Date: Thu, 9 Jul 2015 09:59:43 -0400
From: gearlikeglass <2.methyl.1.3.butadiene@gmail.com>
Subject: There for anyone to see

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THERE FOR ANYONE TO SEE

"The man who pauses on the paths of treason,
Halts on a quicksand, the first step engulfs him."
–Aaron Hill (Henry V., Act I. Sc. 1., 1723)

"Dear Allen: It is my pleasure to invite you to the twentieth anniversary
of the 1995 Swimming and Diving State Champion Central High Spartans.
Please join us as a guest of honor at this celebration because of the role
you played in making the Championship possible.  The pleasure of your
company is requested.  Monday, February 2, 2015 at 9pm.  Central High
Spartans Pool.  Corey Mauntoc, Team Captain."

I had to read my handsome invitation twice because I couldn't believe what
it said.  If I actually had the sack to show up, it was certainly going to
be an awkward celebration.  Because I didn't swim for Central, the esteemed
champion.  I was on the team that lost.  But I sure did play a role in
making the champions' Championship possible.

There probably aren't many people who can tell you the day they became who
they are.  I can.  It was Thursday, February 2, 1995.  What happened that
day was the most formative and unforgettable day of my life.  The day
before was pretty fucked up too, so maybe it was two days that made me who
I am.  Whatever.  Before I get started, I need to stress that this is no
apology.  This is more like that thing you do at church.  I also need you
to know there isn't a way I could be happier with how things turned out.

We had won state the last three years.  Central was the perrenial loser.
We were a clinch to win a fourth title tomorrow when we beat them again.
After our varsity practice wrapped up, most of the better swimmers went to
a club team for another session.  The best club team in town swam at
Central.  Usually we swam 6,000 or so yards, but today we had come down to
less than half that to prep for the meet.  We focused on drills and
speedwork.  There was a lot of cocky energy in the pool.

My biggest competition from Central was there, if you could call him
competition.  Corey Mauntoc was a sprint freestyler and usually swam the
50, the 100, and two relays.  Corey was a senior like me, and Central's
captain.  In the 50, I usually swam sub 22 (that's seconds, for those of
you unfamiliar with how you talk about time in swimming) mid season and
hoped to tease against 20 point at peak taper.  Breaking 21 was my goal and
would set me up with a solid scholarship next year.  I had always been a
couple tenths faster than Corey.  While it might not seem like much, in the
50, a tenth of a second might as well be forever.  I was better than him by
over a second in the 100.  He struggled to break 50.  I did it routinely
with ease.

After practice, we jawed like high school kids do, talking about girls and
parties and girls at parties.  We showered, but it's more like a quick
rinse.  And before you ask, everyone always leaves their swimsuit on.  We
changed, and my friends began to filter out of the locker room.  Before
long, Corey and I were alone, finishing getting dressed.  I sensed
opportunity.

"Yo.  We're going to kick your ass tomorrow," Corey declared.

Modesty and decorum made us turn away from each other while we stripped off
our drag suits and Speedos.  No eye contact of any kind was permitted when
anyone was in any state of undress in the locker room.

"Good fucking luck," I smirked.  I added in a much louder voice, "You
fucking suck and Central fucking sucks."  I put profound emphasis on
`fucking' to hammer the point home.  Normally, you wouldn't dis the school
whose locker room you were in like I just did, but I had the skills to back
up my shit.  I slipped on my jeans and Corey did the same.

"I don't think you know how good we are."  Corey sure sounded confident.

"Dude, Coach scored the meet.  We've got you by eight points."

"Really?"  A little less confident now, huh Corey?  That slight waver in
his voice let me know I had him hooked.  Now it's time to reel him in.  You
might not think that swimming could be such a headgame, but those of you
who have done it know it is.

I can't tell you where my next words came from.  To this day I have no
idea, and I have replayed the scene in my head more times than you can
imagine.  In the instant, I had arranged my entire life.

"I can get you the eight points."

"Huh?"

"I said, I can get you the eight points."

"What are you talking about?"

"Fucktard.  Fucking listen."  I paused, fierce.  "I will let you beat me in
the 50 and the 100 and I will tell you who's on our relays.  The two events
make an eight point swing.  Stack your relays.  Central wins."  I gave
myself crazy excited eyes, went "rahhhhhh," and shook my fists in the air
in mock victory.  I could just false start but it wouldn't be the same.
Corey needed to feel what it was like to win.

I could bore you with six lane scoring and how to split and stack relays
but that's not what this is all about.

