Date: Thu, 12 Feb 2004 20:41:35 EST
From: ArtHill579@aol.com
Subject: "High School Blues" part 11

Disclaimer: This story is basically a fantasy involving humiliation, mild
violence, and sexual activity between teenage boys. If you find such
material offensive or in violation of the laws of your state/country,
please don't read any further.

(c) Art M. Hill ArtHill579@aol.com All rights reserved (2004).
If you enjoy this story, please email me.

*************************************************

The "new Joe" makes his first public appearance...

I called Bob first thing on Saturday morning to let him know how sorry I
was to have missed our first exercise session. There was no one home so I
left a voice message, hoping that he was not too angry about my no-show.

I had a lot to think about over the weekend. My "discussion" with dad went
better than I could ever have hoped. Probably because, after the long daily
commute and late hours on the job during the week, he was exhausted on the
weekends and just wanted to sleep or relax. Mom was always complaining
about dad not wanting to fix anything around the house when he got a day
off. But I think I could understand how he felt.  At the same time I blamed
him for not being home more often to encourage me to be more manly and to
get into sports when I was younger. Then, maybe I wouldn't be the butt of
so much ridicule and bullying now.

In any case, I had cooked up an elaborate story, which I hoped dad would
buy, about why my looks had changed so drastically. I said that since I was
in the drama club at school (true) I was practicing for a part in the fall
play (not true). It was an adaptation of "Grease" and everyone had to wear
wild costumes. To fit the part, I had to dye my hair pink (definitely not
true). As soon as the show was over I would let my natural color come back
and even let the mohawk fill in. The white stuff on my face was grease
paint that I had to wear on stage. I had decided to wait till I got home to
wash it off, and that's why it looked like it was dripping...

"Why didn't you tell me about this last night, son. I wouldn't have been
too happy but I wouldn't have been so pissed off either."

Like I said, I was amazing myself by how creative I was becoming with my
lies. I was not happy about this and decided I had to keep working at
getting out from under the influence of Mike, Jimmy and their buddies, and
try to patch things up with Terry and Bob. I felt that they were the only
real chance I had at changing my life for the better, and becoming
something of a "normal teenager." I was quickly becoming an emotional
wreck, not just from the escalating bullying from Jimmy and Mike, but also
from the increasingly elaborate lies I had to tell to my folks and to Terry
and Bob, whom I still had to face on Monday.

I think dad just barely bought the story I told. I had thoroughly rehearsed
it, trying to anticipate any questions he might ask. My only real worry now
was that he might call the school and check out my story. They were,
indeed, sponsoring "Grease" this year, but my part in it was behind stage,
so there was no way I would be wearing any costume.

"Now, Joe," he said, "what about the drinking and drugs?"

I was treading on dangerous grounds again. "Okay dad, all the guys smoke
weed. It's just a recreational drug for them. I was hanging around with
some guys yesterday after school and they were smoking. I guess some of the
smoke got on my clothes. I swear dad, I never consciously took any drugs."
(Yeah, I was duped into taking them!)  "I do admit that I had a few beers
and I guess I shouldn't have. But all the guys do it, and if you don't join
in they consider you a dork."

"I don't care who considers you a dork. I don't want you touching alcohol
until you're old enough to make an informed decision. That's 18 in my book,
son."

"Okay, dad, you're right. I won't do it again. If they offer me a beer
again I'll just ask for a Coke. Everybody drinks that."

[I've given you a summary of this conversation, which actually went on for
at least an hour and would bore you to tears...and probably make you stop
reading this story!]

I also did a lot of thinking about my attraction to Mike and Jimmy and
their group over the weekend. I was having more and more erotic feelings
about them. I had masturbated, using images of them degrading and mocking
me; I had developed a fetish for their motorcycle boots; and had even got
off when I was forced to hand over my pay check to them, and when they
creamed my face.

What was worse, was that all these things involved their domination over
me, which was clearly growing. They had now progressed to violence in the
severing whipping I had received yesterday. At the thought of the whipping
I winced, since my backside was still tender and painful from the leather
belts they had applied so liberally to my back and butt. I smeared more
lotion over the welts, which somewhat decreased the burning. I had kept the
red condom they had slipped over my cock and last night, in spite of my
pain, I put it on and ejaculated almost immediately, hardly touching my
cock.

All of this led me to face the fact that I was very confused about my
sexual identity.  Maybe I was bisexual; maybe I was gay. I was attracted to
a number of girls at school (not that they would go out with me), but my
masturbation fantasies all involved the hunky jocks that strutted around
with so much arrogance and self-confidence, and seemed to be automatically
popular and always the center of attention.  Terry and Bob were jocks but
they didn't act like them. They were friendly and kind, even to me. Maybe
that's why I had no sexual feelings for them but only admiration. Jimmy,
Mike, and their buds, however, fit the typical jock mode plus they were
"bad boys" who took special delight in pushing around and taking advantage
of the school wimps. And of all the wimps, I seemed to be the one they had
picked out for their special attention and torture.  Lucky me!

