My hands slid down Mark's smooth thighs and lifted his legs up onto my shoulders. I wiped a hand up across his ass hole and shaven crotch to grasp the shaft of his hairless dick and gave it a few quick strokes. Mark closed his vibrant blue eyes and groaned in pleasure. My other hand positioned my own dick on his well greased anus and I bent forward to quickly kiss his chest. When I felt his anus relax slightly, I slid into him. His eyes popped open and widened as he grunted in pain.

Damn, I thought. Too fast again. I hated to hurt Mark, I loved him too much. Mark hated pain, especially during our love making.

"Sorry, my love," I told him.

Mark reached up to stroke the side of my face and drew his hand down through my long hair down my chest to my left nipple. I knew what was coming and braced myself as he grasped the nipple and twisted sharply. I yelped quietly (you don't make any more noise than you have to in a dorm room) and brought a hand up to rub my tit.

"Did I hurt you that much?" I whispered.

"Not quite," he whispered as he rubbed the offended tit, then took my hand to kiss it. "Just a little reminder to be gentle."

I delicately pushed a little more of myself into him and felt him tense and then relax. I watched his eyes close in pleasure again as I continued to stroke his cock. Mark loved his lovemaking to be slow and gentle so I was in no hurry as I slid another inch or so of my 7 inch dong up his butt. He appeared relaxed so I gently grasped his waist and pulled him further onto me. He brought his legs down and wrapped his ankles behind my back and I knew he was ready. His legs pulled me into him as I pulled back on his waist and abruptly buried my dick to the balls in his anus. Smoothly and slowly I began to pump.

I was a junior in High School when I discovered, rather abruptly, that I was gay. This is the story of that discovery. But first a little background is in order to set the stage.

My father was a pilot in the Air Force and we were in Japan when my mother died just after I turned 12. My dad had to grow up in a hurry. Suddenly it dawned on him he was now both mother and father to a preteen and not just a fighter pilot. Like everything else he did, he threw himself into it with a vengeance. We spent a lot of time playing football (the sport he played in college) and basket ball (the one my mom was selected "all American" for at her college) until the novelty wore off for my dad and my rebelliousness returned. Dad took my attitude for about six months and then decided I needed more discipline so he marched me over to the base barbershop had had them shave my head. I went from the shoulder length hair my mother and I both loved to a complete "boot camp" buzz in about a minute. I was so mad I stopped talking to him completely.

Things changed between us the day the squadron commander's wife came and picked me up from school before noon. The bad feeling got worse when we got out at her house and I was met by the squadron commander, a chaplain, and a nurse. I hardly heard the commander telling me about my dad's plane going down at sea nor the chaplain telling me they were still searching for dad. All I could think about was that I hadn't said a word to him in a month, let alone saying good-bye to him that morning.

For three days, I was the most miserable human on the planet. The guilt I felt for not talking with Dad warred with the grief to see which would make me cry the most. The evening of the third day the phone rang and my heart sank. The squadron commander's wife answered the phone and I watched her face because I knew I'd see the news before she could tell it. She burst into a huge grin and it was like the sun coming up. She slammed the phone down and as she raced for the door, told me a navy helicopter was bringing dad to the base hospital. Dad and I got serious about the father-son business after that. I changed my attitude and he did as well and we've never argued since. We had a lot of discussions -- but we never argued. He even gave ground on smaller issues. He sat and watched as I got my ear pierced even though I could see his teeth grinding and never mentioned that I never got a haircut.

Dad took an assignment he didn't want so that we could get back to the states so I could go to an American high school. He wanted me to have a "normal" high school experience which meant (to him) staying in the same school for my junior and senior years. He carefully selected the high school he wanted me to attend based on their football and basketball teams. When my mom was ill, I sort of stopped going to school for a while and wound up having to repeat the fifth grade. That coupled with a couple of quick notice assignments in the middle of a school year cost me another year in junior high. Consequently, I was not only taller and more developed than most of the "juniors" I was going to be in class with, I was two years older as well. I was hoping the maturity and extra size would play to my advantage. My mom had been very tall and my dad tended to be stocky and I was somewhere between them. I got my height first and people tended to stuff me with food to help try to put some mass on my frame which worked surprisingly well. I was a big guy when class started.