"You would?"

"Yeah, I would."

"For what?  What's the catch?"  I was sure Corey winked at me.  Did he?

"Your girl," I deadpanned.

"What about Michele?" Corey asked.  Michele was my current flame.  I shook
his statement off, obvious that I didn't give a shit about Michele.  "Jen?
You want Jen?"  Now Corey was shaking his head with incredulity.  Jen was
Corey's.

"You didn't let me finish.  Your girl.  That's who I want you to be.
You're going to suck me like she sucks you.  I'm going to fuck you like you
fuck her.  And I'm going to make it so you win the meet.  Not your team.
You."  I waited a few seconds for the bargain to sink in.  "If you don't, I
will beat you, Central loses, and you can blame yourself for the rest of
your life."

I eyed Corey, trying to measure what was being calculated behind his steely
eyes.  Fucking Michele was sterile and mechanical even though it felt
great.  Fucking Corey, like this, would be wrong on so many levels.  The
mere idea was causing me to tremble out of my skin.

"Allen, you know I've always wanted..."  His voice trailed.

"To win state or get fucked?"  I laid it out matter of factly.  Corey was
pumped after his workout, wearing jeans slung just a little too low on his
hips and a wide open J. Crew button down.  He had me wanting.  Maybe this
is about power?  Maybe this is about sex?  I wasn't able to easily separate
the two right now.

"How do I know you–" I broke Corey off.

"You're going to have to learn trust, Corey."

Corey took a step back and banged his ankle into an open locker door.  It
crashed and echoed through the empty room.  Blond tips and split ends from
the chlorine capped off long curly hair, which floppily framed his
innocence.  He was adorable.  The time was coming for Corey to make a
choice.

"All you gotta do is let me core you, Cor," I teased.  "You give it to Jen
all the time.  She takes it."

I licked my lips, hunting, cornering my prey.

Corey took another step back, steadying himself on the bench between the
lockers.

I wanted to know what it would feel like to have my dick in him so deep I'd
feel it tenting out those tight abs of his.  I'd be behind him, inside him,
and I'd run my hand over the ridges of his six-pack and feel myself there.
I can remember vividly, naively, thinking this was something I could
actually do.

"And we win?"

I corrected him. "And you win."

I approached Corey and put my left hand on his shoulder.  There was a
little resistance at first but not much.  When he started to sink I put my
right hand into those curls and guided him to where he needed to be.

"You will be immortal."

"I, I can't," Corey sputtered, real close but turning his head down and
away.

"Yeah, winner.  Yeah, pro.  Yeah, you can," I purred.  I ran my fingers
through his hair in encouragement.  Corey looked up at me and as soon as
our eyes met, his resistance melted.  I undid my jeans.  I waited patiently
for him to start mouthing me.  It seemed like it took forever.  But as soon
as his lips brushed up against the tip of my head, I knew he was in for the
full ride.  He might not be as fast as me in the pool, but he worked out
just as long, just as hard.  Corey is a boy who understands commitment.  He
went at me full force.  It was easy to tell this was going to be his first
time, like it was mine.

"Come on Corey.  Do it like you mean it.  Do it like you'd want it done to
you."

Corey was getting into it now.  What started off as tentative and weak
became deliberate, then aggressive.  He would slide his tongue across the
ridge of my helmet and dart into my slit every chance he could.  Without
warning, he went so deep it threw me against the lockers with a metallic
thud.  He hit the spot that made me pull back, push forward, and squirm all
at once.  Fuck, that got me hard.

"Get it slicked up good, Corey.  Gag on it.  Slime on it.  Yeah, look at
you.  Fucking hot.  You want it."

The last line did the trick because he did want it.  Watching him slob on
me from above was fueling my fucklust.

"Get on the bench," I commanded Corey, spitting the words through my teeth.
My heart was pounding and every fear you can imagine was racing through my
head.  I didn't quite know to ease in or take my time, but I was determined
to do my best.  Besides, look at all that glide he coated my junk with.  It
would make everything silk.  I used my hand to press on the small of his
back to arch it just right.  Tip, head, shaft, balls deep, all in about a
second.

Because of my eagerness, Corey screamed out in a surly mix of pain and
paradise.  It boiled my blood.  I pulled back an inch and eased back in.
He screamed out again, crying and breathing in fits and starts like someone
just told him his mom died.  I pulled back and went again, this time
bearing the weight of my body on his.  I reached to drag my tongue across
his cheek and whispered in his ear, "I don't hear you telling me to stop."