The strange thing is that now my response to their contempt for me was to
be sexually attracted to them and to actually get turned on by their
abuse. I knew that I had to try and keep them from knowing this or they
might turn even meaner. They were absolutely straight and probably had no
tolerance for faggots--something they already called me.  Shawn felt
insulted when he caught me sniffing his boots, and had challenged me to a
boxing match at Mike's. He was pushing it too, taking every opportunity to
remind Mike that he was itching to KO me. Shawn frightened me because of
his hostility and aggressiveness. I could see us in the ring. Being so
outclassed, I might come out with a broken nose or a fractured jaw.

Monday came before I knew it. I got on the bus to face Terry, but had to
prepare him by wearing a baseball cap. "Uh, Terry, I have to apologize for
not showing up on Friday.  You know how much it means to me, practicing
with you guys. Something came up and I just couldn't make it. I left a
message with Bob. Did he tell you?"

To my utter surprise Terry reacted very calmly. "Yeah, he did, dude," he
said. "No big deal. We figured you couldn't make it for some reason. I can
tell you are really serious about wanting to work with us. We'll start
again real soon. How's that?"

I almost cried. These two guys really were friends. They trusted me and I
didn't have to make up any false explanations. My admiration for them
doubled at that minute as did my determination not to let them down again
in spite of Mike's threats. I had to find a way.

Then I had to explain the other unconfortable change in my life. "Uh,
Terry, you're not going to believe it but I changed my hair color--and I
mean really changed it."

"What do you mean, dude? What's the deal?" (oh-oh, I did have to make up
another false story!)

"I colored my hair pink. I did it on a dare, like the mohawk. I have to
stop doing that because I aways lose. I wanted to keep my word, so I did
it. Now I'm so embarrassed that I don't even want you to see it, much less
the rest of the school." At that moment I took off my cap.

Terry burst out laughing. He laughed until there were tears in his eyes.
Just as I was starting to get hurt he said: "I'm sorry, dude, I don't mean
to laugh but you do look ridiculous. Just be prepared for a real razzing
when you get to school."

"I know I screwed up again," I said. "You'll probably never want to speak
to me again or be seen with me, and I don't blame you."

"Listen, dude," Terry said, still laughing, "it's your life, and your
hair. That doesn't change anything about our friendship. I'm sure Bob will
feel the same. I would never be caught dead in that kind of haircut myself
but, hey, it's not my life, it's yours."

Once again I felt like crying. Actually I felt like hugging Terry because
he was more understanding than I could have hoped. Suddenly I felt a great
weight taken off my shoulders. I was still afraid of the reaction I would
get at school, but I approached my fate with a great deal more
self-confidence. I still had friends who would stick with me.

My fears, of course, were fully justified. The reaction to my pink hair was
even more extreme than the mohawk. There was almost universal laughing at
the entrance to the school and all kinds of mocking comments. "Told ya,
buddy," said Terry, as he headed for his first class. "Good luck; I'm sure
you'll survive. See ya at lunch." And with that he was gone, leaving me
alone with my amused classmates.

I found the same reaction in the halls and in my classrooms. Wherever I
went, heads turned and giggling and laughter followed. Jimmy, Mike and
their pals must have already spread the word that some of the guys were
calling me "Pinky" because this was the way I was constantly greeted. My
teachers all frowed their disapproval, one of them sending me to the
principal's office.

"We don't have any dress codes here, Mr. Crawford, other than not baring
your privates," Principal Donaldson said, "but I must say you are really
testing the limits. I want you to know that I strongly disapprove of this
hair style and color you've chosen to adopt. When I have time I will call
your parents and ask them to have a serious talk with you. Is that
understood?"

"Yes sir," I said humbly. "I did it on a dare and now I'm sorry I did.
When it grows in again I'll let it grow natural, I promise." Then I thought
with horror about Jimmy's remark in the bathroom the other day that the
guys wanted me to change colors every month! How would I explain that to my
folks? Well, I would face that problem when it came. Otherwise I'd go
crazy. Let me get through this first.

Going to lunch I found my way blocked by Chris McKiernan, tight end of the
school football team. "Hey Crawford, or should I say Pinky, what do you
mean lookin' like a freak. This school's got a good image in the league. It
won't take many fags like you to make us the laughing stock of the
competition. You better stay out of my way, pussyboy, or I swear I'll pull
that pink hair of yours out by the roots."

I was almost cowering. This dude was seriously big and muscled. I said
nothing as he scowled at me. Then he pushed roughly past me, almost
knocking me on the floor. About a dozen students had been watching this
little drama and smirked at me before going off whispering to each other
and laughing.

