THE GENITAL GYMNAST Copyright © 2004 by Jerry Leckie — A well-endowed high school athlete, who considers himself straight, has resigned himself to being appreciated only for his "equipment," when he suddenly finds himself falling into an unexpected relationship with a fellow jock.

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WARNING: My short story fiction deals with very mature subjects and with explicit language, some of which is of a sexual nature. If viewing such material is illegal where you live or if viewing such material would be offensive to you, please click on the “BACK” button of your browser NOW to return to other sections of the web.


Author's Note: According to many of you, I left way too many loose ends to the saga of Joe and Randy when I ended the story with part one. So, to satisfy your curiosity, Joe and Randy's adventures will continue - at least until part four. Enjoy.

From Part One, Chapter Three - As Joe gradually wakened the next morning, he became conscious of the delicious warmth of Randy's hard body next to him, the boy's head cradled in the hollow of his shoulder, his calloused fingers stroking the hair on his chest. He turned his head and smiled at his lover. "This is such a nice way to wake up," he mumbled.

Without opening his eyes, Randy snuggled closer. "You held me like this all night," he crooned.

"How do you know?" Joe sighed.

"I kept waking up every hour to make sure you were really here," he chuckled softly.

Joe smiled and bestowed a kiss on Randy's nose. "I take it you're okay with last night."

"Oh yeah! It was fantastic. But, in spite of what you said, it was different than being with a girl." He paused, thinking. "I mean, besides the difference in plumbing, it felt  different. I don't know how to explain what I mean."

Joe reflected for a moment. "Yeah, in the other town where we used to live I had the same feeling with a guy. First, we became friends, then eventually boyfriends. Once I recognized what I felt for him, I realized that I had never felt the same with a girlfriend. The feelings I had for Brad were much more intense. We resonated together, the highs higher and the lows lower." He sighed. "That's the closest thing I've experienced so far to being in love."

"In love? Do you think I might be falling in love with you?" Randy asked quietly.

Joe smiled wickedly and rolled over on top of Randy. "Well, let's see. Did you have to concentrate on your dick to get hard last night?"

Randy grinned. "No."

"Did you have to concentrate on it to cum?"


Joe kissed the boy passionately and felt Randy's shaft harden between them. Breathing heavily, he released his lover from the kiss. "I think The Genital Gymnast has given his last performance. I want you all for myself."

"I'm all yours Mr. Foxworth." Randy pulled him down for another long kiss.


Randy and Joe spent the rest of Sunday together, eating, sleeping, making love and just staring at each other for long periods with big goofy grins. (It was fortunate that Randy's parents were out of town, or the boys' new relationship would have been painfully apparent to them.) About five o'clock, common sense overtook the pair. They acknowledged that they had studying to do for school, and that if they stayed together the work would not be done. They parted after several tender kisses and Joe drove home.

Life kicked into high gear for the gymnastics team Monday morning. From that point, their lives belonged to the school at large and to their coach in particular. They had classes from 8:30 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. Then, Monday through Thursday, they had a break until 5:00 p.m. when they returned to the gym to practice until 9:00 p.m. Thereafter, they went home, presumably to crash and burn.

But, the prospects of being worn to a frazzle hadn't affected Joe, yet. He was still on a high from spending the previous day with his new boyfriend. This Monday morning he almost skipped down the corridor of Grant High School and barreled into the office of the student newspaper.

Plopping down into a chair in front of the editor's desk, he bellowed, "Hi ya Gorgeous."

Without lifting her head from her paperwork, Stella, the student editor, smiled at him from under long dark lashes. "Flattery will get you nowhere," she sang.

Grinning broadly, Joe said, "I'm not trying to butter ya up, Stell. I just dropped in for my next assignment."

With a smirk, she thumbed through her papers. "Well, the world does need to know about the new dish washing machine in the cafeteria."

"Ow," Joe whined in mock agony. "This is your ace reporter here."

"Wellllll," she countered, "The city is thinking about laying a new sewer line across the middle of the student parking lot. I'm sure the masses would be very interested in that."