"Because," Corey said between gulps of air and with his hands in fists
gripping the bench, "I don't," another couple of shallow breaths, "want you
to."  Another pause.  "I want..."

"Say it Corey.  Go ahead."  I desperately wanted him to say "you."

"...to win."  He denied me the pleasure, damn it.  I laughed.

I held it right where it was until his upset subsided.  On the next stroke,
there was no scream, only a primal, otherworldly growl.  In his rumble was
affirmation and elation and utter thrill.  The same growl for the next
stroke, and the next, and the next, with a loudening, punctuating grunt as
I forced the air out of him each time my balls slapped hard against him.
Corey held on for dear life.  If I could see his steely eyes now, I was
sure they would be rolling into the back of his head.

The teenage boy is not known for his powers of control.  I think we both
sensed it was going to be over fast.  Believe me, our speed didn't lessen
the intensity of the moment, just the duration.  I sunk into him as hard
and deep as I could, so tight my balls were pinned between us in a
necessary crush.  The pressure helped me brew the most incredible load.  I
fired it into him.

"Take it," I snarled.  It was the same thing I would rudely say to Michele
whenever I shot.  I withdrew and out coursed some of what I had just fucked
into him.  The rest was in far enough it wasn't going anywhere.  As he lied
there, I waited in silence until he was ready, my fingertips in his hair
and thumb gently stroking his neck up to that bone that pops out of your
skull behind your ear.  We sat with each other for a long time that night.

The next day, the Central Spartans won the state championship in a 98-94
upset.  Two unexpected first place finishes by Corey Mauntoc in the 50 and
100 Freestyle and a surprise, winner take all victory in the 400 Freestyle
Relay, put Central over the top.  Corey was voted MVP.

It had been a long time since I had dressed the halls of Central.  The
school was dark and oddly quiet.  It definitely didn't look like there was
any kind of celebration going on.  I drove around to the back and found one
of the doors propped open with a kickboard, like it always was.

I approached and went in.  Everything was dark, save for a few banks of
hallway lights.  I headed to the pool.  Dark and locked.  Then across the
hall to the cafeteria.  Maybe the party was there?  Dark and locked.  As I
neared the locker room, a bar of light at the bottom of the door pierced
the darkness.  I pulled the handle.  The door groaned like it did when I
had pulled it open a thousand times before.

"You're late.  You owe me a 200 Fly."  The voice came from the back of the
locker room.  It was unmistakably Corey's.  "I wasn't sure you'd make it,
but I had a feeling you'd come."

"So this is the celebration?" I asked, as I walked toward him.  Not a thing
about the locker room had changed in twenty years.  It even smelled the
same.

"You gave me a state championship.  Something I had always wanted, but
without you I could never have."  I turned into the bank of lockers we
always used to use.  Twenty years had passed but Corey looked to be only a
few years out of high school.  He stood in jeans, hands in his pockets,
shirt unbuttoned.  His hair even had the same chlorine bleached split end
tips.  He obviously still swims.  His two nipples were covered, but strong
and tight enough to poke out at the shirt.  There was a divine dark hollow
where his pecs pushed out the fabric and it hung down, concealing much of
the sides of his chest in shadow.  A tangly treasure trail started just
above his navel and widened, broadened, and thickened until it disappeared
into his jeans.

I didn't look bad myself, in my own button down.  Throw some gel in my hair
and a nice pair of shoes on my feet and I am impeccably presentable.  I
stay fit by running and I too look younger than my years.  I was able to
finish out swimming my senior year but I couldn't keep with it.  The
passion was gone.

"I'm not sure I..."

Corey interrupted me.  "I think you do.  I opened myself to you in this
shrine.  Tonight you're here to open yourself to me."

"I'm not sure you..."

Corey interrupted me again.  "If I'm right, beg.  If I'm wrong, leave."  He
pulled his championship ring off his finger and set it on the bench.  "And
take this with you."

Words failed me.

"I knew you wouldn't leave."  As Corey approached me, he peeled his shirt
off his shoulders and let it drift to the floor.  "And I knew you wouldn't
beg."  He didn't stop approaching.  We went from standing far apart to full
contact.  He brushed his nose against mine and leaned in.  It jolted me
like an electric shock and I froze in place.  Our tongues battled.  Corey
was winning, this time without my help.

His fingers intertwined tightly around the back of my head, bringing me
into him.  "They let me have the whole school for this celebration.
Everyone here thinks I'm immortal."