We showed up at the school in August when football season started so I could tryout for the team. My height and my dad's football teachings (and years of pee-wee football and pickup games overseas) let me make the football squad as a third string quarterback easily. Before our first game, the backup quarter back left for another school and I got the backup job on the varsity squad -- Dad almost burst.

The first day of class wasn't bad at all. I showed up and was introduced in my new home room, about the same time my name was mentioned as the backup quarterback for the football team, and I saw Mark for the first time at lunch.

At lunch I found that when I finally made it through the lunch line and looked out over the cafeteria, I didn't know a soul so I sat down at a nearly empty table to work on the mountain of food the ladies in the serving line had piled up on my plate. As I ate, I had the feeling I was being watched and casually looked around to see who. I caught the eye of a kid with red hair and bright blue eyes looking at me. He quickly looked back down at his plate. I was getting used to being looked at. In an age of buzz cuts, flat tops and shaved or partially shaved heads on boys, I was out of place with brown hair that fell a couple of inches below the bottom of my shoulder blades. Since I hadn't had it cut in years it always looked somewhat disheveled. Dad tolerated it but I could see him cringe every time I pulled it into a pony tail. Fortunately for him, I only did it before I put on my football helmet or when I played basketball, the rest of the time I just left it loose. I returned to my own food but then on a hunch looked quickly back up at the other kid. He was staring at me and fingering the longest braid I'd ever seen on a male. He'd pulled it over his shoulder and was stroking it gently. It was so long, I couldn't see the end of it because the table top hid it. The kid blushed when he knew I caught him staring, picked up his tray and hurried away. He had a very noticeable limp and the braid that fell to his waist bounced around as he left. I quickly returned to my own eating as strange things were happening below my own waist. I played with my food until everything returned to its normal size and then left for my next class somewhat dazed and confused by my reaction.

The next day I looked for him as I came out of the lunch line, but as soon as he made eye contact with me, he got up and left. I didn't see him again for more than two weeks because school and football were getting into high gear.

We won our first football game handily. We were ahead 35 to nothing at the start of the fourth quarter so I got to play. I managed to throw for one touchdown and we ran one in for another. Dad had missed most of the game, but he did make it for the last quarter and I don't think I've ever seen him so proud of me. He didn't even frown when I got in the car after the game with my hair pulled into a wet ponytail and spent half the time on the way home trying to get the earrings in the dark. All he could talk about was football.

My standing went up in the school immediately, and most of the girls were in a snit. I was obviously available, had some notoriety, and I was tall and good looking enough -- but I was a "newbie" and from out of town to boot -- thus lower than dirt. No girl in the school, especially not one in my own class dared to be seen spending time with someone who was not a "native". The obvious solution was for every female in the school to ignore my existence. I was some what surprised to discover I didn't really care, and was a little disappointed that every day at lunch I looked for the kid with the braid, and never saw him.

The third week of school was when we had our mandatory physical fitness test. It was no problem for me until we got to the swimming pool. We only needed to swim four laps to pass. I made it about six feet. Unfortunately that put me in 12 feet of water at the deep end of the pool. Being hauled gasping and choking to stand dripping wet in front of the swimming coach explaining why I jumped into the pool when I knew I couldn't swim a stroke was not the highlight of my life. The coaches worked out that I'd be let loose from football practice 15 minutes early and go to the gym for swimming lessons. The swimming coach told me proudly that one of the state's fastest freestyler would have the job of teaching me to swim. He also told me that I had to be able to swim a mile before he would pass me on the fitness test. I reminded him the standards stated I only needed to flounder for four laps. He said being able to swim a mile would "be a character builder." He sounded just like Dad when he told me something that would take a lot of effort and provide very little gain. The next day I left practice and went to the pool. The swim team was just finishing up as I walked in. I was watching a couple of girls going off the high dive when a voice behind me said, "You are Brian?"

I turned around to see a tall guy with deep blue eyes. I knew I'd seen him somewhere, but I couldn't place it until he pulled the swimming cap from his head and bright red hair fell wetly to his waist.

"I'm Mark -- your swimming teacher. We might as well get started with the basics," he said and gave me a quick smile. My heart seemed to race, but I managed to say something cool like.

"Duh ... Ready when you are."

