy.' You and your buddy will have all the same classes together, from morning to afternoon. That way, you always have someone in the room with you who can help you with notes or missing assignments if you're sick, and who you can always count on being there with you."

All of the assembled kids looked around at one another, eager to know who their "block buddy" was going to be. When Mr. Taylor started listing the pairings, I was happy to know that I was already sitting next to mine. He had partnered me up with Isaac who, though I didn't know him before today, seemed nice enough.

Isaac, as well, seemed to be relieved. He would tell me, weeks after the fact, that he was scared he would be partnered up with a girl. We laughed and agreed that "boys belong with boys," as we put it then. But, at the time, all we knew is that we needed to stick together like glue.

After home room, a 20-minute start to every day, we headed to our first academic period. Isaac and I would have English, Science, and Social Studies before lunch. After lunch, we had Music, Math, and then P.E. We would be together every day, from 8:00 AM to 2:30 PM, and we took this seriously.

The morning classes went smoothly, we teachers who seemed strict, but fun. Isaac loved English, especially when he learned how many books we'd be reading this year. I was more interested in Social Studies, since history had always been fascinating to me. We both agreed that Science could be fun, especially since our teacher, Mrs. Paul, seemed kind of crazy.

After lunch, we suffered through Music, a class neither of us liked, and dealt with Math, a subject in which neither of us excelled. Then, sadly, came the one class that we were both dreading. P.E. was the last period of the day, and neither of us were exactly excited. My older brother had talked about how horrible Coach White, the P.E. teacher, was. I was terrified as I walked in to the gym and waited for the old, angry, gruff man to come yell at us.

But, the man standing at the front of the room was not the 60-year-old Coach White. Instead, a young teacher stood in the middle of the boy's gym. He looked like he was barely out of high school, though I would later learn that he had just graduated college and this was his first full-time teaching assignment.

"Come on, boys," the teacher yelled jovially as we filed in to the large empty space. "Find a place on the bleachers. Sit with your buddy."

One-by-one; or, rather, two-by-two, all of us took a place on the bleachers. The teacher stood in front, smiling at all of us, wearing the clichéd tight polo shirt and short, tight, shorts. I couldn't help but notice that his bulge was...well, kind of shocking to my 12-year-old mind. It seemed so huge, so prominently displayed. He seemed so unashamed of it, and didn't even seem to notice nor care that the boys were looking. His shorts showed off every curve of his sizable adult manhood. My adolescent brain couldn't comprehend how a penis could get so big, and I couldn't stop myself from staring at it while he spoke.

"Alright boys," he continued once we were all sitting on the bleachers, "I'm Coach Anderson. Coach White has retired, and I'll be the new boys' P.E. teacher. So, you're going to be with me all year. I promise you, we will have a lot of fun!"

The boys all seem to nod and accept this. At least he was young and didn't seem as grouchy as Coach White had been.

"Now, first things first!" he continued, brightly. "We need to figure out who everyone is, get your gym lockers assigned, and pass out uniforms."

The boys groaned softly. We knew that uniforms were a part of PE this year, though none of us were exactly looking forward to it. Until now, PE had been games and the occasional half-mile run. This year, it was going to change.

"Baker," Coach Anderson called out, startling one of the boys in the back row. He stood, made his way to the end of the row, and descended the stairs. He was a larger boy, easily three inches taller than most of the other boys, and possibly 30 pounds heavier. He did not look like a 7th grader. The boy looked like he was ready to hop behind the wheel of a car and head off to work. It made me feel small and unimpressive.

`Baker,' whose first name I learned was Troy, was handed a piece of paper and a plastic bag containing his uniform. The slips of paper had our gym locker numbers and combinations on them. When he was done, he returned to the bleachers.

"Campbell," Coach Anderson called out, and another boy descended. And so it went, name after name. Conner was next, followed by Davidson, Darnell, and finally Franklin; me. On and on, one by one, each boy was given his combination and a plastic bag.

