Hey, White-Boy!

How Alex Met Jack

A story (C) 2002 by ZUSTARA ORUR. Contact address: zustara@hotmail.com. Not intended for redistribution, commercial use prohibited!

This is my first attempt at writing something like this, and I would very much appreciate any kind of feedback (to above address), hearing from you would mean a lot to me. Thanks.

It features an unlikely cast perhaps, but who cares? It's just a story, and is meant to be taken exactly like that. Also, English is a second language to me, so please excuse any goofs present herein regarding grammar, spelling. I try to do the best I can!

Legal mumbo jumbo BS: this story features explicit descriptions of sexual acts between consenting male minors, and some crude language. All of the story (and its locations) are all completely made up, ie: none of these events ever took place, and no cute, furry little animals were harmed in any way in the process of writing this story either. If this sort of thing bothers you; you are under-age (and anybody cares about it); reading this story happens to be illegal wherever you may be right now; etc, please STOP READING. I won't get in trouble, but you might, who knows. If all is hunky-dory, feel free to continue, if that is your wish.

Special note: please be patient when reading, this story builds itself slowly, and takes intermissions between periods of action at times. I don't rush things! {VBG} It is a story with sex in it, not the other way around...


"What the he-!", Robert Kirchner exclaimed. "You actually agreed to this?" He waved the fax she'd just handed to him, which he'd been reading.

The balding, more than slightly overweight man seemed quite upset, and there wasn't much Susan Montoya could do to calm him down. "Sorry, it wasn't my call to make. The board went over my head", she apologized lamely. Susan wasn't quite as old as Robert, she was past fifty, but it didn't show as much on her. She had ebony dark skin, and her hair was still as black as ever - something she was very thankful for - and had it put up in an elaborate bun at the nape of her neck. She'd even kept her shape for the most part, perhaps growing a bit more "cuddly" as the years had passed.

Robert jerked at his vest, something he did at times since it tended to bunch up over his gut when he sat down. He did it more forcefully when annoyed, and there was almost the risk of him pulling a seam the way he did it right then. "If it had been your call, would you have agreed anyway?" His voice was deceptively calm.

It was a fair question to ask, and she probably would have. She said so, and Robert nearly went ballistic. Technically, they were supposed to be on the same level, he the Headmaster of John Higgins Junior High (or in its short version, JHJH; sometimes locally known as 'double-jay-aitch', making it sound a bit like a radio or TV station or such), she the Principal of John Higgins Highschool (which shortened down to JHH; not as snappy), both located on the same premises and well regarded as holding a high standard both materialistically and of teaching. However, in practice Susan was the one who decided what was to be done, when, and how, concerning many matters, especially those involving both schools. Some things was up to the board though, and this was one of them. Robert, being aware she was the one more qualified of the two, reluctantly took a step back in those instances, but it still didn't stop him from grumbling about it, and in some cases even resorting to yelling.

Not that it helped much though, if any. Susan was born into the role as administrator, a true pencil-pusher. She knew laws and regulations at heart, rarely needing to look anything up. She knew how to spend every dime so the school would get the best value for money in return, and she absolutely never, EVER, let her emotions get in the way of a decision. She considered it honorable to hold the needs of the school above everything else. It made Susan a fantastic bureaucrat, but she really wasn't anything near any other person would call empathic in most circumstances.

"You have to understand, Robert, there's a lot of money at stake here. The school board nearly peed their collective pants at the opportunity of doing a joint scientific study with a major university. This is a huge thing, a three-year sponsorship meant to increase awareness in theoretical subjects and appeal to budding young scientist minds, I'm sure you read the paper on it." Robert nodded and grimaced. "I'm talking major state and government grants here, plus private money, there's enough of it for us to set up a fund for five new scholarships per year with just a part of it all! It really IS a great bargain."

"I still feel we're selling out to these guys", Robert grumbled. "Plus, we got Wonder Boy as well as a part of the deal? Christ, I don't believe this!"

Susan couldn't help grinning, Robert was such a sour old cuss at times. She hid the mischievous grin behind her hand, pretending to scratch her face with a fingernail. She wasn't sure her camouflage worked, Robert cast her a dour look. "Yes, we get 'wonder boy' as well. He is the son of the two scientists leading the study after all. We should be honored they wanted to place him with us."

Robert still seemed upset. "I don't get this... Why would they want that, and why would HE want that? The kid has already graduated from university just about twice over for chrissakes, you said so yourself! And he's just thirteen! What could he possibly get out of starting school AGAIN, in a freshman highschool class?"

Sometimes Robert was so dense. She did not say that, however. Instead she said something quite different, she may be a bureaucrat, but she was still a woman. "Well, how about some FRIENDS, perhaps?", she asked quietly. THAT sure shut Robert up. "His parents thinks he needs to spend more time with kids closer to his own age."

"Well, maybe they're right, but he's still three years younger than anyone else on this side of the fence. At least three years! It's an insurmountable age barrier, you mark my words. And just who allowed him unlimited rollerskate use? They're banned on the entire school, but this kid can even use them indoors! I don't like to enforce double standards like this! So the kid's a goddamn Einstein or something, he can still use his two feet like other people, can't he? I saw him fly through here the day he came to visit, damn near gave me a heart attack." Robert ran out of air, otherwise he'd probably continued his tirade.

"I believe that was at the insistence of Jacques himself", was the calm reply. "He was quite adamant about it in fact, and the board granted it. And, he is an outspoken homosexual." When Robert gave her a blank stare, she sighed deeply. "Robert, the kid is gay, is that plain enough for you? We have to be aware of that, and inform the rest of the pupils accordingly so there won't be any problems."

