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Part Five - Rory Lind and Other High School Dramas
PJ Franklin <>


Story Summary: Randy cozies up to his J.V. surf squad,  kind of mentors a fellow Northside High gay boy and the mystery of Jonathan Teel thickens.

Making the surf team felt totally rad! I could hardly sleep a wink the night before my first AM practice with Finn and my J.V. crewmembers. Because surfing practice was mandatory three days per week at our home break, my school allowed me to drive my car both to the break for practice and then to school afterwards sparing Tuesday and Thursday of course.

I was up at the crack of dawn and out the door that first practice morning, loading my boards securely up onto the rack that Greg had helped me to install on my Honda’s roof a few days before. So proud and brimming with energy, I very carefully drove down to the beach, parked and got my boards down and gathering my gear I spied my teammates also gathering onto the sand next to Coach Vardon.

That was when I saw Kelly Smith. There he was at that early hour standing on crutches next to what must be his mom. He was dressed in board shorts, flip-flops and a hoodie, his broken ankle still in a cast. Suddenly I didn’t feel so excited.

I had been so happy, so stoked to have made the team that I had forgotten why I had made the team, Kelly’s misfortune. So why had he come to practice? That was easy. Just like in football or any other high school team sport, just because Kelly could not surf and I had replaced him, Kelly was still a team member and wanted to be a part of it if only to watch.

I instantly knew how unhappy I would feel if I were in his place. He saw me, “Hey Hollis!” and waved me over. He was smiling. How could he smile? Could I if I was in a cast and could not surf? I walked over and he held out his fist. I bumped it with mine, “Congrats man, making the team, that’s awesome!” he grinned. Shit. I had never been on a team before. What was I supposed to say?

“Thanks Kel, how long do you have to wear the cast?” I asked the obvious, “Just a few weeks more and then a walking boot. Doc thinks I can be back in the water in ten or twelve weeks,” and I did the math. Maybe late November or early December of this year, “That sucks,” I said, “I don’t know if I could handle not surfing for that long,” I told the truth.

He nodded, “I’ve never got hurt before and I’ve been surfing since I was eight, hey but look, you go out there and shred it, OK?” and I nodded, “Will do Kel,” I said, but even as I walked away it was a heavy solemn feeling to be taking Kelly’s rightful spot.

The surf was dead that morning. Coach had us do paddle-out exercises in the watery flats, fifty yards in and back, several times. Surfing is like that though. You can go for weeks without any decent swells and even if there are swells, you can wait in the line-up for long stretches, just sitting on your board waiting to drop in on just one decent wave. It’s called “getting wet,” just going out and sitting on your board enjoying just being there even with no waves just because that is what surfers do when nature is not cooperating.

We still had fun that morning, but as I made my way back towards my car I looked at Kelly. He looked kind of down actually. Who could blame him? I’m sure that he would have given a lot to just get wet, never mind any waves. I felt badly for him, but an idea popped into my head and I walked up to him and his mom,

“Hey Kel, I can drive you to school if you like,” I offered. He brightened up, “Can I mom?” he asked. She readily agreed and from that day forward until Kelly was ready to get back into the surf, I would pick up Kelly at his home on surf practice days and then we would drive together to school after. We became really good friends Kelly and I and would spend a lot of time together over the following months. Then again, our whole J.V. squad became super tight over the weeks, including Kelly of course.

High school was otherwise super-hectic now just as it would have been back at my old high school in Fresno with classes and homework. Surf practice complicated it of course, but that was a happy price for me.

Weekends were a lot different than in Fresno, however. There I would spend a ton of time skateboarding. Now that I was on the surf team at Northside, weekends got entirely chewed up either with intra-squad or intra-district surfing competitions with other high school surf teams or we held fundraisers for our surf teams, car washes, bake sales and such. Those were always fun.