"Our secret," I said, mumbling through the kiss.  Corey pushed against my
shoulders and leveraged me into the lockers.  I was able to plant my feet
to avoid falling but not before he grabbed at the center of my shirt and
threw it open with the skill of a heart surgeon, the buttons sent flying
everywhere, scattering across the floor.  I lost my balance and was sent to
a knee.  There was no turning back from whatever my next move.

"Go ahead, Allen.  You've been waiting a long time for this."  I couldn't
deny it.  I had.

Corey undid his belt and got his jeans down as far as he needed to.  No
underwear.  Just like old times.  His cock flopped out, bending down,
hanging in space, looming large.  I turned and dipped my head and moved up
on it, snaking him into me in a single gulp.

"Just so you know, Allen, I consider what you're doing begging."  It was
big.  As the head flared it stretched me, choked me.  I didn't care.  I
deserved this.  I stuffed it in deeper just to choke myself more.  I didn't
need to use my hands.  There wasn't anything left out to wrap my fingers
around.  My nose was already pressed against where his balls met his lower
chest and still I wanted more.

"The wetter you get me, the easier it will be on you."  I didn't care if it
went easy.  I curled my tongue to cradle Corey's shaft and let as much of
my spit and his precum as I could mix together drain over him for later use
as lube.

I started off with small moves, then with a slam of my head back against
the lockers as the wind up, I pitched forward, swallowing Corey again.  I
let him dwell in the back of my throat, seeing if I could position him to
trigger my gag reflex.  I wanted to gag for him.  He brought me to that
first moment when you realize that you better pull away but you keep it
there anyway.

I could tell by his throbbing hardness and thickness that I was soon to
take whatever Corey was going to give me.  But not before one last shot at
head.  He grabbed and pulled me in until I lost air in a wretching fit.  My
vision tunneled and the room began to darken and spin.  He released me just
in time.  He should have let me faint.

"Get on the bench."  He could not have been more calm.  I complied, simply
because I wanted to do whatever Corey wanted me to.  I could sense him
lining up behind me and went white-knuckled, waiting for the inevitable.  I
gasped at his entry and could see us becoming one through the eyes in the
back of my head.

It had been twenty years but I knew exactly what to say.  "Yeah, winner.
Yeah, pro.  Yeah, you can."  I begged as best I could.

He withdrew and stabbed me again, so hard it made my ears ring.  The next
stab tickled at the curve in my guts.  I felt like I was being split open.
After the next one, I could feel his breath at my face.  I knew what was
coming.  "I don't hear you telling me to stop."

I didn't need time to think or compose myself.  I slowly whispered the
words, "Because I don't want you to.  I want..."

"Say it Allen.  Go ahead."

"...you."

"That's my boy.  My beautiful, beautiful boy."  I could tell he was in
tears.  I was too.  His stabs went from violent to gentle.  Corey soared as
far into me as he could and held there.  I embraced him with the inside of
my skin while he embraced my outside.  His arms wrapped all the way around
the bench, our hands hooked underneath, holding the three of us tight.  He
poured his soul into me.

Corey moved while I remained, face buried in my hands, sobbing.  He had
long since softened.  I knew I could stay there as long as I liked.  I
needed hours.  I wanted forever.

As I lied there, he waited in silence until I was ready, his fingertips in
my hair and thumb gently stroking my neck up to that bone that pops out of
your skull behind your ear.

"I love you, Allen," he finally whispered.

At first I didn't know how to respond.  Then I found the right words.  "I
know."

Things are still humming along according to the plan I made in that instant
where I arranged my entire life.  Corey always told me he wanted his first
time to mean something, to be something special.  So much was wrapped up in
the trade we made on that February night twenty years ago.  It was as
special as I could make it.  We gave each other everything.

I craned my neck to look under the bench.  It was still there, though a
stray piece of gum covered its edge.  A heart, scratched into the wood,
with the names Allen and Corey inside.  It looked fresh, as if it had been
done yesterday.  I had written his name, he had written mine.  We put it
there near the start of our senior year, the day some post-practice towel
snapping and play wrestling revealed us to each other.  The message was
hidden, but there for anyone to see if they knew where to look.

I am Allen Mauntoc.  As soon as the law allowed, I married the love of my
life and proudly took his name.  Nothing could possibly compare to what
happened tonight except that first time, twenty years ago.  Every year we
celebrate February 2 with something extra special.  Holy shit did this one
rock.  Thank you for putting it together and pulling it off.  Happy
anniversary.  I love you, Corey.