Chapter III

The Score

“Mom, I’m going to Drew’s tonight. Mr. Keating gave us a joint assignment on Hamlet, due in two weeks. We’ve got to get cracking.”

“Ok, Buddy, just don’t be too late. For pity’s sake, wear a toque. It is really cold out there.”

Drew lived about six blocks from us so it was not a long walk. I had made up my mind not to bring up last night. What happened, happened. We had an assignment to do. Our friendship was back on track. I arrived at his house and rang the doorbell. His father answered calling out, “Drew, Buddy’s here.”

“Tell him to come up, Papa,” Drew yelled. Papa? Odd, I thought. I did not know anyone who called their father Papa. Drew lived alone with his father. His mother had died of breast cancer at the age of 33. It was very traumatic for both of them but as a result they were very close. I reminded myself to ask Drew why he used Papa as the diminutive. I went upstairs to Drew’s bedroom. He was at his desk with the play before him. When I came into the room, he got up and gave me a high five. He was wearing short, frayed cutoff jeans with a tight tee-shirt.

“Guess what happened to me today when I got home from school. My father told me that the coach at the University had called . He would like me to start diving there. He would be able to coach me for a nominal fee. Apparently the university is interested in me going there on an athletic scholarship. A case of first dibs,” he laughed. “Umm, put your coat on the chair over there.”

I was thrilled for him almost as if it had happened to me. “Geez, Drew, that’s great news. And you thought when you moved, diving was going to delayed until you got to University.”

“Yes. I start tomorrow after school at 5:00, their pool.” But as if to reassure me, he said “But that won’t affect our project at all. I am pretty disciplined. “ Knowing him, these last three months, this was true. It also showed in the orderliness of his room in stark contrast to mine.

“Have a seat on my bed and let’s get started,” he said. “Here is what I jotted down.” Sitting at his desk again, he read aloud, “One: Review the play and mark all the lines where Hamlet and Horatio are in conversation. Two: Jot down the number of the lines, the Act and Scene. Three: Do the same for Rosencrants and Gilden...[he misspelled the names]. Four: What do we learn about their past, the present and the quality of their friendship? Five: Does any of this help us understand the play?” I was awed at the outline. It seemed so way beyond anything I would have thought of. But then again Drew had a linear personality unlike my right-brain way of looking at and doing things.

I said, “I am impressed. Where’d you get these ideas? You know my Dad teaches English Literature at the University. I could not have come up with that.”

To which he replied, a bit sadly, “My mom was an English teacher but she also had done a lot of classical theatre. I’ve been going to plays since I don’t know when. She was always talking about the great plays and about how they reflect life now as well as years ago.” We were both very quiet.

I said, “I know it must be hard, Drew.”

“Yes, but I have gotten over it although I wish she were still here.” Then changing the subject back to the play he said, “I thought we both would do the outline and then compare notes and barnstorming.”

“Brainstorming” I said.

Laughing he replied, “Whatever. Brainstorming is what we’ll do. I figure we can get our separate notes done in a couple of days, get our ideas sorted out together and then we can draft our essay.” I nodded in agreement. “Ok that’s done. Great!”

Swivelling his chair around facing me he said “At lunch, you said you wanted to talk.” Of course I had made up my mind not to talk about it and said it was not necessary. I did not need to talk about it.

But he said, “I think we should talk about it, bud. Let me tell you what I think.”

He then proceeded to lay out his thoughts about what had happened. It came down to these things. That he was sure I was gay. Because I had never had sex with anyone before, a lot of sexual tension had built up waiting to be released. After all I was seventeen. He also thought that I was very sexual saying that he believed some people were very sexual and some were not sexual at all and that most people fall somewhere in-between. He repeated that I probably was in the 1st category and that he was also, saying this with a joyous laugh. He repeated that he had sex with a few guys before and it was always fun. He advised me to go with the flow and not get hung about it. It was only sex. I now think that Drew was one of those free spirits who for whatever reason, upbringing, personality or whatever considered sex as a normal appetite to be fulfilled. (Of course it helped that he was not gay with all that gayness entails.) He said that it would not affect our friendship and it had never affected him in the past. I did not know what to say other than he was probably right.

I can honestly say that his thoughts were quite mature, more like my thoughts as I reflect and write this story. I wonder if he had more insight than most or did the death of his mother and his worry about his father invest him with a maturity much beyond his 18 years.