For the first time since all summer long and this past September’s Labor Day weekend I was spending much less free time with Finn and Greg. Gar was busied up with trying to create a career in surfing and Adam Kazwell was a senior and not in my social group at all. Kaz also headed up the Northside High varsity “A” and “B” surf team crew also called the traveling team.

Whereas we Northside J.V. groms would only compete locally within the Huntington Beach Union school district with other local J.V. squads, the varsity was privileged to travel up and down the California coast for intrastate competitions at breaks all the way from San Diego in the south coast to Santa Cruz way north nearly to San Francisco. Road trips with good teammates and friends just to surf? Talk about super-sweet! Maybe I could do that in a couple years.

Getting to know my teammates and them me was a bit awkward at first. Most of them knew about my brother’s death and told me how sorry they were, but I quickly became just one of the guys and when that happened, it was like,

“Hey Hollis, what’s your story anyway? Where do you live?” and that’s when I had to tell them I lived in Garrett Starr’s house and then it was, “You fucker! You live with that pro ripper? Sweet!” and everyone wanted me to introduce them to Gar.

Most of them knew Greg Majors as well and as I expected my closer than usual association with Finn Ridger came up. Nobody thought I had made the team because of Finn, but then again, they knew Finn was gay and finally the question popped, “So like Hollis, are you … ?”

We were sitting in Matt Zuziak’s family room together at the time, supposedly studying and doing homework, sharing answers and stuff because we all shared similar classes at school. Matt had asked the question and silenced the room with it. I shrugged and didn’t see a reason to deny it, “Yea, I’m gay,” feeling that usual first exhilarating and nerve-wracking jolt of coming out to them all and then quickly looked around the room for reaction.

“That’s cool,” Matt said, “My older sis is a lesbian and has a girlfriend,” Jonah replied and the rest of the guys just shrugged, “So what,” and that was that, at least until everyone but Matt and Kelly Smith had gone home for the evening.

Matt and Kelly lived quite close to each other near to our high school and had pretty much grown up surfing together on SoCal beach breaks from the age of micro-groms (a grom usually under 12 years of age.) Both were blonde haired beauties and using my perverted imagination, I could picture them kissing, making out and fucking one another, I wish.

“Hot tub,” Matt said to us, motioning to follow him. I was all too happy to dump studying and join in. We were all wearing board shorts of course. Matt and I entered the hot bubbly water quickly. Kelly was wearing a walking boot on his healing broken ankle and slipped it off first.

We had hardly just sat down, me on one side, the two of them on the other before Kelly asked me out of the blue, “So like, have you done it with Finn?” a cheesy self-satisfied smirk on his face elbowing Matt as he said the words.

It was quickly strange to me that Kelly and I had spent a lot of time together alone in my car and stuff, and he never had asked me if I was gay, much less if Finn and I had done it together. Then I realized that maybe he felt less weird or something asking me with Matt around or didn’t care one way or the other, more likely.

“Dude! That’s so rude!” Matt chided Kelly with a cheesy grin of his own, “What’s the big deal? It’s just like asking a guy if he’s done it with a girl,” Kelly responded. Matt shrugged, “You’re right, so have you?” Matt added his curiosity.

“Yea, I have,” I quickly admitted, feeling an unexpected thrill for having been honest with them about something sexual concerning our crew captain.

They looked at each other a few seconds and then Matt looked at me, “So, you like sucking cock?” but not in a mean or threatening way. I nodded and rolled my eyes, “Duh!” and they laughed, as did I; but I did wonder if they were asking what I thought they might be asking and quickly found out.

Matt and Kelly looked at each other again, this time with knowing grins and then Kelly says, “So?” and then he stands up, shucks down his shorts flopping out his naked boymeat and sits up on the edge of the tub. Let’s see, when did I last suck cock in a hot tub? Labor Day weekend, maybe?

Kelly pointed down to his and smiled at me, “All yours Hollis!” Matt was right behind him, “Me too!” shucking and baring his cock to my hungry eyes.