Mark was one fast swimmer. He could have been faster but all that hair tucked under the swim cap probably slowed him down a trifle. He said the added drag just meant he had to work harder and hard work never hurt anyone. Like me, he was older than our classmates. When he was four, he was in an auto accident that nearly killed him. Doctors swore he would never walk again. Fortunately, they never figured out how to explain that to a four year old. Mark's folks started him swimming as part of his therapy. He'd crawl from his wheelchair to the pool and swim until someone dragged him out hours later. He was almost eight years old when the doctors let him enter the first grade. No one wanted to stop the progress he was making on his recovery. As a result, when he started school, he walked through the door. He didn't walk well, but he walked. But swimming had become his life. On land he was awkward, in the water he was too graceful for words.

My first swimming lesson with Mark was what gave me the first indication I was gay. He had to support me in the water as he taught me how to float, and the touch of his hands sent thrills down my spine. He'd hold my hands as I learned how to kick and dragged me around the shallow end of the pool. I had a raging hard on for most of the lesson and was so embarrassed I stayed in the pool during one of the rest breaks. Just before we finished that first day, he had me jump into the deep water to see how I treaded water. I jumped as near to him as I could and, as I sank near him, I reached out for support. My hand trailed down his chest and past his crotch and I felt his hard on through his flimsy suit. He pulled me to the surface and as I gasped and held on to him, I again ran my hand over his crotch (only sort of accidentally). Mark turned me around and had me paddle toward the side of the pool where he had me do some more kicking exercises. Once again he helped support me and this time his hand brushed against my hard on. He gave me a quick guilty smile, then blushed a bright crimson..

"Lesson over for today," he stammered. "See ya tomorrow." Then he pulled himself out of the pool and limped off to the locker room. It took me a while to get myself under control and follow him.

Mark was also a junior and spent all the time he wasn't in class in the pool. The school was so large that we didn't have any classes in common that first semester. That first week the only time I saw him was during our lessons. After the first lesson there were always a lot of people around so I never had much of a chance to get to know him.

That Friday night's football game was the opposite of the week before. The weather was miserable and we just got pounded by the opposition. I didn't play the first half and I glanced at the stands to see if Mark was there. I saw him and he gave a little wave, but things were getting out of hand in the game and I had to put my full attention to getting the coaches signals into the quarterback. We were getting beaten so badly, coach put me in for the second half. I did manage to complete a few passes, one of which even went for a touchdown, but the rest of the half I spent on my back with defensive linesmen sitting on my chest. By the end of the game, I could hardy walk. Because Dad was out of town, I spent a long time in the shower under the hot water, trying to iron out the kinks. It took another half hour to dry and comb out my hair. I was the only one left in the locker room as I headed to the door. I glanced out into the pouring rain and was really dreading the half mile walk home when a car pulled out of the handicapped parking slot and stopped at the door.

Mark rolled down the window and said, "Need a ride, sailor?"

As I crawled into the car, Mark asked if I wanted to stop for a pizza on the way home. I said I was too exhausted and hurt too much for that. Mark commented that my house looked pretty dark as we pulled up into our drive. I told him my Dad was out of town for a few days and was on my own. I told him my big plans for the weekend were crawl into my bed and stay there till Monday while praying I would heal. Mark looked at me strangely and shyly said in a husky voice that his folks were out of town at a medical convention and that he was on his own as well. He then mentioned he had an indoor pool at his house and a hot tub to boot.

I felt myself getting hard and wondered if he was feeling the same when he said, "I've spent a lot of time in hospitals over the years. I know how good a hot tub can feel when your muscles hurt. I also learned a lot about how to massage those aches and pains away"

Mark didn't look at me while he was saying this and his voice sort of had a wistful and kind of a hopeful note to it. I knew I had reached a crossroads and I had to decide which way I was going to go. Once I started down one path, I knew there was no going back. I wondered if Mark was at the same crossroads.

"The hot tub and message sound great," I told him.

He smiled at me and put the car in reverse.

Mark lived about two miles from me in what was known as the "rich end" of town. What I could see of the house was huge as we pulled up the circular drive and into the garage. Mark's room was just off the garage in a private wing that included his room, a study, a small workout room, his bathroom and the indoor lap pool and hot tub. Mark ushered me through the door into the pool area and pointed out the hot tub.