Joe leaned forward and whispered, "I don't suppose the offer of a night of uninhibited sex would get me a better assignment."

Stella looked thoughtful for a moment, then smiled sweetly. "Not a chance."

Joe wiped imaginary sweat from his brow. "Whew! I don't know what I would have done if you had said yes."

They both broke up with laughter for a few minutes. Stella recovered long enough to hand him a sheet of paper. "Here ya go Boy Toy. Your next assignment."

Still laughing, Joe looked at the paper and quickly sobered. "You want me to interview Randy Wade?"

"Yeah. I thought it would be interesting. Everyone knows all about the captains of the football, basketball and baseball teams. No one knows anything about the gymnasts, particularly him. The way I hear it, he could go to the next Olympics." She paused, looking thoughtful. "You're on the team with him. It should be easy. Find out everything you can about him. I want to know what drives the guy, what makes him tick."

Giving Stella a mock salute, Joe quipped, "You got it Madam Editor. Your ace reporter, Joseph Foxworth, is on the story." Stella laughed and made mock gagging sounds in her throat as he sprinted out the door.

Joe followed Randy home immediately after the last bell rang. In the safety of his room, Randy grabbed Joe by the shoulders. "I've been dying for a kiss from my boyfriend all day!"

Smiling, Joe said, "I'm not here as your boyfriend today."

"Yeah, right," Randy murmured, as he closed his eyes and zeroed in for a kiss. When their lips were an inch apart, Joe shoved a piece of paper between their faces. "What the hell?" Randy sputtered. He pulled back far enough to read the page. "You're supposed to interview me for the newspaper?"

Giving Randy a goofy grin. "Yep. How ironic is that?"

Randy smiled, massaging Joe's massive shoulders. "Well, what would you like to find out about me that you don't already know, Mister Reporter?" he crooned in a low base-baritone voice.

Joe's sexy eyelids lowered to half mast. As he began to unbutton Randy's shirt, he whispered, "Well, I think I know a lot about you; but as a good reporter, I should review all of the facts. Just to make sure I haven't missed anything, let's start with the texture of your lips."

For the next two days, Joe's laptop went everywhere with him as he worked diligently on the article. At the Thursday afternoon break, he let Randy read the final draft. When he finished, Randy's eyes were suspiciously moist. Blinking several times, he looked at Joe. "It's fantastic Joe. You really do know me, the real me."

Gathering his lover into his arms, Joe crooned, "And now, the rest of the student body will too."

Randy smiled shyly, rereading several paragraphs. "You kind of overdid it a bit, didn't ya? You make me out to be part saint, jock, brain and classical musician."

Joe snatched the pages out of his hand and planted a wet one on his lips. "Don't be so god damed modest Wade. In addition to being a kind, generous, loving guy, you're probably going to the next Olympics; you're most likely going to be the class valedictorian at our graduation; and, given a swift kick in the ass to motivate you, you could write a musical play that would eventually wind up on Broadway." He kissed his boyfriend once more. "What's not to love about you?"

Randy grinned at his lover. "Not much, to hear you tell it. But, then you're prejudiced."

Joe dropped the draft off at the newspaper office on his way home. Late that night, his cell phone rang. Stella's voice gushed, "Joe Foxworth, this is a great column! Not only did you write about all of Randy Wade's talents, you brought his personality to life! I'm gonna run this on the front page." She slowed down long enough to take a breath. "How did you get all this information in such a short time?"

Joe smiled at the phone. "I told you I was your ace reporter."

Friday night was the last opportunity Randy and Joe had to spend together for a while, for Joe was to leave for the regional gymnastics competition Saturday afternoon and wouldn't return until the following Sunday. And, the two boys were more than a little bummed at the prospect of being apart. It was late and they had just retired to Randy's bedroom, where he had dimmed the lights and punched up some soft music on the CD player. They stood in the center of the room, foreheads touching, eyes closed, arms around each other, slowly swaying to the music.

At last, Randy opened his eyes and breathed, "Joe?"