“What makes you guys think I want to suck your cocks?” I stood my ground for about three seconds, “Oh well, if you don’t want to,” and Matt starts to stand up to pull his shorts back on, “Just kidding!” I said and rushed over and quickly went down on Matt sucking up his limpness into my mouth. Kelly slid over and I took his fat softie into my fist as I sucked Matt.

Two moans of pleasure greeted my ears just as two very hard cocks soon greeted my mouth and fist from their appreciative owners, “So, who’s up for a full blow job or maybe a good fuck?” I paused from my meaty task looking at Matt and then Kelly.

“Blow job for sure, but you like taking it up the ass?” Matt asked. I nodded, “I love taking it up the ass, but maybe that’s too much to ask of you groms,” I smirked my bluff, but secretly hoped they would take advantage.

Well, shortly thereafter we were in Matt’s bedroom, Kelly lying on his back on the floor. My mouth was busily sucking up and down on his cock and Matt was lubing up his cock and my back door and then he pushed his hard prick deep inside of me and wildly fucked me pretty much just like Finn might.

I asked no questions that evening and simply enjoy getting pounded from both ends by two of my hot surf teammates. I went home that night pretty sure that my life on the J.V. “B” squad was going to be quite fun from then on and not only in the surf. It actually made Kelly much more fun to be with alone in my car on practice days because we would tease each other unmercifully about what we had done in the hot tub that afternoon.

* * * * * * * * * *

It was now about early October and my life at Northside High was about to take on a soap opera quality. One day after lunch junior cheerleader Amanda Thorpe, the girl whose pussy I ate at the Malibu party over Labor Day Weekend waved at me from across the quadrangle.

I was sitting with new non-surfing friends, boys and girls in my class most of them now-and-again skimboard experienced, so I was a bit of a celebrity with them despite my newness as I was now on the surf team.

Amanda jaunted over, Mindy (the girl who had spanked me at the party) at her side, “Randy! Baby!” and hugged me and kissed me on the cheek, Mindy as well. You should have seen everyone’s faces. They gawked, truly impressed, hell, as was I, “How are you?” she asked, “I’m great! You surf babes look hot today!” I said improvising.

“Oh, thank you sweetie, so do you hot pants, see you later!” Amanda chirped and they walked off.

“OK, so like how do you know Amanda and Mindy? Dude! They like rule. Why did they call you hot?” one of my peeps said obviously very impressed and would continue to be impressed for a few school days after plying me with salacious questions about my relationship with them, questions that never quite got answered.

Three days later at lunch, things got much more interesting. Amanda spied me across the cafeteria and waved me over to her table with Mindy and other hot cheerleaders. My little bunch of surf team groupies had enlarged to include three goofy and not that good-looking nerds, but that was OK.

I stood, “Excuse me guys, but I need to consult with my bitches,” and they all hooted and high-fived. I went over with my food tray and sat down next to Amanda. She introduced me all around. I got looks, both dismissive as well as very friendly from the girl folk. We talked about nothing much until I decided to do some investigation,

“Hey you know anything about Jonathan Teel?” and all of them at the table grew a little quiet, whispering and nudging each other, “OK, what’s up?” I asked, “Well, rumor has it that he’s porking Rachel Martz,” one girl responded.

Talk about shock and awe. I blinked, “You mean, my English writing teacher Mr. Martz? His daughter?” I asked, and Amanda nodded, “Why do you ask?” she asked, “Oh nothing,” I said and somehow did not blush.

What the fuck? Teel had kissed me and was screwing my English writing class teacher’s daughter? The thing was, despite that he had paired me up with Jonathan for that stupid paragraph thing that lead to us fighting and getting punished, I really was fond of Mr. Martz.

I really liked writing too. He gave me an A+ on the paper I wrote about the Newport Beach Wedge, the history of it and all. Surely he did not know about the J.V. quarterback’s interest in his daughter, but so what if he did?