In history class I ended up once again with Jimmy directly behind me and
Mike next to him on my left. "Hey Zits," he said, "how's it hanging--your
pink sack, that is!" I heard muffled laughing from the two as the teacher
entered and class began.  Once again Jimmy pushed his booted foot through
my chair and applied pressure to my ass.  Although I was still a bit sore,
I automatically lifted it as he pushed it further and further under my ass.
"You like that pussy? You like feelin' my boot rubbin' against your
pussy-ass? Yeeeeah, sure you do. Feels good, doesn't it? Makes you want to
throw a boner."

After he started massaging my ass crack, I began to respond again by
wiggling my butt against his foot to increase the erotic feelings I was
getting. What had happened to my resolution not to encourage them? Actually
I couldn't help myself.

Jimmy lifted up his other boot which made it even worse. He was now cupping
my ass, rubbing the lug soles of his boots against my hips. I began to
sweat and my cock was getting so hard I was afraid I would have a
spontaneous emission. This, of course, was what he wanted. Apparently he
made a little wager with Mike that he could make me cum right is the middle
of class.

Since we were at the back of the room no one could really see us, least of
all the teacher who was droning away about his lesson. Getting bolder,
Jimmy slouched down in his seat and extended his long legs until his boots
were almost in my lap. He pulled my desk back all the way against his and
finally was able to put his feet in my crotch. He felt my boner and knew it
would just take a little more to send me over the edge. In the meantime I
was doing nothing to stop him.

I could now see his boots and the bottom of his jeans wrapped tightly
around my waist. I could feel the warmth of his jeans and of the muscled
legs underneath.  His boots had found their target, my bulging cock that
was sticking out so much that he could squeeze it. He alternately applied
pressure and then released it, massaging my cock in the most sensual way. I
was almost tempted to help him by grabbing his boots and pulling them
deeper into my crotch to get the entire shaft of my cock. I could here him
(and Mike) laughing quietly behind me. Finally after one more prolonged
squeeze, my cock blew in an intense orgasm which released gobs of hot
cum. I had to hold my hand over my mouth to keep from audibly groaning in
pleasure.

Jimmy quickly removed his feet from my lap and put that innocent look on
his face. In the meantime, an enormous stain was spreading across my brown
slacks. You could even see the cum on the surface of my pants as a shiny,
slick mess that couldn't be missed.  And next period was lunch!

As class ended I got up, holding my books in front of my crotch. Jimmy and
Mike also got up, both with big grins on their faces. For my part I blushed
shamefully thinking about what I had let Jimmy do to me.

"Well, Zits, now we know for sure you're a faggot," Jimmy said. "Did ya
like feelin' my big boots massagin' your ass and then wrapping around that
faggy little wiener of yours?  I guess ya must have if that stain is what I
think it is. Now since I don't like bein' around faggots unless I need 'em
for something, get the fuck out of my sight before I kick you in the
nuts--if you got any, that is! By the way, I don't want you carrying your
books in front of you like you're not proud of your fag jizz. Carry 'em
under your arm like a normal guy."

"But Jimmy," I protested, "then everyone will see the stain on my pants and
know what happened."

"That's not my problem, Zits," said Jimmy, "but it's gonna be yours if you
don't do what I say."

Resigned to be humiliated again, I walked down the hall to the cafeteria
with my cum stain in full view, waiting for the sarcastic remarks to
start. Amazingly everyone was so busy talking or going to class or lunch
that virtually no one saw or commented on my "accident." A few girls looked
funny at me but they must have been too embarrassed to say anything.

Both Phil and Tod were ahead of me in the cafeteria line. Both of them
pointed to me grinning and telling the cashier that I was going to pay for
all three lunches. I didn't say a thing, but pulled several bills from my
rapidly shrinking store and handed them over.  "Thanks, Pinky," said
Tod. "We knew we could count on you when we forgot our lunch money."

"Oh, by the way," Phil said in a loud voice, "what's that big stain on the
front of your pants? Looks like you just missed the little boy's room!"
They both laughed and even the cashier kind of snickered, asking the
assistant to take over so that she could wash her hands. At that moment my
face almost matched the color of my hair.

I had been forbidden by Jimmy and Mike to associate with Terry and Bob
anymore, and I was afraid to directly defy their command right in front of
them. So I found myself walking over to the table where the other punks sat
pretty much in isolation. I'll have to say that they were very
welcoming. "Take a seat sweety, love that hair, but the clothes have got to
go. I'll go shopping with you some time."

I happened to glance over to where Jimmy, Mike, and company were sitting.
They were once again laughing their asses off. Then I shifted my gaze to
Terry and Bob on the far side of the cafeteria. Their mouths were open in
amazement, touched, perhaps, with the beginning of scorn. I had to make
things right soon.

(to be continued)