Joe slowly opened his eyes and looked into those of his love. Then, he began to gently shake with laughter. "Babe, when I look at you this close, you only have one eye."

Randy pulled back in surprise, then cracked up laughing along with his boyfriend. The solemn moment broken, they hastily began to undress each other.

As Randy fumbled with Joe's clothing, he said, "I've been waiting all day for this."

Joe's eyes glittered with excitement as he pulled his lover's pants off, baring all of Randy to him. "Damn, you have the sexiest body I've ever seen."

"I'm sorry to tell you this Joe, but you're wrong. You have the sexiest body, and I'm about to ravage it," he quipped, as he plucked the last article of clothing from Joe's body.

Joe deftly grabbed Randy's wrists, swung him around and pushed him onto the bed. "My dear sweet boyfriend, since I'm the one leaving for a week, I think it only fair that I be allowed to ravage you."

Actually, Joe had no intention of "ravaging" his boyfriend. Rather, his heart's desire was to give as much pleasure as he took. In general, Joe was a skilled lover, and in particular, he knew Randy well enough to know exactly what the boy wanted and needed at the moment.

Kneeling above him, he began to explore Randy with his mouth and fingertips, teasing every erogenous zone. As Randy became more and more excited, all five of Joe's senses beheld his lover: He could see his sculpted body writhing in passion beneath him; he could hear his soft cries of desire; he could touch his velvet-like skin stretched over steel-hard muscles; and he became drunk with the scent of his lover's musk. He began to lick Randy's skin, tasting the sexual desire oozing from the boy's pores.

Presently, Joe turned his attention to Randy's penis, throbbing with the beat of his heart. The foreskin was slightly retracted, revealing the purple head, glistening with natural lubricant. Joe's blood was running hot in his veins as well. His breath was short and his cock was dripping.

Reaching under Randy's pillow, he retrieved a tube of lubricant and anointed his rectum and his lover's shaft.

Both boys were wide-eyed with anticipation as Joe straddled Randy. They hissed as Joe pushed back and slowly accepted Randy's dick into his anus. Minutes later, they sighed with contentment as his butt came to rest.

Joe paused for a while to allow them to savor the feeling of their coupling. Then, he placed his hands on Randy's massive chest and began to raise and lower his hips. He brought every muscle of his body into play with slow, sensual motions. Eyes closed, smiles on their faces, they sighed as the delicious feelings coursed through their bodies.

While Joe's hips slowly continued to move up and down, their fingertips explored, rasping, bringing the sensitive nerve endings of their skin to fever pitch. Somewhere along the way, many minutes later, their voices joined in, crooning wordlessly, expressing their pleasure, and shortly grew to cries of exquisite anguish, as their bodies groaned for release.

Joe leaned back, grasping Randy's knees with his hands and began to pump faster, tightening his sphincter on each up stroke. In this position, each down stroke raked his prostate gland. At this point, both boys were beyond control, their nervous systems on overload. They bucked and squirmed faster and faster, blood pounding, nerves screaming, until their orgasms hit them like a short circuit, freezing their muscles in place. Instantly, their copious ejaculations began to rock them, shot after shot, bolt after bolt.

Gradually, their nerves quieted, their muscles relaxed and they fell into a heap of exhausted flesh. Joe lay on top of his lover, still impaled on his semi-erect shaft, his own still-sensitive dick crushed between them.

When they could control their voices, they moaned something that sounded suspiciously like "Holy fucking shit" simultaneously, and began to chuckle uncontrollably.

Joe carefully pulled away from Randy's cock and snuggled beside his boyfriend. Randy murmured, "That was fucking incredible," as they fell into a deep dreamless sleep.


After Joe left Saturday morning, Randy moped around the house for the rest of the day, alternately listening to blues on his entertainment center and picking out soulful melodies on the piano, until--in desperation--his mother ordered him to go work out in the gym or ride his bike.

Sunday wasn't much better, and he was still in somewhat of a funk when he drove into the school parking lot Monday morning. He perked up during his first two classes, then he began to notice something weird. Almost everyone he met in the hallways made eye contact and either greeted him or smiled at him. He almost freaked out during his last class before lunch when the rest of the students paid more attention to him than the teacher.