"Hop in. I'll go change," he told me as he headed back into the room.

I hurriedly stripped off my clothes and hung them on a nearby hook. I considered leaving my underwear on but then realized I'd have to wear them home wet. I shed them quickly and eased into the tub. The hot water felt great on my tired muscles as I stretched out on the lounge in the tub. There were a couple of buttons at my side and I played with them until I got the water jets running. The hot water jets were just starting to take the soreness out of my back when Mark walked back in dressed in a bathrobe. In his hand he carried a bottle of brandy and two glasses. He poured a glass and handed it to me, put his own on the side of the tub and then dropped his robe. I choked on the brandy.

Mark's bright red braid and his reddish, and somewhat patchy, goatee were the only hair on his body. He was shaved from the neck down. I'd known he shaved his chest and legs like most swimmers, but the shaved crotch and smooth ass brought my hard on back with a vengeance. I ran my hand up from my fur covered dick and through mass of chest hair. Quite a contrast I thought to myself, as Mark climbed into the tub and sat next to me.

Mark sipped his brandy for a few minutes then told me to move from the lounge in the tub to the sitting position opposite him. I did so and as the water jet massaged my back, Mark picked up my leg and began to message the calf muscles.

"It's always my legs that hurt the worst after exercise," he explained as he kneaded the muscles. He kneaded both my calfs and then pulled me forward to start on my thighs. We made small talk about the game and what was going on in school while I tried to avoid thinking about what I was feeling. Mark massaged his way down my thigh toward my crotch and swollen member. As his hands got closer, my hard on got harder and my chest felt tight. His hand finally brushed my hardened cock and snapped back. Mark blushed and hesitated to see if I was going to attack him. I was confused and afraid. I could get out of the tub now and walk home in the rain or I could follow the lead of my feelings. I hesitated knowing if I followed my hunch and was wrong Mark could brand me as a queer and ruin me. If I was right, and did nothing, I might be passing up the chance of a lifetime. With my stomach in turmoil I reached out to touch his thigh. I figured I could say it was an accident if he complained. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again they were full of hope and fear -- and I wondered if that was how I looked. Mark's eyes took on a sudden look of determination and he gently took my hand from his thigh and moved it to his crotch and placed it on his hard on. His other hand reached under the water to lightly touch my cock and this time the hand stayed. I took another deep breath, wrapped my legs around him, pulled him toward me and kissed him on the lips. After a moments hesitation he opened his mouth and I kissed him as deeply as I had ever kissed a girl. He responded instantly, crushing his mouth into mine and grinding his crotch against my dick. I picked him up and laid him on the lounge and still kissing him moved my hand down to his crotch. I rubbed my hand across him and it felt like fine sandpaper. I pulled away and laughed.

"What? What?" he stammered; embarrassed.

"Nothing," I told him. I just noticed your crotch has a five o'clock shadow"

He laughed and said he'd take care of that tomorrow and then resumed his lip lock on my face. We rolled around on the lounge slopping water over the side of the tub until he was on top of me with his arms around me and moving his torso so our cocks rubbed against each other and against our bellies. Mark moved down to kiss my nipples and I stuck my hand between us to grab both our dicks in my hand and started to stroke them. The activity got more frenzied as I reached behind Mark to grab his ass and crush his pelvis into mine. We dry (so to speak) humped as we kissed each others mouths, and explored each others with our tongues and hands. I could feel my insides tightening as my body reacted to our lust. My breath came in gasps and the ferocity of my movement against Mark became more fierce. He responded by quickening his movements and ramming his tongue down my throat. My back arched abruptly as the orgasm enveloped me. I convulsed violently as my hot cum rocketed from my cock into the water between us in spasm after spasm. Mark's panting turned into a moan as my motion against his body triggered his own release. I held him tightly as he thrashed against me. I felt his dick swell and felt his cum spurting against my abdomen. After several more spasms he collapsed against me with a huge sigh. I continued to hold him tightly against me, my mind and body still reeling from the strength of the orgasm -- I'd never had one that strong, and it left me weak. We held each other for another minute or so without saying or doing anything, just reveling in each others arms. Finally, Mark pulled himself up and looked at me.

"Wow!" he said, and collapsed back into my arms.