Robert seemed flabbergasted. "GAY? The kid's thirteen, he can't be gay! That's just preposterous, boys hardly know anything about...sex...at that age, much less if they're gay or not!" Again, Susan was forced to hide a smile while Robert continued his tirade, this time using a sheaf of papers she happened to be holding. "Anyway, even if that was the case - ridiculous as it may seem - we'd be doing the kid the mother of all disservices by informing the entire school about it. The last thing any homo boy wants is for anyone else to know about it!"

"Never mind your objections, this is at the insistence of the Legrands, his parents, this time. You will address the pupils Monday morning at the latest and make sure they have all cards on the table. Also, point out that no harassment because of his sexual orientation will be accepted, the school board does not want to risk any negative media publicity in conjunction with the announcement of our partnership plans. We will look upon any such matters with utmost strictness."

"Negative media publicity, huh? We can't have that now can we?", he said sourly. Susan gave him a stern look that basically meant, 'shut up and do as you are told!'. "Very well", a subdued Robert agreed. "Monday, huh? That's just three days away. Is that when he starts?"

Susan nodded. Three days.


My name is Alexander Ross. Everybody calls me Alex though, and this is my story, the way I experienced it, or at least, the way I remember it. Goddammit, there's so much to tell, where should I begin...? Ah, okay. At the beginning, I guess...

It was still summer, school had only been going on for a little while since starting again after the vacation. One day, we were told a new guy would join us, some kind of super whiz kid if you want. A real smart fella, from France of all places. Of course, as it turned out, he spoke perfect American English as well. His parents were famous scientists they said, if there is such a thing. I mean, when do you ever hear about anything that a scientist has done? It wasn't anything that really concerned me though. I didn't even see the guy for three days after the initial announcement, and he kept rollerblading all over school, which is a pretty inconspicuous method of travel if I may say so.

As for myself, you already know my name. I'm sixteen, enjoying my youth and the effect my roguish good looks have on the girlies, chewing my way through my first year of highschool. I'm a bit of an athlete guy, not a true jock because I've got good grades too - haha - but only because I have to study real hard. It's not in my blood, but my parents want to make sure I'm well educated I guess... Anyway, I much prefer playing hockey, and I am the captain of the junior team in school, which gives me a certain amount of celebrity status around here. I may not be the truly greatest athlete in my school or the most popular kid by any means, but I don't complain. Hockey's a big thing where I live, which helps a lot of course.

I want to make some things clear from the beginning. First: I'm no faggot, alright? Never was, never will be. There's nothing I enjoy more than a naked, beautiful girl at my side, so I'm no closet homo. Anyone says so (it hasn't happened yet by the way), I make their nose bleed, period. Second: I don't particularly like faggots either. I'm no homophobe or anything (and yeah yeah, I've heard it all, those who don't like gays are gay themselves blah blah. See point numero uno), but I don't like them around me, especially in showers and stuff. I'm not afraid of being raped while bending over to reach for my dropped soap or anything like that, I can defend myself better than most (never lost a fistfight in my life). What I don't like is to be checked out by a guy when I'm nekkid, you know? I don't think that it's too much to ask, not to have to have my schlong and ass checked out by a dude, even if I don't even know I'm being checked out. I'm kind of private that way, so sue me alright?!

Anyway, I didn't see the guy for three days. Thursday, that was the day. It was fairly hot (we got inland climate, so temperatures can get pretty sweltering at times), me and my gang were walking from the main building towards the park across the road. That's when I saw him. I could not remember his name (it was some sissy French name, that I did recall). Anyway, no name or not, that just HAD to be him!

The first thought that crossed my mind was one of annoyance. Here's some strutty little grownup kid gliding around, going to school when he doesn't have to in order to pretend he's got a social life. How pathetic! To make matters worse, one just had to look at the way the kid dressed to see there was a big invisible sign hanging around his neck screaming "GAY!"

The guy had what looked a bit like some sort of deep blue neoprene bicycle pants on him that went not quite halfway down his thighs, but much slicker, clinging on almost like a second skin. More like a swimsuit really. On his upper body, he had a black tank-top of lycra or some other stretchy material, except it was too short and didn't cover much of his belly, which was, like other visible parts of him, a light brown in color like someone that had spent a fair amount of time in the sun.

Anyway, I'd never seen anyone dress like that outside a gym, least of all a kid his age. To make matters worse, he wore a short, unbuttoned jeans jacket on top of the tank-top, and even that didn't quite reach his waist either. The arms of the jacket had been cut off too so they were only short stumps, and it was RED in color, washed-out, sure, but still plainly RED. Goddammit, he was lit up like a beacon fire as he came idly rolling down the path we were walking. It was downhill just there, so he didn't have to work his legs at all. His 'blades were of a fairly fancy model I could tell, but extremely worn with scratches and gouges all over, like he'd really used them, been grinding away like a real street kid.

As for the way he looked... Well, I got jet black curly/wavy hair which pretty much does what the hell it wants, while his was kind of a deep nut brown color, straight as an arrow and parted down the middle. I can afford to wear my hair fairly long without it looking gay because it's curly and a bit unwieldy, and I make sure to keep my neck trimmed so it doesn't hang down and get all floppy and gay. The kid had straight, long hair. It looked very cute and very, very gay. I'm not much a fan of cute on guys. Girls - YEAH! Guys... No. He also had a black Nike sweatband around his head to keep the fringes out of his eyes, which made matters worse still. I didn't really get a good look at his face at my first encounter since it was so brief and chaotic, but what glimpses I got told me he looked alright I guess. Very much a kiddie face, of course, since that was what he was (and I was a real grownup! Who am I kidding?). Also, I am just about six feet in height (awright, more like five nine is closer to the truth), and I hadn't stopped growing either, making me an easy seven inches taller than Mr. Gay I figured, it was hard to judge accurately with him standing on those goddamn rollerblades of his.