It all became clear as he entered the cafeteria for lunch: Joe's article. There, on a rack just inside the door, was the current week's issue of the Grant High Times, bearing two pictures of him on the front page. He grabbed a copy and hurried through the food line. Finding a table by himself, he unfolded the paper. The headline read "Grant High's Renaissance Man" in 24 point type, with Joe's byline. The text of his article flowed around two pictures of Randy: His senior school picture and an action shot of him performing a flair on the pommel horse.

He was half way through reading the piece when Cliff thumped his food tray on the table and sat opposite him. Smiling, the boy unfolded his copy of the paper and said, "Well, hello Mr. Famous." Randy surreptitiously gave him the finger and laughed, then they both returned to the article. Cliff began to mutter under his breath as he read. "Well I'll be ... no shit ...I'll be fucked ... god damn." He looked up at Randy, who was staring at him with an amused smile. "I didn't know all this shit about you, man."

Randy smiled and asked softly, "What do you know about me Cliff?"

The boy grinned. "Well, you're on the gymnastics team," he smirked, "and, you gotta big dick," he finished with a laugh.

Randy nodded. "That's all true, and that's all you know about me." He cocked his head, staring at Cliff. "How long have we known each other?"

The smile slid off Cliff's face. "Since kindergarten."

Randy said calmly, "That's thirteen years Cliff. We've always gone to the same schools, same church, and we only live a few blocks from each other." He returned to munching his sandwich and reading the article.

The implications of Randy's words were not lost on Cliff. He flushed red and poked a finger at the newspaper. "Foxworth only met you last month. How come he knows so fuckin' much about you?"

Randy glanced up, longing to tell him the truth. But, he quickly decided that discretion was called for at the moment. "It was his job. He's majoring in journalism and his editor gave him the assignment to interview me."

"Oh," Cliff muttered, not knowing what else to say.

Randy's popularity soared during the afternoon. He could barely move down the halls between classes as students who had never spoken to him before greeted him and tried to engage him in conversation. He was thoroughly stoked by the end of the day and breezed through a flawless practice that evening. His parents glowed with pride when he showed the article to them. Then, he glowed with pride when they praised Joe's writing ability. He noted that Joe's stock rose about fifty points in their estimation.

As the week progressed, Randy was steeped in a warm, fuzzy feeling by all of the goodwill sent his way. Never before had he felt this from his peers, even those who knew him. Maye now they can see past the size of my dick, he thought. Well, there were a few exceptions. A girl he had dated--and fucked--last year stopped him in the hallway and asked, in a deep sultry voice, if he wanted to come over to her house and play her piano. He just smiled and walked away. The next day, he passed another girl he had dated--and fucked--reading the article. She looked up and whispered, "All this and a big dick too." He didn't smile as he walked on.

The highlight of the week came late Wednesday night when Joe called. He claimed that he was doing well in the competition, and Randy reviewed the after effect of the article, declaring that he was now the most popular boy in school. Joe laughed and said, "Now everyone knows why I want you for my boyfriend."

The hubbub had died down by Thursday; but, Friday Randy was still having the time of his life. Everyone continued to smile and greet him in the hallways and chat him up.

To the delight of the student body, classes ended one period early that day for the monthly tea dance in the gym. Cliff and Lynn approached Randy at his locker immediately after the last bell.

With a shit-eating grin that Randy knew well, Cliff said, "Hey Dude, we're gonna meet over at my place to watch some videos. Wanna come?" He also knew what type of videos would be shown and what activities would ensue.

He hadn't made any promises to Joe regarding circle jerks with the guys, but performances of the Genital Gymnast no longer held any appeal for him. "Sorry guys, I got plans," he said with a smile.

Clearly disappointed, Cliff clapped him on the back and said, "Well, have fun and give her a kiss for me, you lucky dog."