"Alright, boys," the coach called out, "follow me."

Dutifully, if reluctantly, we followed Coach Anderson through the gym to the door to the boys' locker room. The tiled floor of the room shone with the fresh polish that had been applied over the summer. Its glossy surface made me feel as though I were walking on a mirror. The lockers lined the walls, leaving a large open changing area. In the middle of the room were two long, trough-style urinals positioned so that two boys using opposite urinals would end up facing one another.

So much for privacy, I thought to myself.

Only the back wall was free of lockers. Extending out from the right-hand corner were three sinks and mirrors. Taking up the left corner of the wall, and extending all the way to the middle of the wall, was Coach Anderson's "fish bowl" office. It was glass on three sides; one side looking in to the locker room, the opposite side in to the showers behind, and the wall in-between facing the four toilet stalls which no doors. The space between the office and the toilets created the hallway to the shower room. There was, I noted quickly, not a single inch of this locker room that the coach could not see from his office. From the comfort of his desk, Coach Anderson could watch a few boys shower, one sit on the toilet, a couple boys piss, and the rest change clothes.

Either the school was built by someone who liked to watch boys get naked, or someone who didn't trust boys to have even ten seconds of unsupervised privacy...perhaps both. It was unnerving, to say the least.

"Find your lockers, boys," the coach called out once we were all in. The boys quickly scattered around and started examining the numbers on the pale gray lockers. Once we had found our assigned spaces, we began to fiddle with the locks and get them open.

"Once you have your locker open, change in to your uniforms. Your parents filled out size-request forms at registration, so everything in the bag should fit. You must wear every piece of the uniform in that bag, and must not wear any of your own street clothes. While you change, I'll come around with a clipboard. You let me know if anything is too big or too small and I'll get you a proper size tomorrow."

All at once, the boys emptied their bags on the benches in front of the lockers. Inside, we found gray t-shirts with the school logo on them, a pair of black shorts with gray and red piping (the school colors), and a white jock strap. The room seemed to come to an aggressive halt at the simultaneous discovery of the jock strap.

"" one of the boys piped up, bravely holding up the jock.

"Yes, Granger?"

"Do we... we have to wear this?"

"Well, if you listened to my instructions, I said you had to wear every part of the uniform. So, yes, Granger. Yes, you have to wear that."

"Can we wear it over our underwear?"

"It doesn't do a hell of a lot of good that way. Use your head, Granger. Under your gym shorts you should be wearing that athletic supporter and nothing else."

"NOTHING ELSE?!" Granger called out in shock and dismay.

"You heard me. Now, get going! That means all of you!" Coach Anderson snapped, obviously a bit annoyed at our reluctance to get properly dressed.

I looked over at Isaac who looked like he was about to pass out. I could tell that he liked the idea of getting naked in front of everyone to be just as horrifying as I did, if not more so. But, I was determined to be brave...or, at least, act like I was. I wasn't going to be the scared little kid I was in elementary. I was in junior high now, and it was time to act like it.

Steeling my nerves, I slipped my t-shirt off over my head. Reaching down, I unbuttoned my jeans while I kicked my shoes off my feet. Pulling my jeans down, I tried hard to appear as though I wasn't nervous. With that move, I was standing in the middle of the locker room in just a pair of baby blue boxers.

I looked around and realized that about half the boys were still fumbling with their clothes, delaying the inevitable and trying to appear as though they weren't nervous to get naked in front of Coach Anderson and 23 other boys.

Isaac, however, seemed frozen in absolute panic. He had gone as far as unbuttoning his jeans and pulling one arm through the sleeve of his t-shirt. His skin had gone drastically pale, and I could tell that he was wishing he could be anywhere right now but here.

I felt bad for him. Being 12 years old is rough, for anyone. But, being 12 years old and being asked to get naked in front of a room full of other people? Well, that was downright terrifying. I wanted to help him. He was my "block buddy" after all. So, I did the only thing I could think to do. I pulled my boxers down to my ankles and stepped out of them.