The kid definitely had some serious muscle-tone on him for his age, that was for sure. And they said the guy was some kinda bookworm or something? I couldn't get those two pieces of the puzzle to fit together. I would say he looked very, VERY fit for a thirteen-year old. All that stretchy material and bare skin certainly showed off what was there, and it would have looked great in a gym. Outdoors? Uh-huh, no fuckin way! I wouldn't have wanted to be caught dead in what he was wearing that day...! He didn't quite have a washboard stomach, there was still a thin layer of subcutaneous (baby?)fat left on him, but the guy was really lean nevertheless. I congratulated him for that, I know what it takes to stay in shape in this Bigmac-ridden society of ours. Of course, he wasn't anything compared to me naturally, who has the Bod of a God, haha!

No, actually, I'm not THAT buff, no matter how hard I pump that iron, I can't put on really major muscle. It got boring working out so intensely, so I stepped down to two or three passes a week, but what I got is Rock Solid if I may say so myself, and there ain't exactly LITTLE of it either, on the beach I look quite swell I'd say. Anyway, I'm still growing, so I can't expect to become an Arnold just quite yet, and training too hard isn't good for me. ...Or so they say at least. That's why I only considered ONCE to try steroids. I may be an arrogant, cocky son of a bitch, but I ain't crazy. I don't need more muscles that bad even though some of the guys I knew and used to train with were on them and certainly got bigger too.

Walking accidents waiting to happen I say, and I tried to avoid them after I found out they were pill-popping like crazy. Besides, I had quite enough of a pimple-problem as it was, barely keeping those outbursts in check with various, undoubtedly toxic, chemicals was all I could do. If left unattended, I would become all spotty and unappetizing to the girlies, so I couldn't afford any more.

As the new guy passed us, he rose up on the front wheels on his 'blades, just to show off, I'm sure. If I had tried that move, even on a smooth surface like that cement path, I'd tumbled over right away I think (or at least started wobbling about, and being a hockey player, I do know how to rollerblade dammit!), but I'll be damned if I know how the hell he could ride on just the front wheels! It seemed quite stable and comfortable for him actually. He must have practiced that move a lot, something I also give the little runt due credit for.

We had been talking boytalk up until then, me and the other guys - which is basically the same as girl-gossip, except we were discussing manly subjects instead. Interpret that however you wish, but football, boobs and car engines were probably mixed in there somewhere in various amounts, I really don't remember. As the little showoff passed us, we fell silent, we were all literally stunned into silence. I mean, what the fuck? Was this kid for real?

I don't know where it came from. It must have been the "bad-boy" attitude I tried to maintain that reared its ugly head and I heard myself call out quite loudly: "Hey FAGGOT! ...Nice ass!"

Yes, I know we weren't supposed to tease the guy, but what the heck, one has to draw a line somewhere, right? Red jeans jacket on a GUY?!? And yes, he DID have a nice ass (girls woulda been all over him had he been a few years older - and not a FAG, of course). I am secure enough in my own sexuality that I can say to myself another dude has a nice ass. Doesn't mean I wanna TOUCH it or anything, don't be disgusting, and it does absolutely not mean I publicly go around pointing out every dude with a nice ass. As I said, I'm no goddamn homo!

Anyway, my outburst was followed by a thunderous roar of laughter from me and the other guys. Disappointingly, there was little, if any reaction from the newcomer. He merely turned his head around, said, "Bite me, white-boy!" and wiggled his hips at me! He even slapped a hand on his rump.

Now, there's a thing that happens to me when I get angry. My face tends to get very red, and certain blood vessels stand out prominently on my forehead and neck. Considering the reaction from my friends on this grievous insult, I was becoming very, very red indeed.

You see, I am one quarter Cherokee, and one eighth Mexican Indian (even though it through a fluke of genetics shows very little on my features, apart from a hint of the classic injun beaked nose and aforementioned hair color, but my skin is naturally more of the redneck hue than "true red" so to speak), so I tend to react rather badly when called things like "white-boy". Especially when it comes from the mouth of a sissy French FAGGOT kid!

Okay, okay. I'm no ethno-lover, and I don't know dick about Indian culture (well, hardly anything, some things can't help to rub off), I just use my blood as a good excuse to get really angry and beat up some stupid motherfucker who decides to ridicule my heritage. I have had that pleasure on a few occasions.

"Hey you!", I shouted back at him. "I wanna TALK to you!" Actually, I very much wanted to punch him in the face, but since I was already 'on probation' for a previous fight, and would likely get kicked off the team if I got into yet another one, I was hoping I would be able to restrain myself. At that point it didn't look very hopeful however, I hadn't had a reason to get angry in weeks, plus I tend to, umm, "overdo" these sorts of things when I haven't been able to let off steam for a while. Not that I've landed anyone in hospital or anything, I'm not a maniac, but I've sure dished out some hurtin' in the past, that's for sure.

"Catch me if you can!", came the teasing answer. His voice was just that; teasing. I'm fairly deep for a 16-year-old, but this kid sounded exactly like that. A kid's voice. It spurred me on. I'm a good sprinter, I was sure I could catch him if not before, so at least on the stairs leading up to the road going past our school. I was so very wrong. The kid obviously had had a lot of training on those 'blades of his, he set off at at least as quick a pace as I did, and as he reached the stairs, he was at a full run, taking them two or three at a time and was gone out of sight just as I reached the lowest stair-step! I wasn't about to give up though, the street beyond was fairly heavily trafficked so unless the kid wanted to risk going splat he couldn't just dash out I figured; he'd have to wait for a green light. There was a distance of about twenty feet or so from the top of the stairs to the roadway, and it was that far away I saw the kid standing when my head popped up over the topmost step. He was not turned with his back towards me like I would expect him to, ready to blade across the street. He was turned towards me, and as I came running up, he began skating straight at me! I was caught totally unprepared as I reached the topmost step.