Randy strolled over to the gym, wishing that Joe was with him. Even if they couldn't dance together, he longed to enjoy Joe's sharp wit and sense of fun. The gym floor was a sea of chattering, shouting students writhing to the music blasting from the sound system. The DJ booth, mounted on the stage, was wreathed in posters advertising the purpose of this particular dance: To raise money for the athletes to travel to away events. To that end, raffle tickets were for sale, and everyone was encouraged to buy as many as possible.

The posters weren't kidding. As he began to move around the perimeter of the dance floor, he was immediately button-holed by a raffle ticket seller. He needn't have worried about being lonely either, because kids stopped to speak to him every few feet. As he stood in front of the stage talking to a fellow gymnast, the music suddenly stopped. A girl's voice boomed out of the speakers. "All right you guys, you know why we're here: for the athletic pride of Grant High. It costs money to send our athletes to events away from school, so buy those raffle tickets this afternoon." She paused for a moment, then continued. "One of our athletes that's going to make Grant High proud is with us right now. Randy Wade, come up here and say a few words."

Startled, Randy looked up at the stage. A pretty, dark-haired girl was smiling down at him, motioning for him to join her. Blushing, he vaulted onto the platform. She whispered in his ear and handed him the microphone. Following her instructions, he gave a short pep talk about the aspirations of the gymnastics team and their need to travel to various events. In conclusion, he thanked the student body for their support, and promised to make Grant High proud of the team. The gym echoed with thunderous applause as he handed the microphone to the girl and left the stage.

The music boomed out, once again, and he was immediately dragged onto the dance floor by a gaggle of laughing girls. They danced in a circle around him. Laughing and shouting answers to their comments, he turned this way and that to dance with each one. But, the circle of females soon thinned as boys claimed them. Randy turned to a voice calling his name and faced the pretty dark-haired girl who coaxed him onto the stage. They smiled at each other and began to dance without missing a beat of the music.

She shouted, "Thanks for the speech. It was perfect. Ticket sales are going off the charts."

Randy smiled and bellowed, "My pleasure, but I was very nervous. I've never spoken to such a large crowd before."

Her face brightened with a pretty laugh. "I would have never known if you hadn't confessed it."

They danced until the DJ took a break and another girl took the stage extolling the virtues of raffle tickets. In the absence of the thundering music, their voices returned to normal. Strolling to the beverage concession, Randy said, "You have the advantage. You know who I am."

Blushing prettily, she introduced herself. "Sorry, I'm Stella."

"Pleased to meet you," Randy said, smiling. "Coke?" She nodded and he bought two. As he handed the drink to her, he was besieged by two girls who introduced themselves and began chattering at him. He answered them politely and took Stella's elbow, moving them to a less crowded corner. They sipped their drinks slowly and chatted about their classes, their likes and dislikes and their ambitions after graduation.

Randy admitted, "I've applied to the university for a full boat gymnastics scholarship, but I'm going to study music."

"Are you going to try for the Olympics?"

He wrinkled his brow. "I've certainly trained for it, but I'm not interested. Getting on an Olympic team is a full time job, and I'm more interested in a career in music. I'll give my all to the university gymnastics team, but that's as far as I want to go with the sport. I'll be majoring in music." He smiled shyly, measuring her reaction to the statement. When she simply nodded and smiled, he asked, "What about you?"

The music boomed out again and Stella yelled, "Let's go outside." He nodded his agreement.

As they headed toward the door, one of Randy's jack-off buddies caught his eye, lifted an eyebrow, looked at Stella, grinned wickedly and gave him a thumbs up. Randy smiled and waived, then looked at the girl with a small frown. He had been chatting with her--enjoyably--for several minutes without wondering when she was going to make a move on him. He shook his head in wonderment. Weird, he thought.

They leaned against the outside wall of the gym, still sipping their Cokes. "Well," she began, "I'm a senior too, so I'm headed for the university as well. Not on a scholarship though. My dad wants me to be a writer--and I'm fairly good at it--, but I'm more interested in art."

"Wow," Randy exclaimed, smiling down at her. "That's a different combination. You write stories?"