I looked around the room as my young cock stood free from its cotton confines for the first time. Most of the other boys were down to their underwear. Only one other boy was nude; Troy Baker. Of course, the most physically developed boy in the room would have no problems showing off the fact that puberty had caught him first. He stood tall, his back to the locker, exposing his cock and balls to the entire room. His circumcised cock looked huge, though in retrospect was probably only about four inches. His balls, as well, seemed enormous. They hung down between his legs, as full as any adult man's I had ever seen (which was many, thanks to trips to the gym with my dad and older brothers with no sense of modesty). Troy had already started to grow a bit of hair around his package as well, only adding to his manly appearance. He was obviously proud of his boyhood, and I didn't blame it. It was rather impressive, especially considering his age.

"Come on, Matthews, get the lead out!" Coach Anderson called, snapping Isaac out of his dazed state. He was the only one still fully dressed, and the coach apparently wanted things moved along.

"It'll be okay," I whispered to him, catching him eye-to-eye. "Look, I'm naked. You'll be alright." I gestured toward my crotch, which his eyes immediately went to. I wasn't as hung as Troy, but I was confident in what I had. I was circumcised, like nearly all American boys my age, and when fully erect my dick came to about three inches. It wasn't adult-sized yet. But, nothing on me was. While limp, as I was now, it hung loosely at about two inches. My balls were decently sized, bigger than many of the boys in the room, and completely hairless. All of me, except my head, was completely hairless.

Isaac took a few seconds to openly stare at my exposed package. At first, I thought it was the standard boyhood curiosity. We all checked each other out, and we all knew that we checked each other out. But, we didn't admit that we did it or call anyone else out for doing it. It was the unspoken boy code.

However, after a few moments, I began to suspect that Isaac's motivation was something other than the standard curiosity and comparing. What his motivation was, or what he found so intriguing about my body and my cock, I didn't know.

Taking a deep breath and nodding at me, Isaac pulled his shirt over his head. His chest and stomach were just like nearly everyone else's in the room; hairless and smooth. Then, he took two more deep breaths and stepped out of his jeans.

Suddenly, with a flash of clarity that hit me with the force of lightning, I knew exactly why he was so nervous. Not only was he the only one in the room not wearing underwear, but he was, without a doubt, the most hung boy in the room. Hell, he was probably the most hung boy in the building.

Thick, cut, and easily five inches when fully soft, Isaac's cock lay flat against a set of heavy, large, hairless balls. If he had had hair on his package, it would have looked as fully grown and adult as any I had seen in the locker room of my dad's gym. I couldn't help but stare. Also, I couldn't help but break the boy code.

"Don't laugh, please," Isaac said quietly and with the beginnings of tears in his eyes, his back turned to most of the room so that only I had a view of that enormous piece of meat.

"I won't," I said quietly, awe straining my voice. "It's huge!"

"I know!" he said, a tear falling down his cheek. "Everyone makes fun of me for it when they see it."

"What?! Why? Isn't having a big dick a good thing?"

Isaac pulled his jockstrap on and adjusted his loose cock in the pouch.

"No! It sucks! Underwear is always too tight, and I boxers are useless, and when I go swimming everyone always sees it `cuz my suit sticks to me when I get out of the water. Everyone laughs."

I pulled my own jock on, followed by my shorts, as I considered his confession.

"I can see that. I promise, though. I'll never laugh or talk about it again. Cross my heart!"

I made a crossing motion across my chest before pulling on my t-shirt. I wasn't going to make fun of him or make him feel bad for the size of his dick. He couldn't control how big it was, and despite the fact that it was so much bigger than all the other boys, he was obviously self-conscious about it.

Isaac smiled me and pulled his shorts on. "Thanks," he whispered as he pulled his head through the hole in his t-shirt.

"No problem," I said, as I adjusted my own cock. It had stiffened a bit in the last few moments, and I wasn't entirely sure why.