There was only one thing to do. Actually, there were two things. I could stand there and take it in the chest as he barreled into me, then we could both tumble down the stairs again and break our necks. Uh-huh. Not an option!

The other thing was to fall flat to the ground and let HIM tumble down the stairs and break his neck. So I did just that. One and a half feet or so in front of me - possibly less - the kid took the biggest leap I've ever seen. He sailed right over me, arms outstretched for balance and legs folded up like the landing gear of an airplane (his 'blades neatly pressed up against that tight butt of his I could not help notice, but it was NOT an erotic thought damn you. Just one of those silly things you notice when things happen really fast and simply come to stay fixed in your mind). And then he whooshed out of sight.

I actually heard him land on the ground down at the foot of the stairs, a heavy thud of a sound. Not the sound you'd expect from a guy landing and then immediately tumble on his head, so I guessed - correctly as it turned out - that he didn't tumble on his head.

I also heard my little gang scattering like a bunch of wild, clucking hens to avoid collision. I quickly got on my feet, and saw him roll away at quite a speed. "See you 'round, white-boy!", he yelled out. I could not help grinning. Bested by a fucking brat, that jump must have been something like seven, maybe eight feet in height counting the drop down the stairs! I couldn't believe it if I hadn't witnessed it with my very own two eyes!

"Come on you queers, get your butts up here!", I hollered down at my gang. As they climbed up the steps towards me, I dusted off my clothes. My actions were to haunt me later that day however, in more than one way.


When we got to the park, I saw Jennifer sitting on one of the benches spread around the lightly tree-decorated grass. Jennifer was my GF back then (GF meaning GirlFriend, y'know, the kind you computer geeks don't have too many of, haha!), and you could say she still is by the way. She was great, I thought. No, correction: she was fantastic! A guy couldn't have asked for a better girlfriend than her.

Overall, she wasn't the most beautiful girl ever, my Jennifer (and she would not get mad at me for saying so either, she was quite the realist about it), but she had that particular SOMETHING which just catches your eye and holds it fast. I don't know what it'd be, but she got it all right. She was medium height for a girl her age, medium build, her boobs not that large and not small either, and fairly narrow waist and hips. She kept her ginger-brown hair long and straight, and so well-kept and shiny it almost sparkled. Maybe that's what makes you notice her, her hair. Her large eyes were equally exotic, beautiful green eyes like a mermaid's, and I loved them both. Her face, just a little freckled. Not much, but enough to make her incredibly cute, and she had a golden ring in her left nostril. It was something she thought of herself, I would have suggested it if I thought she'd ever consider wearing one, but one day it was there all of a sudden. She had that habit of surprising me out of the blue like that!

Oh - and one more thing. She HATES being called anything but her given name. We Americans tend to shed syllables off our names at first opportunity (myself included), but calling her "Jen", or something like that would only bring a look of severe disapproval. Naturally, I didn't do it.

She waved me over, so I sent the guys off in another direction. When I reached her, she asked pointedly, "Alex, what was all that about?"

"All what?", I said and tried to play it cool. I should have known better, Jennifer is a lot smarter than me in many regards. She wasn't fooled one bit.

She waved a warning finger in my face. "Don't try to get cute with me, pal! So you pick on little kids now, huh? Is that it? I heard what you called him!"

"Gee whiz Jennifer, I was just kidding around, you know that!" I was still acting stupid and not even knowing it.

"Kidding schmidding, Alex. He's just thirteen, and I don't want no goddamn klan member for a boyfriend! You better drop that pathetic act RIGHT NOW, or we are through, is that clear?" Jennifer hardly EVER swore. It made me wizen up real quick.

I knew she was deadly serious. Jennifer never made hollow threats, and she would make good of it too. However, my pride was too great for me to plainly admit having erred, I tried shrugging it off. "Alright, alright! I'm sorry, okay? I'll give the little-" I was gonna say, 'punk', but quickly thought better of it. "...A break, okay?"

"Don't tell ME you're sorry. Tell him!" She turned away on me, sending a clear signal I was not in her best favors right now. But I'll be damned if I was gonna apologize to that... That...! I bit my lip to stop myself from saying yet another clumsy thing that would screw up my relationship with Jennifer even more. I sat down on the grass below the bench, leaning my back against it. After a while, a hand snaked it's way into my hair and started toying with it. "Oh Alex... Sorry for being so hard on you, but I really mean it! I have had enough of the gaybashing, it's stuff like that that is turning our country into the mess it is right now!"

"Yeah, well, I suppose you're right", I said solemnly. "As always, it seems." And I HAD to agree with her. Not even two weeks earlier, a kid in another school in a more run-down part of town had brought a pair of guns with him from home and killed two other students and injured three others. One of those injured was a teacher, the other two had been fourth-grade kids visiting their brother; they had simply happened to be there in the hallway when the shooting started. Nobody knew how he'd managed to get the guns past the school's metal detectors and the kid himself wasn't talking. As he reloaded one gun, people tried to rush him. He pulled out the second which he had kept hidden, pointed it at himself and pulled the trigger.

...Didn't quite manage kill himself the poor dumb bastard, but he did put himself in a coma though, one he was unlikely to recover from. Severe brain damage. Permanent vegetative state... Those were bad words, I felt sick just by thinking about it. Thinking of blowing out one's own brains, living as a piece of meat hooked up to machines for the rest of one's life...