“Wait a minute,” Amanda said, “Doug said he met you at Wild Rivers over Labor Day.”

I held my breath a little, “Oh yea, I remember that,” I said and then tilted my head, “Wait a second. Are you and he?” I asked Amanda and the girls all roared, “Why yes honey,” Amanda explained, “Doug is my boyfriend,” and I about shit a brick right then and there.

This was getting sicker by the second. I had licked on Amanda’s girl parts at the party. I stared at her and she gave me a wicked smile, said nothing and just shrugged. She knew what I was worried about of course. Fuck! Why did Amanda let me? Was she using me? And what about those two shitheads, meaning Kaz and Finn? Didn’t they know at the time?

“Well, nice to meet you all. I need to go,” I said suddenly and gave Amanda a kiss on the cheek no matter Doug Snider was her boyfriend or not. She returned the favor saying, “See you later, hot pants!”

I walked, make that, stormed off to find shithead Finn and shithead Kaz. They had to have known I was going down on Doug Snider’s girlfriend’s pussy! I found them and started in. Kaz held up his hand, “Just cool down grom. Everyone sleeps with everyone around here.”

“Yea, but Dougie finds out, I’m a dead surfer!” I complained.

“What? Amanda is going to tell him? You think we are?”

“No, but there were other guys from here at the party. He’s going to find out!” I said unhappy.

“They could say anything and can’t prove anything. We were all of us drunk and stoned, remember? And besides, that was a million years ago,” high school sarcasm for yesterday’s news.

Yea, I did remember and he was probably right and besides, I would soon have much more to handle than Amanda, Doug Snider or even Jonathan Teel.

* * * * * * * * * *

One afternoon about mid-October after my fourth period class, up walked fellow sophomore Rory Lind, Northside High School’s answer to garish teen fashion, gay fashion to be exact in multiple wardrobes, I guessed depending on his mood. Some days he was emo, some days goth, some days he was some of both or just a fashionista (also called a fashion whore.)

Rumor had it that one day he dressed up for school as a circus clown and was sent home to change before first period to take off the pounds of make-up he had put on. I had never seen it, but would not have been surprised if it were true.

“We’ve not met, I’m Rory Lind,” and I didn’t answer right away, I just gawked. I guessed that it was partial emo day at school the way he was dressed. I did like his hair, not black; but brown, long straight, soft, even wispy and with blonde highlights. He wore eyeliner of course.

“You’re Randy Hollis,” he said and I finally answered, “Yes, hi,” I said having already been warned by both Finn and Kaz that Rory was gay and to not necessarily avoid Rory, but to stand back so as not to be decapitated by a sudden rush of sharp-edged flamboyance.

It was true, Rory could camp with the best of them which served him well in drama class and on the school stage. He could perform and sing really well and dance and mince, but I did notice that when he put his mind to it, Rory could be, well, just a guy.

I was instantly fascinated and scared of him all at the same time. At least he had the balls to be who he was while, me, Finn and God only knows about Jonathan Teel often tried to hide ourselves from our peers.

In many ways Rory was being real and maybe we were not; but I also wondered if all of his make-up, costumes and mannerisms were just fake and he was hiding who he really was. Mama Nadine had once said that people are sometimes like that and I believed her more than I ever believed the Bible.

“I’m wondering if you’re interested in joining the Northside high gay-straight alliance. It’s a good cause and well, I’ve been told you’re … you know … gay,” he said looking strangely coy or embarrassed, at least haltingly, but still with his faggy-tinged tone.

I scowled a little. Whose business was it that I was gay anyway?  Had he found out from within my own circle? Amanda maybe or Mindy? They could all just go fuck themselves, but why did I all of a sudden feel so defensive around Rory?

Was I afraid of being associated with him? Did I fear that he would turn me into a flaming, flamboyant surfer boy mincing instead of ripping on waves just by talking to him? I almost laughed out loud at a mind’s eye visual of me delicately mincing up and down on my longboard.