"No, fiction isn't my thing. I'm a technical writer. My dream is to one day tour the world, painting pictures of what I see and then writing tour brochures about the area to pay for it." She ended with a self-deprecating laugh.

He smiled at her shrewdly. "Ambitious, but I've no doubt you'll do fine. And, achieve the career you want." His stomach growled and they giggled. "You hungry?"

Randy drove them to a nearby restaurant where they partook of an enjoyable meal and equally enjoyable conversation. As they parted back in the school parking lot, Stella said, "You like to swim?"

"I love it."

"Good. I want to repay you for dinner, and ..." she paused with a devilish grin, "I have a hidden agenda." Randy cocked a questioning eyebrow and thought, Here it comes. "How about coming over to my house tomorrow morning for a swim in our pool, then I'd like to do a watercolor of you. I need a model for my art class project and you'd be a good subject since you're built like a brick outhouse," she ended with a wicked smirk.

Randy could detect no guile in her statement and laughed, relieved that she didn't proposition him. "How could I refuse a compliment like that."

"Good. Come over about nine and bring your Speedo."


At nine o'clock Saturday morning, Randy stood at Stella's front door, poised to ring the door bell. He was a little nervous; Stella was different. The other girls he had socialized with were only interested in one thing. He was used to that and knew how to handle it. But, Stella was different.

It was a warm spring day. Dressed in muscle shirt, shorts and flip-flops, he took a deep breath and pressed the bell. The front door opened almost immediately, and Randy sucked in a lung full of air. Stella was beautiful, dressed in a silver two-piece bikini that fit in all the right places.

"Hey Randy," she greeted with a big smile, "come in. Did you forget your swimsuit?"

Randy returned her smile. "Nope. I'm wearing it."

She led him through the house to the kitchen. Pausing long enough to extract two Cokes from the refrigerator, they continued out the back door to a large deck overlooking a huge swimming pool.  "Your goose bumps won't get a workout today. I turned on the pool heater when I got up this morning."

Randy stripped down to his Speedo and they dove in, spending the next hour doing belly flops off the diving board, tossing a beach ball and swimming laps. Stella finally called a halt, looked at the sun and declared, "The light's about right. Ready to have your bod painted?"

"I'd rather you apply the paint to canvas, but I'll pose for you."

With an open palm, she sprayed him with a huge wave. "Come on Smartass. It's time to share your attributes with the art world."

Stella covered a deck lounge with a colorful beach towel and positioned it, just so, in the sun. "Here ya go. Drape your carcass over this and dry off while I set up." She positioned an easel and drawing pad about a dozen feet from him, then retrieved her paint box and a chair. With great care, she posed him on his side, moving his arms and legs about until she was satisfied. "Now, don't move for a while until I sketch you."

Randy took all of this in with good natured humor. Stella seated herself at the easel and began to sketch rapidly. A few minutes later, he scratched his nose. "Please don't move. I have to sketch the shadows of your muscles before the light changes." She sketched for another half hour while Randy sat frozen, trying in vain to quell the itch on his nose by wiggling it.

He was rapidly loosing interest in a career as a model when she set down her pencil and said, "Okay, you can move," and began mixing colors. With great relief, he vigorously rubbed his nose with the palm of his hand. "Can I see it?" he asked, pointing to the easel.

"Nope." She smiled at him. "Not until I finish. You can move your arms and legs a little bit if you're uncomfortable, but try to stay in the same general position." She picked up her brush and looked pointedly at him; then, seemed to arrive at a decision. "I don't suppose I could get you to loose that Speedo, could I?"

Randy's stomach knotted. He stared back at her for a second, then said, "I'm not shy," while peeling his suit away. His long penis and fat ball sack flopped across his thigh.

She giggled. "Thanks, but now I'm going to have to revise the sketch. That thing casts a big shadow."

They both laughed, breaking the tension he felt. She labored feverishly modifying the sketch, and then started with the colors. They chatted as she worked for the next few hours. At one point, she commented, "If you're so interested in music, how come I've never seen you perform at school?"

"I've always taken private lessons at home." He smirked. "I can't damage my jock image ya know."