"Ah do hereby solemnly sweah ah will refrain from uttering such comments on future encountahs, Miss Jennifah Sarah-Anne Deblin", I said in what I considered my best fancy Southerner accent. It was atrocious of course, but the mood between us had become much too stuffy for my taste all of a sudden. I'm usually a happy-person, not suited for moods and brooding.

"Oh do try to be serious, Alex!", she laughed back at me. I could tell she was pleased I remembered her middle name. Her family was from the south, by the way. Me? I'm from nowhere.

I grinned at her. "I am serious! I've changed!"

The gang stood there like a buncha dumb fucks for a little while, not knowing what to do. Then they jeered at me (in a friendly manner naturally, coz I could beat them all up and they knew it, haha), and walked off, leaving me with Jennifer for a precious few moments until it was back to business for us all.

The rest of the day proceeded as usual. Last item on my schedule was hockey training. However, word of my little outburst had apparently spread, and reached the wrong ears at that, thus, after my last class for the day I was called away to Principal Montoya's office. I had to sit through a whole lecture on why it is A Bad Idea to shout the word "faggot" at another person in general, and at the school's most prized asset in particular, and had to respond with lots of "yes, Ma'am", and "no Ma'am", and "won't happen again, Ma'am". And of course, after getting more detention this year (whoo, wouldn't that make my folks happy), and what's worse, a formal inquiry into my conduct at the school. Apparently, I had quite a list of complaints written up against me, ranging from using foul language at teachers (that ratfaced Ms. Stybak, she goaded me into it on purpose, I swear!), to the odd beating of a fellow student during school-time. Yes, normally I keep my fights strictly off office hours, these were exceptions. All right all right, it only happened twice - and before summer at that - and neither of them was my fault. Dumbasses challenged me, and I get all the blame just because I happened to win. Maybe I should have taken it NOT like a man and gone bleeding and crying to the Headmaster like they did - NOT!!

Apart from bruises, I had managed to break two front teeth of one of the guys (which only improved his looks, if I may say so), and on the other... The right collar bone, it seemed. Dunno how the fuck that happened, he must have fallen while riding his bike on the way home and blamed it on me or something. Nobody even told me about it until right then in the Principal's office, which I thought was more than a bit unfair!

The reason none of those fights never had reached a legal status was that technically, they were considered self defense. I really HAD been swung at first, and those kids knew it. They got beat up fair and square and I even said so, but somehow that didn't impress the Principal very much.

Now, it was time for reckonin' it seemed (mainly because that particular kid I had yelled at today was a sacred cow and could not be touched in any way, shape or form), plus I already had a bad rap, and damn, was I beginning to sweat or what! After what felt like an eternity, I was finally let off the hook - for the moment at least - and could hurry away to hockey training. I was now rather late of course, and it was all my own fault too. Dammit, me and my big mouth.

All the other guys were already there, warmed up, lined up and ready. Due to the bad news I just had received, I wasn't even ready as I took my rightful spot at the center by bumping into Sanders who tried to fill in for me in this training match, and he sighed wistfully and skated off the ice. Bench-time for him initially, haha!

I looked up, and saw a masked face I did not recognize. Normally, only goalkeepers wear full facemasks, so this was rather perplexing to me I must say. I looked through the eye openings and saw a brown fringe hanging down on either side. God dammit! It had to be Wonder Boi himself, in full hockey gear too! Well, it fit with all his inlining at least, but he was just SOOOO out of his league here!

"You're going DOWN, squirt!", I whispered to him. There was no reply, but I had the feeling he was smiling at me, an extremely confident smile that meant something like, "give it your best shot, if you think you really can do it!" Not a taunt, mind you. Just a challenge, even a friendly challenge perhaps. Don't ask me how I could know all that, heck even I didn't know! I just did.

Yes, it just had to be him didn't it. Even with all of the protective gear on, he was still small. But he looked primed and ready, and after what I had seen today, I wasn't going to under-estimate him again. No way! He was going dooooowwwwnnn, on my terms this time!

He kept looking me in the eyes, our vision locking on to each other like two wrestlers. His irises were dark hazel brown in color (mine are almost black), the left eye had a darker spot in it. I tried not to let myself get too absorbed with our battle of the wills, I had to be ready for the puck to drop. His eyes were extremely deceptive. I wanted to stare into them to see if he'd flinch or even blink, it easily became more important than keeping 'an eye' so to speak on the real task at hand. Some people like to describe someone's gaze as 'intelligent', etc. This kid certainly had that in abundance if what was said about him was true, but there was nothing intelligent about his GAZE. He looked at me with relaxed, intense open eyes. Yes, that was the right word for it; intense. He had no worries, he was one with himself at that moment, something I certainly was not. I was almost squinting, my eyebrows pressed deep down with repressed anger. I wanted to bring him down so bad I could taste it in my mouth, it would make that shitty day feel a little bit better. Nobody could blame me if the guy got a bit knocked around in the hockey rink, could they? I wasn't going to over-do it or anything (if the school board didn't kill me for it, Jennifer would!), I was just going to show him he was a little fishy swimming with the BIG BAD fishies...!

Maybe that was why I lost it, I dunno. Maybe he outsmarted me, had me concentrate more on our battle of wills than on the hockey game.

I was ready for him snatching the puck away from me and dodge left, or dodge right. Maybe pass it to his teammates. I did never intend for him to even TOUCH it however, but I was ready for it anyway, just in case. The guy had jumped over me in a pair of rollerblades, that's not something you easily forget.

I was not ready for him to snatch the puck and dodge BACKWARDS. I have never seen a guy back off so quick before, I didn't even think it possible. Timmons had to scramble out of the way, and he was probably in on the trick, they must have discussed it in the pre-match tactics session.