“Sorry, no. I’m not into … politics,” I said, a good answer I thought.

His face fell a little and I sensed that he didn’t care about the club in approaching me, not at all. The more I thought about it, Rory showed up at football games, but everyone did; but he also showed up at our pre-season surfing meets with other schools as well and nobody but surfers and their families showed up to those.

In fact yes, he would show up in bizarre emo themed board shorts and a black wife-beater T-shirt. No surfer I knew wore black wife beater T-shirts, not at the fucking beach and yes, he wore pink framed sun-glasses and sometimes a yellow or other bright color ball cap or other strange headgear, but sometimes some of us had those. No, it was the fact that now I felt a little like I was being stalked even when I know I wasn’t.

“Well OK. Say, there’s a party this weekend at,” but I cut him off, “Sorry, no, I’m busy and I have to go Rory, good luck with your recruitment,” and I bolted and when I turned my head a few long and safe strides later he was still looking at me and he looked, well, sad and now I felt like a shit.

I tried to avoid Rory after that as shameful as it made me feel. If we were about to come into close proximity, I went a different direction. Finn and Kaz both had seen Rory looking at me and Finn especially told me that it was for the better. I really didn’t like Finn Ridger especially at all for that. Did he think that he was better than Rory? I didn’t challenge him about it as I believed we each needed to have our own opinions and space over the matter, but it did force me to examine my own beliefs and habits.

It came to a head during a homecoming football game at rival Marina High School on a Friday night, just about a week before Halloween. We surfers all showed up looking double natty that night. I wore super saggy jeans, we all did, and we carried skateboards just to piss off everyone. We skated a lot together actually and it worked, other non-skaters were pissed and we were we being admired by the rest of the envious boys and girls alike.

Anyway, after the game we were talking to other hot skater and surfer dudes when we saw the flashing red lights of an ambulance and lots of police. We checked it out and some guy says, “Bunch of dudes jumped some faggot, he’s in bad shape, taking him away in the meat wagon,” and for some reason I thought of Rory.

It turned out to be Rory in that ambulance and I was beside myself with rage and guilt and could do nothing about it that night. I could not risk being seen rushing to Rory’s side for all of the fears and doubts that I had harbored since he talked to me just that one time.

Instead I waited. I waited three days and he was not at school and finally I could not stand it and after finding out where he lived, I drove over to his house in my Civic. He lived alone with his auntie, an elderly lady.

It was a tiny house on the outskirts of Huntington Beach in the “not so good” section if that were possible around there. I knocked on the door and she answered. I told her I wanted to see Rory,

“Rory hun, there’s a Randy to see you?” and I waited.

Rory came to the door, opened it and just stood there. I expected him to be angry. I don’t know why he didn’t tell me to leave, but instead I saw a very cute, but very sad boy sans make-up, sans highlights and without garish clothing. I was shocked and angered as I saw a very black right eye, a huge bruise on his left arm and smaller ones on his torso as he was shirtless.

“Hi Randy,” he said softly, “Can I come in?” I asked. He nodded and stepped back. I walked in.

Gar’s place was not big, but this was tiny. His auntie offered us pop or water, we declined. Rory led me to his bedroom. It was less than half the size of mine, but postered to the hilt with hot looking surfer and skater boys and I mean wall-to-wall including the ceiling. There was no space for anything but the light fixture and it was not large.

I stood feeling ashamed not only for myself, but also for my kind. Boys like Finn and me and yes probably Jonathan Teel, just anyone who even partially lived in the shadows instead of being themselves like Rory. It was said in the press that unknown suspected members of probably both the Marina and Northside football squads had attacked Rory, not surfers and yet I felt the entire jock world had let me down, showed my association with them to seem a sham.

Rory sat on his bed. I went right over to him, aghast at the bruising, “You haven’t been at school,” I said.