He continued, “I know that I attract girls and guys and both consider me desirable. I am lucky to look the way I do. And bud, it’s important in diving where physique is an unspoken component of the scoring. I hope I’m not narcissistic but it’s important in my sport to show off.”

He then told me that half his diving team was gay or bi-sexual. One of them, his best friend, Bobby something, was gay. I asked whether they had sex and he told me that they had on a number of occasions adding that he enjoyed it very much as did Bobby. I asked him whether he missed him. He answered that he did because he was a good diver, bright, funny and outgoing, much like me, he added, except for the diving part.

“But you are my best friend now.” He added, mischievously, “You know we had a game we played. I would do a little dance and sing something stupid and gradually strip. He would give me a score out of 10. Like when I took off my shirt or tee, he would say 7 out of 10. When I removed my sock, a lower score and so on.

We both laughed when I said `Surprise, surprise, feet score less than chest?”

He got up from his chair saying “Let me show you.”

To which I replied laughing “Hey, I get it! Not necessary.” But I did want him to show me. The story about Bobby made my dick quicken. I was getting excited without the help of beer. In a bit of a panic, I said, “What about your dad?”

Rather sadly he replied, “Don’t worry about him. He’s writing a report on the funding for the new theatre for its bank financing. He overworks, sometimes working till after midnight. Has been sleeping in his den. While working he listens to opera full blast. Compensation, denial or both.”

With that said, he stood up before me while I sat on his bed. “Get out your mental scorecard.” He started to hum, off key of course. Crossing his arms, he lifted his tee-shirt over his head. I thought he was so good looking, fully developed, with just the right hint of androgyny, with no gym enhanced pectorals except those developed naturally by diving. His nipples, surrounded by their quarter-like brown backgrounds on his fully formed chest, acted like a focal point compelling one’s attention to his naval where there began a thin arrow of blonde hair subtly suggesting a promise below.

“6", I said and he laughed. It was a 10.

He slowly bent down, turned around showing me his buttocks which he wiggled and took off his socks. Turning around, he held them against my nose. “Yew!! 2. Only a 2!” I shouted.

He laughed loudly. “I never scored less than a 4 with Bobby.” He moved closer to me while he swivelled his hips forward and backward in an erotic but artless dance. Teasingly he removed his cutoffs to his ankles. After taking them off, with a flourish he threw them across the room. Standing there only in his briefs he looked like a model. My dick was getting very hard at this point and beginning to scrape against my jeans.

I shouted “8. Oops -- your dad will hear.”

“Not to worry, he’s too engrossed in his work.”

He slowly, now too slowly, began to remove his briefs, inch by inch. He was bending over so I could not see very clearly although he was barely a three feet from me. He removed the briefs from his ankles and chucked them across the room. He stood up, grasped one hand on his wrist over his head. His non-tumescent 5" cock was erotically nestled along his low-hanging balls. He strutted and danced (by the way, cocks do not move in rhythmic sync) while singing “I am Hamlet to your Horatio”, in a surprising baritone attempting Do Do Mi Mi Sol La Sol Fa Re Do. He was alternatively sharp and flat. I tried to be nonchalant, when I was quite the contrary, saying, “No career in opera. Diving’s your thing.”

You must know that I want to describe him in adjectives that do justice. I have tried in many drafts. It is too banal to say that he was so smooth like silk, well-formed, beautiful, sculpture, sexual, beautiful, homo-erotic. etc etc.. These descriptions fail simply because before me was not an image but rather an event.

He broke my entrancement by asking, “No score?”

It was worth a 10 but I was speechless.

He laughed and said, “Bobby also never gave me a score at this point insisting on examining the evidence.” He took my hands just like last night but this time to touch his chest. I was uncertain and tentative but I lightly traced my two hands, fingers out-stretched, along his chest, lightly moving down. He re-acted instantly by getting goose pimples all over his arms and nipples. I traced my fingers down his chest, along his thighs and legs drawing up again to his thighs and lightly touched his inner thighs. My tentative touch was a caress. With my long arms I reached around him to draw him closer. I traced my fingers along his buttocks, and down his legs. Lightly Grabbing his legs I moved my hand upward along his legs toward his inner thighs until my hands were lodged under his balls. All the while, his cock grew, enticing upwards until it was pointing directly at my face. Unconsciously, I licked my lips and was eager to take it in my mouth. But he abruptly said. “Ok, now time for me to score you.”