It probably would not have worked had I been 100% alert, but his eyes tricked me, and dammit, that kid was fast on a pair of skates! But he still had to get past me to reach the goal. As players swarmed out to try to reclaim or defend the puck, I concentrated on the New Guy, I still couldn't remember his name. He only backed enough to confuse me, then he dashed madly to the right while two of his teammates homed in on me to block me. I tried to shut off the part of my brain containing my worries and gnawing thoughts and concentrated entirely on the game. It worked; things finally started making sense around me. I tackled one of the incoming guys easily and he went down on the ice with a crash. The other I tripped up with my club which isn't exactly fair but I did it in a way that made it seem the other player's error, Coach didn't blow his whistle. Then I went after New Guy in earnest.

He really was fast on a pair of skates, but I had the longer set of legs, and they were far stronger too, I gained quickly on him. Also, having to control the puck slowed down New Guy just a little. As I caught up to him, I prepared to send him into the sideboards with a tackle from the left/behind. It shouldn't take much, the guy probably weighed 30-40% less than me, well-muscled for his age or not. Something musta tipped him off though, dunno what. Maybe the sound of my skates on the ice, the noise of my breathing or protective gear creaking and rattling. Maybe all things together, because when I tackled him, he leaned into it. Of course, he still fell, but more or less straight down, not flying off to the side like I planned. Since I could not transfer all my inertia into his body, I got myself out of balance and had to literally stand on the brakes in order to avoid falling. Meanwhile, New Guy picked himself up and continued on unperturbed! I was furious.

The whole thing had only taken a few seconds since the match started, and New Guy scored almost immediately. Grumbling, I put it down to beginner's luck. After that, our own play improved drastically. I whipped my team into shape with sheer willpower (and the odd threat of physical abuse), and we barely managed to win by 3:2. New Guy was a fantastic player, but his stamina wasn't up to the task of hanging with us big boys. When he still had steam left, he was lightning on ice, but suddenly he would drain up and go flat. I grudgingly had to offer my respect for his talent, despite his physical shortcomings.

Training was finished with several rounds of penalty shots. Coach had managed to scrape up every moth-eaten, worm-ridden piece-of-shit puck in the arena, and we did our best to spread 'em out all across the ice. When the rest of the guys left to hit the showers, coach had me pick up all the goddamn pucks again and stuff them in a big plastic box he'd dragged out of some dusty storage room somewhere. I suspected there was more on his mind, and sure enough, I got another round of lecturing on the topic of faggots. God dammit, three times in one day! It was certainly a new personal record for me. No, make that "anti-record", since it was a record of stupidity. Turned out, Coach had much the same views on the subject I did, but he stressed the need for discretion. 'Shouting fgt!', as he put it - and pronounced it as a word, not three individual letters - all over the schoolground, would quickly get me into hot water, and while he did not WANT to drop his best player from the team, especially not over an issue such as this, he would do it if the school board asked him to. (Not that he had much choice, asking would change to ordering in an instant if total compliance was not perceived.) Well, that sure sobered me up quick as hell...

Finally, I was off for the day. I dumped the box with all the pucks just outside the rink itself. I figured, if he wanted to keep all that bullshit, he could carry it the rest of the way himself, wherever he wanted it stowed, the box was damn heavy. I clumsily stumped off to the locker room in my skates, and just as I entered, the last of my other teammates were leaving. They offered friendly gibes in the form of, 'the lost son has returned!', and wondered if Coach gave good head. I said, haha very funny guys, now fuck off before I bash in your brainpans. I wasn't sure if I actually was joking or not when I said that, I really did feel lousy at that time (even the victory over New Guy had soured), but they took it as one of my standard jokes.

I wasn't exactly in a good mood, and my day was JUST about to take a turn for the worse one could easily say, knowing what laid in store for me in the future. Like I needed any more...


I quickly stripped down, I just wanted to get myself clean and then get straight back home. I needed to impart some bad news to my parents, and get yelled at some more. I'm not the type that keeps things from my folks, and besides, they were going to find out anyway sooner or later. Probably sooner as it was, I wouldn't have been surprised to know a letter on the subject was winging its way to our mailbox at that very moment. I wasn't even gonna do any homework, figuring today had been enough of a disaster already, anything further I could manage would not add to it in any significant way.

I prefer cool water when I shower after a training session. I usually am very hot from all the physical exercise, so that brings me down to a more sane level. Not today, all that picking-up-pucks stuff and the speech Coach gave me had given my body ample time to cool off on its own, so now I was positively freezing. It felt uncomfortable in a way, suitable in another. I waited for the water-flow to turn itself off automatically, and began to soap myself up. Head first, then armpits, butt and groin... My hands lingered at the groin. It didn't matter anyway, I was all alone there, Coach never entered the even the locker room, nor showers. He was even more apprehensive about the watching of naked bodies than I was it seemed, he couldn't stand it himself I think. Some sort of phobia? Or maybe he had a thing for young boys and just didn't want to 'risk it' by gazing upon forbidden flesh, I don't know. Coach was an all-round OK guy by me, but he stayed the hell outta those areas of the arena. I got a nice amount of lather going, and cleaned myself quite a bit more than strictly necessary it seemed, because when I turned on the water again, I felt that familiar feeling of warmness pulsating from my dick.

Now, I don't know what ideas you guys might get into your dirty-minded little heads about a room full of mid-teen guys with buff, water-glistening bodies showering together. Lemme knock all those illusions right out of your silly skulls right now: there were no group masturbations going on in that shower, at least not while my team was in it. I had never been part of such an orgy, and of that I was proud. I had never seen another guy's erection either in real life (come on, all guys have looked at porn one time or another!) However, that did not stop myself from getting to a semi-hard state on my own that day. As I said, I was feeling pretty lousy, and a man's (or as it happens, boy's) best friend is often his dick, We're certainly best friends, me and my dick, we keep no secrets from each other. So as I sought comfort in him - not going as far as a full-blown hardon mind you, I still had some inhibitions about 'relieving my urges' in public places! - something happened that simply surprised the heck out of me.