"That's a crock and you know it," she said dismissively. "My friend Linda is a music major and has written some great lyrics. If you want, I'll introduce you. Maybe you two could collaborate. Grant High could sure use a new school song." She paused and smiled at him. "That would be quite a legacy to leave the school." Returning to her painting, she continued, "She's going to the university too. If you two work well together, perhaps you could produce some great music."

He laughed nervously. "Are you trying to fix me up?"

Stella stuck out her tongue at him. "Not in the least. She's as serious about her music as you are yours." She washed the brush she had been using and chose a smaller one. "Okay, be quiet for a while. I'm down to the nitty gritty here and I've got to concentrate."

The sun had long passed its zenith and Randy drowsed in its warm rays. He settled back on the lounge and considered Stella. She was absolutely beautiful. In addition, she was intelligent, high spirited, funny, compassionate. And, she was interested in him, the real him, something beyond his big dick. No other girl had ever approached him this way.

He paused to collect his racing thoughts. He felt a connection with her, like he had with no other girl. He wondered what it would be like to hold her, kiss her, make love to her. How would it be different than with the other girls he had dated?

He adored Joe; he was his best friend. And, boyfriend. Randy had always considered himself straight ... until he met Joe. Joe had awakened in him all that had been missing in his life. But ... just but ... could his wonderful feelings for Joe be infatuation instead of love? He didn't know; he had never been in love before. He stared at Stella and continued to wonder.

Randy was abruptly brought back to the present when Stella said, "What are you thinking so hard about?" She giggled as his head snapped up. "You were a thousand miles away."

He relaxed and grinned, blushing slightly, which Stella noticed. "I was just thinking."

She smiled, but continued to work. "Do I want to know what about?"

Always up for a challenge, he said, "I was thinking that you are the most interesting girl I've ever met."

Stella laughed. "I'll take that as a compliment, but you must not have met very many girls."

Randy laughed in return. "Oh yeah. I've met a lot of girls, but you're different. They were only interested in one thing about me." He looked down at his penis.

She concentrated on her brush, not looking at him. "Yeah. I've heard rumors about that. It's a fascinating part of you, but it's not all you are."

"That's why I think you are so interesting."

Abruptly changing the subject, she stood and nodded toward the easel. "Wanna see it? It's done!" Randy jumped off the lounge and ran to her side.

He stared at the painting for a long time, absorbed by it. His physique was exquisitely rendered, but there was more. He was there, all of him: His spirit and drive radiated from his torso and limbs; his passion, honesty and kindness shown from his face; and, his single-mindedness of purpose blazed from his eyes.

Emotions welled in his chest, alternating between jubilation and tears. Randy slowly shook his head and murmured, "It's ... it's ... fantastic. It's magnificent. It's me ... all of me. The real me." He turned to gaze at her smiling face and all of the emotion that had stirred within him bubbled to the surface. His penis began to harden and he leaned down and kissed her lips.

He circled her shoulders with his arm, intending to give her a more passionate kiss; but, Stella shifted her stance and he pulled back. As he did so, his eyes fell on her paint box, specifically, the name on the box. Stella Foxworth!"

He frowned at her. "Your last name is Foxworth?"

She cocked her head, giving him a quizzical look. "Yeah."

"Are you related to Joe Foxworth?"

Stella gave him a warm smile. "Sure. He's my cousin."

Randy stared at her in something like horror. His breath came in short bursts; his heart thundered in his chest; his mind whirled in confusion. Tears welled in his eyes. He walked, robot-like, to the lounge and sat with his head in his hands, and began to sob. Stella knelt before him. "Randy, what's wrong?"

Between sobs, he eked out, "Oh ... what I was thinking!" He caught his breath and stuttered, "I've betrayed him."

Stella gently pulled his hands away from his face, looking at him with wide eyes, of recognition. Softly, she said, "Oh my god! You're Joe's new boyfriend!"

Randy's heart seemed to stop. Abruptly, he brushed her hands aside and reached for his Speedo. He looked at her in panic, blinded with fear and said, "I have to go."

To be continued

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