“I don’t think so,” muttering that I had not yet given him my final tally.

 “Save it”, he said, “I’m going to score you. Only fair.” With this he grab my arms to pull me off the bed. He sat in my place with his legs apart, his hands resting back of, and wide of, his hips. I stood there awkwardly. He said “Showtime!”

I was so distracted by Drew’s nakedness that I struggled with the buttons on my shirt. It did not help matters that my dick was hard and straining against my jeans.

My clumsiness was met with “Minus 5," he yelled. We both laughed and I relaxed. I removed my shirt and tee. “Bud, you are really scrawny. With some exercise and some more weight you will have an even nicer body.”

I did not dance and in fact I am a terrible dancer. People always found this contradictory because of my musical gifts. So I just did a silly swaying back and forth while I tried to remove my jeans which got stuck momentarily and uncomfortably on the outline of my hard dick in my boxers. I removed my jeans and quickly took off my boxers.

Drew sat up and reached out grabbing my dick singing “Horatio has a nice boner.” “10. A perfect 10,” he said.

Flattered I felt a new confidence and said, “If that is a 10 we will have to raise the ante for Hamlet to a 15.”

He laughed, saying “I do have a biggie, don’t I.” He put his hands on my narrow hips saying “Turn around, bud.” I turned around and he put his hands on my buttocks. “Nice butt, bud, Really cute ass.” He turned me around facing him. He leaned back against the bed again and looked me in my eyes. I stood there, immobile, looking at his cock which was getting thicker and moving upwards.

Do gay men have physical instincts that are different from straight men? Are we hard-wired to react when we see a man’s cock? Are we compelled to act in worship or in submission?

Staring at his cock and his body, my body`s natural gravity bent my knees simultaneously until I was kneeling before him primed for my oral supplication. He closed his eyes waiting for the inevitable pleasure my ministrations would bring. I longingly stared at his cock wanting to suck it right away. But I first started to lick his cum-filled orbs, licking around them, all around them, over and over. Drew lifted his hips. I licked underneath with my tongue stretching it out as far as I could. I reached the top of the crack of his ass drawing my tongue slowly up without pause along his now iron cock to its head. The width of his cock and the width of my tongue seemed a perfect wedding. I wished that my tongue would have been wider so that I could wrap around it like a Xmas wrapping for a perfect gift.

I licked down his shaft along the left side and then up the right. My own dick was rigid against my stomach and leaking pre-cum. I was afraid I would come. I willed my own dick to wait. Deliberately tonguing the pulsing pipeline of his throbbing shaft from his balls to his ripe knob, I opened my watering mouth. I sucked in his hot cock making my coaxing mouth a warm, very wet, natural sheath. I sucked. No, I suckled, my cheeks forming cavities. The loud sounds of my sucking signalled my urgency . I rolled my tongue around its head tickling the spot where he was cut with quick flicks of my tongue. Moaning and saying how good it felt, he moved his hips on the bed in a circular motion. He started to thrust his hips to get me deeper but it was so hard against his stomach I could not get down very far. He lifted my head from his drool slickened cock and stood up. I think I must have registered a hint of disbelief.

He stood before me, his legs spread apart, while my eyes looked into his, my mouth in wide open invitation. He pointed his magnetic cock at my mouth. Again I was pulled to its force. I engulfed it. My tongue encircled excitedly its head. I compulsively vacuumed him in. It filled my mouth so fully that I felt that his cock and I had become one. He would move back. I would suck it in. He withdrew. I sucked it in again. Withdraw, suck, withdraw, suck, we set up a cock-mouth rhythmic seesaw.

Drew began to move more quickly and deeper. He was now fucking my mouth. My fingers were caressing and urging his balls. My mouth had become a tunnel, my tongue a highway. His cock pressed against my tongue as he moved in. When he paused at my throat, I curled my tongue upwards on the underside of his cock until it reached his slit and then pushed my tongue forcibly flat and hard along his cumshooter. His withdrawal met my sucking might as if I could not bear his cock’s absence. At the fourth thrust, travelling my tongue’s inevitable path, his cock tried to breech my throat. I opened up willingly to take him in but instinctively rejected its entry, coughing. He attempted to drive his cock deeper on the next few thrusts but each time I gagged. He was not trying to hurt or force me. His hard cock needed to find its natural lodging. But I could not make my desiring throat his cock’s home.