I heard the distinct clatter of hard plastic hitting the floor; there was someone else undressing in the locker room! I don't know what got into me at that moment, normally I would almost have thrown a hissy-fit about prancing around with my wang sticking out straight in the air where someone else could see it, but I might have been so miserable I just didn't care. Or maybe I just forgot all about my excited state of mind, lost in curiosity over who it might be out there. Coach, no way. He didn't even wear any protective stuff, and as I said, he never entered our locker room PERIOD. Then WHO? I was certain I had been the last player to leave the arena! I let the water run at it's leisure (it would turn itself off in another thirty seconds or so anyway) and snuck a peek out through the open doorway.

Now, the locker room was laid out much like an "H"; there were single rows of lockers along the two side walls, and a double row spanning the middle of the room: one row opposite the entrance to the showers and the men's room, the other side opposite to the doors leading to the arena and to the outside. Of course, the middle row doesn't go all the way to the side walls or it would completely block off the inner half of the room.

There was the chance that whomever was out there was standing on the opposite side of the middle row, thus completely out of sight. That is, except for lower legs and feet, if I was to get down on my hands and knees and look under the lockers. Safe to say, I wasn't going to do that anytime soon, I'm not crazy as I've already told you guys.

No, the person was in full view, standing with his back to me, dropping item after item of protective gear and clothing on the floor. It was New Guy of course. Fuck. Of all people, the Source of All My Troubles, it just had to be him...

As he tugged his thin, sweat-stained inner jersey off over his head and exposed a rich expanse of damp, well-muscled back to me, something even stranger happened. My dick jumped on its own behalf, several times even. It had never done that before when I looked at a dude. I tell ya, scout's honor! Never I say! And I, the big fucking idiot that I was, didn't even notice the Clear and Present Danger I was putting myself in. I was lost in thought, absently studying New Guy's muscles play under his skin as he stretched languidly, his shoulder blades moving with the motions of his arms (still with his back towards me), his lateral muscles tensing as he flexed them teasingly. New Guy's skin was indeed tanned by the summer sun, not a very deep brown, but certainly more than me (who had been sweating away the whole summer loading shelves with wares in a fucking supermarket for minimum wage at that). And I was supposed to be the one with the Indian blood... But weren't French people supposed to be a bit dark-skinned anyway? Or was that only true for those living along the Mediterranean coast? I wasn't sure.

As I watched him, I was thinking something along the lines of: 'where has that little rat-fuck been hiding? In the arena amongst the rows of seats? I might have spotted him scrambling up there after training was over; I didn't. Doesn't prove anything, he could still have been there. I checked the player stalls before I left, there was nobody there at least. In the men's room? Yeah. Probably. The little bastard!'

I WASN'T thinking along the lines of: 'Geez! I must be really fucked up, I'm getting turned on by a fucking dude here! I'd better take like ten ice-cold showers right now and then get the hell outta here really really quick!'

New Guy was now busy dropping items from below his waist. He strapped or pulled things off, then tossed them lazily on the floor just like all the other stuff. Was he expecting his mommy the Super Scientist to come pick it all up for him? Or maybe they had a maid, I didn't know. Nevertheless, he was in for a rude awakening if he thought he could just do as he pleased here!

New Guy slowly lowered his puffy outer hockey shorts and everything else inside along with them. Just above his firm, rounded buttcheeks was a clear, distinct tanline. The skin below was almost lily white it seemed, in stark contrast to the rest of him. My dick jumped wildly as he continued to lower his pants almost tantalizingly, half an inch at a time from side to side, revealing more and more of that creamy white butt, and I came to realize he was wearing G-string underwear. Of course, it was almost to be expected of someone like him (but I'd never seen it on a guy before, the thought struck me as kind of perverse). But still, my body reacted violently to the revelation, muscles tensing on their own behalf, a shiver running through me from head to toes. It could have been from the fact I stepped out wet from a cold shower into chilly air and had stood like that for what felt like several minutes now. It could also have been from plain, wanton lust.

I had the most magnificent boner ever (normally when flaccid, I am a little shorter perhaps, but a bit fatter around than most guys my age. Yes, I still compare penis sizes of others with my eyes, if not my hands you sicko), and when erect I measure maybe five and a half inches in length. Now I must have been close to six, and my normally quite sufficient foreskin had shrunk away completely, absorbed by the swelling of my sex.

My organ was hammering with a life of its own and still my brain did not react. I must have been as brain dead at that moment as that idiot of a kid who shot himself in the head; my noggin nothing more than a big bowl filled with mucus instead of an intricate network of neurons flaring and fading billions of times a second.

New Guy merely dropped the pants to the floor and quickly but elegantly stepped out of them. The G-string came off in one smooth motion. I could see it leave a small depression across his magnificent, dimpled buttcheeks as the ribbon slid across them (perhaps purposefully? it seemed he rubbed them more forcefully across himself than he really should have had to). New Guy stood there in all his naked splendor still with his back towards me, and then, as he had done earlier that day, his head turned, and looking out of the corner of his eye I knew he could see me.

"I knew that was going to get a rise out of you, white-boy!", he said in an amused voice.

I was not surprised to find myself standing fully exposed in the doorway between the locker room and showers, no longer hiding behind the wall. And still I did nothing! I can't understand why I didn't simply gallop off in total shame, even naked as I was. Anything would, no, SHOULD, have been better than revealing myself to another male like this! New Guy turned around as slowly and tantalizingly as he had stripped. It was all I could do not to gasp loudly out of sheer erotic pleasure. And I wasn't even touching him! I could hardly breathe, it felt like an asthma attack and I had never experienced one of those in my life. I still knew what it would be like.