He shrugged, “I may not go back, it’s not worth … it’s,” and he stopped as if words were useless. I felt helpless. I wanted to say something to make him feel good, make it all right, but didn’t know what to say,

“I like your posters. That one is an old Ty Whitehead, a great skater and surfer,” I said the irony totally mind-boggling as it was the picture in the April 1985 Surfer Magazine issue of Shaun’s that I had perved over and was still in my closet at Gar’s.

“My auntie says I’m obsessed. I don’t care. I’ve seen you surf Randy. You’re really good, are you going to get one of those sponsorship thingies?”

“No, not me. Finn Ridger maybe, Adam Kazwell, but my teacher, Garrett Starr, he already has several,” and his eyes brightened, “You know Garrett Starr? Oh my God! He’s gorgeous! … not that you’re not,” he said as if apologizing. Oh man, Rory had it bad, real bad and now I felt in the middle of it.

“Yea, I live in his house. He’s got like five or six sponsors now and probably is headed out for the pro tour.”

“You live with him?” he said and I nodded, “You must be good if Garrett Starr lets you live there.”

I sighed, “Look, Rory. I hate what happened to you, but you gotta get back to school and not let it get you down.”

“I’ve tried everything to make them like me,” and I looked at him, “No you haven’t. Look at you now. No make-up. I think you look great. Why don’t you try and … and just be,” and he answered me, “Normal?”

“Something like that,” I said feeling like a kook.

We just sat there. To tell the truth, there was nothing about Rory that wasn’t sexy really. He wasn’t shaped like me and other jocks, but I kind of liked his twink body, slender and smooth and lacking any muscle definition. He had a great ass, however, that was not the problem at all. I liked his nose and brown eyes and when he didn’t highlight and play with his hair like a Barbie doll, it looked plenty sexy to me.

I turned my head and looked at him. I don’t know why, but I felt this urge to kiss him, make him feel something, something that I liked anyway, “Rory, look at me,” I said and he did, brightening up just a tad. I leaned over and put my lips gently on his.

He instantly whimpered and turned his body to face me as his hands and arms flailed and waited for me. I pressed harder and his mouth opened and I let my tongue invade his mouth. I put my hand behind his head and powered my response with strength, forcing the kiss even though there was no need. I stood, he stood, but I pushed his shoulders down to force him to sit back down on the bed, hard.

He looked up at me trembling, shaking even and with more than just puppy-dog eyes. He looked up at me as I had looked up at Gar and Greg, Finn and Kaz and at all of the other big hot surfer dudes that I had sucked off with worship and adoration.

I quickly unzipped my jeans and pulled out my rapidly hardening cock, “On your knees bitch, suck my cock!” I said forcefully and stepped back. He fell to my feet on his knees and went to work, gazing up at me, moaning and whimpering like the bitch that I knew I was with Gar and Finn.

I grabbed a handful of his fine brown hair, “Take it bitch,” I said and face fucked him, even trying to make him gag, but I could not! That made him seem very experienced, that was for sure. I instantly felt as though rough and careless boys had likely used him wantonly for sex, boys like Jonathan Teel. Suddenly he popped off my cock,

“Punish me please Randy, gag me, spank me, beat me, fuck me, I want it from you,” he said pleadingly.

“But your auntie,” I started, but he chortled, “She’s as deaf as a doorpost!”

“Strip!” I ordered and he was naked a few moments later. As I said he was smooth, hairless and slender; but a great ass and his cock was only four inches hard, just right if you’re going to be a little bitch fuck-toy most of your life.

I did my own strip tease for him. By now I was getting some of the typical older grom muscle definition you see in the posters. Surfing is tough muscular work and it pays off, especially now and though we were the same age, Rory was no closer to having a surfer body than I was to being President of the United States.

I took his arm, sat down on the bed and said, “Over my knee!” and he flopped, hands flat to the floor. He looked back up at me,

“Please don’t spank me daddy, please don’t!” he said pleadingly and convincingly enough.