His hands massaged my head ready to complete my sucking mouth. My fingers felt the urgent promise in his rising balls. His body tensed. He arched his back..He rose on his toes. His cock mushroomed. My cheeks bulged. He wildly yelled. He made the completing thrust. His racing cum coursed through his cock. He shot his creamy missiles in rapid fire. I erupted so violently that my dick jerked wildly like a water hose that cannot be controlled. I sucked each of his volleys in perfect rhythm to my own uncontrollable outbursts. My spunk soaked my stomach, his thighs, his balls, and my chin. I suckled his cock. I craved his succulent cum. I avidly swallowed it, replenishing my depleting store with his thick spew.

After what seemed a long time, we both stopped coming. My cum-coated tongue gently bathed his cock. His eyes were closed contentedly. His cock softened a bit. I swallowed in as much remaining sperm as I could while he withdrew from my reluctant, clinging mouth. It came out with a small plopping sound, dripping on my already stained chin. His cock was so wet it looked like a body that had just exited the shower. I licked his cock all over, cleaning it up. I licked my own cum off his balls and thighs.

He got back on the bed and stretched out on his back. His cock was still somewhat hard and lay there against his left thigh. He beckoned me over. I lay on the bed, my head against his stomach near his cock which I traced with one finger and occasionally licked it. My mouth felt its absence.

It suddenly seemed very quiet likely because the slurping blowjob seemed like a crescendo. But I had none of the shame feelings of last night, just satisfaction. In fact, and I promise to tell you why later in the story, I felt more individual than at any other time in my life.

Breaking the silence, he said, “That was so fucking intense, bud.” I thought, still tracing his cock, yes, it was intense, intensely good. He then said, ”I’m sorry I got carried away and made you gag. “

I KNEW I was sorry that I had gagged but said, ”It’s OK.”

“Bobby had the same problem the first couple of times. I am pretty big.”

Yes he was big but I still asked, “How big is it, Drew.”

Well right now it is probably about 7 inches. But when I get hard it is 8 ½" unless I am really excited and then it reaches .....” He paused.


“Well tonight you gave it a 9.” We both laughed.

I thought about his comment that Bobby used to have the same problem. I asked him how Bobby was able to adapt. He laughed and said, “It is quite funny but, when you think about it, practical. He went to a fruit store and bought some very long, firm bananas and practised on them.” We again both laughed

It was getting late so I got up to put on my clothes with Drew remarking again how cute my butt was. You might think that this is a gay remark. You do have to keep in mind that Drew was in a sport that rewarded beauty. Admiration by straight guys of another’s physical assets is entirely normal behaviour in most body sports.

He repeated that he had the diving lessons at the university so we could not get together until Saturday afternoon. He suggested we both have our notes by then. He suggested Sunday for the first draft and editing. I said I would see him tomorrow. He put on his cutoffs and saw me to the door. Going down the stairs I could hear coming from the closed door of his father’s den my favourite opera, Tosca.

I walked home feeling so much different than last night. I was relaxed and happy and I whistled Visse d’arte in the cold night air. I got home, yelling that I was home, to no response as usual. I went into the kitchen, got out some chocolate cake and a large glass of milk. I chuckled when I saw the bananas in the fruit bowl. I went upstairs to take a shower. Even though I did shower last night, I usually shower in the morning. But I had cum all over me. I showered, soaping myself thoroughly while caressing my body. I thought that I should go to a gym. I certainly could not eat any more than I do. I got out of the shower and while towelling off I looked at myself in the mirror and turned to my side, my head turned so I could look at my butt in the body length mirror on the door. I dropped the towel and held my buttocks just like Drew did, squeezing them. I thought, yes, I do have a nice butt. Walking quickly to my room because I was naked, I crawled into bed. I was in a very positive mood but quite sleepy. I turned out the light. Just as I my head hit the pillow, a thought came into mind. I got out of bed, went downstairs into the kitchen, and picked up the largest banana, bringing it back with me to bed.

Chapter Four - Learning -coming soon