New Guy's frontal view was as pleasing to the eye as his back side, he had very nicely defined pectoral muscles, and his arms were well developed as well, although not excessively so. He was rather young after all, and his testosterone production wasn't perhaps in full swing yet. I'm no doctor so I wouldn't really know about such things anyway. The tummy, simply divine, begging for a hand to feel its intricate texture of smoothness on top, hardness underneath.

His throat and neck were endowed with long, elegant, stringy muscles, holding up a head far prettier than I had previously given him credit for. Me myself, I've never been described as a pretty-boy by anyone. Handsome in a rugged sort of way, yes, maybe even cute by some. But New Guy was PRETTY, and he knew it too.

His parted hair had become slightly tousled, long tests of hair clinging to his sweaty forehead in arch-shapes. His forehead was noticeably rounded, not almost straight as on many Caucasians, that particular part of his anatomy more resembling the skull of a North-African perhaps. The eyes were set fairly wide apart, and had an almond-shaped quality to them, but not as much as one sees in Asians for example. It was more a hint there than anything else. The eyebrows and eyelashes were thick, and black in color, the former arching almost regally in their beauty, the latter, long and luscious. His nose was perfectly straight and fairly small but also fairly wide at the base, radiating cuteness in the extreme. It was set between wide, rounded cheekbones. They weren't gauntly jutting out like they often do with lean people, they were still smooth like in most young children. The chin was distinctly marked all the way along the lower jaw, a classic beauty trait. It was also noticeably pointed in appearance. Finally, the mouth, a red cherry of immaculate perfection. Not thin as a boy's lips, not full as a girl's. Not very wide, it seemed perfectly suited to the rest of the face and seemed immensely kissable, horrid the thought would have been to me even just an hour earlier! The symmetry of that face was distorted only by a wry, knowing smile that only enhanced the qualities of those same facial features. "You like what you see", the smile said. "Good, so do I!"

New Guy was not sporting a full erection, although one could certainly say he was well on his way. It seemed as he purposefully kept his organ perpetually at a semi-stiff state just to continue to tease and tantalize me as I drank in his features. It certainly worked, I was as aroused as I had ever been before, and still I had not touched him. The member was indeed shorter than mine, but not by that much it seemed. It was considerably thinner however, and as pale as the skin inside the two tanlines. His foreskin covered the tip completely, or was there maybe a hint of crimson red on the inside? His pouch, small in the chilly air, was as hairless as the rest of his genitals and just a hint deeper in color but not by much. I wondered how that was possible, the boy certainly had hair under his arms - which I had noticed earlier. That was another part of the puzzle that was him and did not connect for me.

Slowly New Guy walked towards me. Was he exaggerating the movement of his hips? I wasn't sure, the sight was enough to make my breath catch in my throat all over again. He now stood almost close enough for me to feel the radiant heat from his body, and still I did nothing. Well actually, I did lots of things. I gasped and trembled and shook, both with chill and excitement, my heart pounding with a ferocity I had not experienced even during my most intense sex act with Jennifer or any of the girls that had preceded her, nor during the most exhausting hockey match I'd ever played. It was completely illogical, and I was quite frankly scared as hell by it all. Girls, THAT I knew, this was too different... It was...sensory overload, too much too quickly too soon, and I could not do anything except stand there.

It took New Guy's voice to break the spell. It was a simple statement, delivered in a very matter-of-factly voice, accompanied with that small knowing grin I had felt even through his face mask earlier that evening.

"You can touch it, you know. You know you want to..."

As if on cue - and come to think of it, it probably was - his semi-erect dick gave a little jump. Almost mechanically, I stretched out my hand and grabbed hold of it. Immediately I was filled with it's heat and life, it throbbed in my hand, growing, stiffening as blood from his body surged to fill it to its absolute limit. It was the most wonderful sensation. It truly was alive, a living thing, in my hand. A small whimper of pleasure nearly crossed my lips even as I realized exactly WHAT it was I was holding. It still had hardly dawned on me.

"Oh, by the way. My name is Jacques", he said with some mirth, pronouncing his name in an overly exaggerated French manner, quite on purpose I suppose, "But you can call me Jack if you like. You Americans usually find that easier."

I was dumbstruck. I was holding the guy's penis in my hand and he was striking up small talk. "Uh-o-okay", I managed. Then it came. The. Most. Stupid. Thing. Anyone. Ever. Said. EVER. In the history of mankind! Especially in a situation like I was in, a stranger's hard-on in my hand, my own dick standing on attention like a fucking flagpole!

"J-just because I do this doesn't mean I'm a faggot or a-anything", I blurted, and really TRIED to make my voice sound firm and assertive. I felt ridiculous the very second I'd uttered the words. I immediately flushed a crimson red only a few shades paler than my own swelled dick head. New Guy, Jack, I thought he was going to laugh straight out. It certainly seemed he was struggling not to. Then, his calm and polite demeanor apparently won a victory and he simply smiled at me.

"Yeah, right." That was it. That was all he said. The grin however spoke volumes it seemed. It said, "You like this, white-boy! You LIKE this you big bad white-boy you, and don't you deny it!" And I did, I could not deny it, and even though it ALMOST shames me even now to admit it, it was actually the most exhilarating thing I had ever experienced.

I still felt like the biggest idiot there ever was. "Ah... U-a-and by the way", I stammered like a fool, still holding on to Jack's pulsating penis, "My name's Alexander. But you can call me Alex if you like."

"Yes, I'd like that", he replied. "Enough talk for now however...!", he demanded and put his arms around my chest and pressed himself close, real close to me. From that point onwards, there was no turning back.