My eyes flew open and yes, my cock got leaky. I had never said or thought the “daddy” thing, but if that is how Rory wanted to submit to me, so be it,

“Rory has been a bad boy, a very bad boy and what happens to bad boys?” I said and then grabbing his small sack and pussy boy hard penis together, I yanked both back hard between his splayed thighs, “Bad boys are whipped, beaten hard and taught lessons!” he yelped with an odd conviction.

Wow, I was impressed but did he really want me to beat him up like that? I was confused and I guessed I looked it, “I’m sorry, I should not have said that Randy, I wanted to say, bad boys need to be spanked, even good boys need to be spanked.”

I felt momentarily breathless as his honest confession was not that far from my own sentiments. I gently lifted his chin, “Yes, good boys like you Rory need to be spanked,” leaned over and kissed his cheek.

A fast tear ran down his face and he started to sob and his face crumbled into unbridled misery. I pulled him up into my lap and he curled up into a small ball of boy in my lap and bawled hard, his face pressed into my bare chest.

I could feel the tears running down to my tummy. I just held him and figured he had not dealt with his assault, not at all. I now had to allow for a few tears of my own, ones that fell for Rory and yes, a few for me as well I suppose.

After he stopped I stood him up, me with him and I sat down at the head of his bed and pulled him to lay there with me. He curled up into me nuzzling my neck with his head, his hands clinging to me and not softly. He was still shaking a little. I kissed the top of his head and then petted his soft face with my hand. I said nothing.

“When I was five,” he started and didn’t stop until he had told me about ten years of physical and sexual abuse at the hands of those who were supposed to protect him growing up. Greg Majors had not had a good upbringing in foster homes, but he was in good hands compared to Rory’s abusive past.

“I know, it’s not sexy to talk about,” he said at the end, “But it’s real. It’s been your life but that’s all changed now, isn’t it?” I asked.

“Yes, but it still gives me bad dreams. I’ve been a slut and whore most of the last several years. I put on clothes and make-up to cover up the scars, mental and physical and have sex to cover up my feelings. I’ve been to therapy. That’s a fucking joke. There, that’s my fucked up life,” and he sat up and looked at me, “You’re a good person, Randy, terribly sexy, muscles, a jock. I love jocks and they all look at me like I’m a piece of garbage,” he said sadly.

“You deserve better for yourself Rory, but the clothes and make-up have to go if you want to get along. As for the sex, I’m not one to talk. I’m just as slutty, maybe more. If you only knew,” I said, but was not proud of it at the moment.

“Wish I was your slut, I wouldn’t need anyone else,” he said and then I smiled, “Liar,” and he laughed, “You’re probably right.”

“Can I do something to please you Randy? Anything. I love rough sex, that’s no sin. It’s just difficult to find anyone who really knows how to do it without acting like a moron or worse, not know what they’re doing.”

I spied a black silver studded belt on the floor, “You have a great ass and I would love to give you a good belt whipping, but I’ll treat you good, fuck you hard and make sure you get off,” I promised. He grinned, “Yes, please!” he smiled kind of excitedly.

Rory was not only good in bed, he taught me things in doing it. He showed me some leather cuff restraints and wanted me to use them on him. I did including on his ankles too. I guessed that his dalliances with emo tops had taught him some bondage and I found it really hot!

I restrained him, and let him call me “daddy.” When I whipped his ass with his legs back over his head, I could not help but eat his ass out and then whip him some more. He was alive and begged and thanked me for every moment.

When I untied him, I kind of threw him around on the bed like a rag doll and onto his tummy and he raised up his red ass like the slut that he was and then he begged to be fucked. I fucked him all right, three times in the next hour, each one a different position. I even sucked off his small cock and nads and he squirted a lot of stuff into my mouth.

“I’ll change, you’ll see,” he said as I left his home that day. I wasn’t sure what he would morph into, but at least I felt that I had helped him some. Being around him at school would be another thing all together, but I think he knew that we were not going to be social there or many places into the future.

The very next day Rory showed up looking, well, normal, if there is such a thing. He wore an attractive pair of blue jeans without embellishment and a long sleeved white dress shirt, open at the top with a modest silver medallion and the same sneakers we pretty much all wore. Gone was the make-up and the eyeliner, and he left only one piercing in his left earlobe.

Rory didn’t try to talk to me at school, only non-committal glances. He realized the pecking order of our adolescent culture and what difficulties he would make for me as well as for himself by trying to be openly friendly. That made me sad, but he looked happy and that was what mattered the most to me.

* * * * * * * * * *

One afternoon later that week I happened to be helping Sparky and Greg out after school in Sparky’s surf shop and in walks Rory, still looking converted. I smiled and had not seen him for a couple weeks, “Hey Rory! Sup?” I grinned.

“Randy, um, this is embarrassing and I don’t want you to think I’m trying to be a smart ass, but I want to learn how to use a boogie board. I’m tired of being afraid of the ocean.” I was appalled, afraid of the surf? That was not cool,

“I’ll teach you myself, boogie board is fun and is the first step to surfing.”

“You will? How much will it cost?” and just then Gar walked in the door, fresh from some sponsored event in town. Rory recognized him immediately and stepped back, mouth agape.

“Hey bro! Sup?” and we hugged, “Hey Gar, this is Rory Lind, your number one fan,” I said looking at Rory, “I thought you were?” Gar teased me and then looked at Rory with a big grin, “Hey man, how’s it hangin'?” he asked Rory.

“Um, he doesn’t surf yet Gar, I’m going to teach him to skim or boogie,” I answered for Rory and Gar smiled, “Gonna be a grom, huh?” and Rory looked puzzled, “A what?”

“A grom. A newbie or just a young eager surfer. I’ve been Gar’s grom for months. I always will be,” I said with a good measure of honest emotion looking at Gar and Gar nodded, “Yea, you better,” he said with a solemn expression.

“Oh! Yes, I’ve heard of that, yes, a grom, I kind of like that,” Rory smiled, “Um, I admire your surfing Mr. Starr,” Rory said awkwardly.

Gar stared at Rory a moment, “Oh, yes. For a moment there I thought my dad was in the room,” and I had not even met Gar’s father as the man was perpetually somewhere else on the planet,

“Hey Rory, it’s cool, we’re all bros, all groms, join in the fun man,” and he hugged Rory and Rory was thrilled, “Thanks!” he said.

Gar then left the shop after talking to Sparky and Greg and I looked at Rory,

“So, you got to meet the man, he’s my teacher and will be forever,” I could not help how I felt in front of Rory,

“Then you can be my teacher. I want to be your grom, Randy. I guess I already am. I’ve changed. I dropped drama class and I’m going to the gym. No more clubs or causes at school, I quit them all. I want to learn how to enjoy the ocean and be around the guys I want to be around, like you.”

I felt an instant and overwhelming feeling of shame mixed in with a little pride as well as a lingering sadness.

“So, how much are the lessons?” Rory’s voice broke my reverie “Oh, sorry, um, I’ll take it out of your hide later,” I winked, kidding him.

Rory grinned ear-to-ear, “Sounds good to me, thanks Randy!” but his grin was not sassy or provocative, more like a real surfer grom’s energy, eager to get started.

We did get started that afternoon, but even as I led my grom out to the beach for his first lesson, I could not shake the shameful feeling that I was now a part of a world that was not at all ready for a guy like Rory to be his real self in his own style, but also some pride that he had at least chosen to take my advice and was making an effort to meet my world half way and fit in.

My lingering sadness was all too obvious and something that I still lived with every day. Just as I was making an effort for Rory, I still felt deep down that my beloved Shaun had once made a similar effort on my behalf. I still believed that it had cost him his life and knew that it would likely haunt me now and again for some time to come.

Next:  Part Six

© Copyright PJ Franklin August 28, 2014

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