Water Polo Balls -- Pt. 3, by swimmboy4@aol.com

This story involves sexual contact between males. If such stories are not appealing to you, or it is illegal to read such material in your jurisdiction, please do not continue reading.

It was Thursday night, and Derek was chillin' in his room, flipping through a magazine, while Jake plowed through the pages of his history book, always struggling to find something interesting in a subject he detested. "Man, I'm sick of reading about how the Indians -- oh, excuse me, Native Americans, were mistreated, the land was mistreated, the buffalo were mistreated, the forests were mistreated, the rocks were mistreated -- blah, blah, blah. Where's the good stuff I want to read about in the history of the West? Where are the gunfights? Where are the gold mines? That stuff is cool," Jake ranted, as he thumbed through the pages disgustedly.

"Now Jake," chided Derek, "that's not very politically correct of you. You know the buffalo had just as much right to wander through the plains pooping everywhere, as our evil ancestors had to go out there and plant corn so we could come along today and pop some kernels in the microwave for a snack!"

"Whatever, dude," replied Jake resignedly. "I know people back then did some dumb shit. I know what was correct a hundred years ago is incorrect today. But what about a hundred years from now? Will the stuff we say and do and think today all be viewed as wrong in another 50 or 100 years? Those people may think we were the most brutal, stupid people who ever lived. My Mom goes to those Right-to-Life marches every year -- will people in a hundred years wonder how we let babies get murdered day in and day out? Maybe our society is no better than people who killed Indians and stuff."

"Wow, Jake. I'm impressed," said Derek. "I mean, it's interesting to hear you have viewpoints on issues. And here I thought you were just a big, dumb jock!" With that comment, Derek grabbed an extra pillow from his bed and threw it at Jake, who caught it neatly and immediately returned fire, striking Derek firmly on the chest with the fluffy projectile. The war was on, as pillows hurtled through the air in a reenactment of the assault on Ft. McHenry. Between laughs and challenges, Derek blurted out, "Jake, with all your romps among the girls in town, you might want to be careful about babies and stuff, or someone might be calling you `Daddy' before too much longer!"

"Damn, Derek, you know how to take the fun out of things, don't ya?" Jake said, lowering his throwing arm. "I'm really careful, and the girls I know are all on the pill, so there's no fear of a surprise in that department. And lots of times...well...we do stuff that can't result in any babies anyway."

"Don't be too sure, man," Derek replied. "Nothing is 100 percent effective. Jake, what would you do if one of those girls did get pregnant? Do you ever think about that?"

"I would do the honorable thing, Derek" Jake answered solemnly. " I would demand a paternity test on the Maury Povich show!" And the battle was on again, until both boys were laughing so hard they could barely breath, and the pillows were all scattered to the four corners of the room. Catching a rest, Jake looked over at his roommate and asked Derek a question he had always wanted to ask, but had never had the nerve. "Derek, how come you are still a virgin?"

Derek was surprised by the question, and, facing Jake, asked a question of his own. "What makes you think I'm a virgin, Jake?"

"Well," Jake drawled, "you never seem to go out much at all. I've begged you to sneak into town with me on numerous occasions, and you always decline. I've never heard you mention any girl you miss back in California. So, I guess I just assumed..."

Derek pursed his lips, not sure how to answer Jake. Should he make up some quickie story of some hot chick back in the OC he once banged? Should he take the high road and say `a gentleman never tells'? Should he tell Jake he wants his first time to be really, really special? Or should he be honest for once in his life, and tell Jake about all the uncertainties, and questions, and confusion that he has been facing these last several months? Those funny feelings he gets when he sees David on the diving board, his small red swimsuit clinging so seductively to the boy's hips? What would Jake say if he blurted out how tantalizing he found his roommate's bulging muscles and, well, OK, his bulging Speedo? What the hell would Jake say if he knew his roommate was secretly fantasizing about him in bed at night -- wanting to touch him, to hold him, to whisper things to him? "I don't know, Jake, I don't know what's wrong with me. I guess I'm just shy, that's all," was the only thing he could finally muster the courage to say.

And it wasn't a lie -- he was much to shy to tell Jake how he really felt -- or at least thought he felt.

Jake let the subject drop, and returned to his studies. Derek was a hard nut to crack, as Jake had discovered in the first weeks of sharing a room. Most teenaged guys were slobs, Derek was neat and tidy. Most guys talked incessantly about the chicks they had screwed -- or at least wanted to screw -- but nary a word about this from Derek. Sometimes, Jake felt that Derek was looking at him in sort of a funny way -- like he was looking and daydreaming at the same time. Once or twice, he'd wondered if Derek might be gay, but he didn't think so. He'd seen those gay guys here and there -- working at the mall, or on TV -- the ones with the wispy voices, slim figures, effeminate pretensions -- and Derek didn't possess any of these traits. He was one of the toughest water polo players Jake had ever known -- a real stud -- who seemed confident and masculine, at least in the water. Maybe shyness around girls WAS the problem, Jake mused, as he wondered how to help his buddy overcome his shyness and get into the game.

Derek, meanwhile, had broken into a cold sweat, terrified Jake might pursue the `chick' issue, afraid he might let something slip -- some remark, comment, or observation that could reveal more than he wanted known. He was grateful when Jake went back to his studies, leaving him in peace. But he knew, sooner or later... . Derek got up and went to his computer, where he found an e-mail from Kirk, the younger kid he'd played against the previous weekend. "Hey Jake, listen to this," Derek called out. "Kirk said that punk Forrester -- the one who tried to maul my nuts in last week's game -- got his ass kicked by a couple dudes he messed with at a 7-11 in their town. Ha -- he deserved it, I'm sure!"

"That guy was just a dirty player -- I HATE guys like that," Jake chimed in. "We polo guys know how vulnerable our `boys' are when we're in our speedos, bumping up against each other, knees and elbows flying. It's just not right for one dude to go after another dude's balls like that. We guys need to look out for each other. Chicks will nail our balls to the wall soon enough -- we dudes need to stick together, man!" Derek had to laugh at Jake's comments -- good ol' Jake would always come through for the guys' point of view, you could count on that!

It had been nearly a week since Derek's visit to Dr. Witherspoon's office, and it was growing harder and harder for the teen to obey the doctor's orders to avoid "stimulating" himself. Furthermore, night after night, Derek would crawl into his bed, his teenaged mind filled with increasingly perverted thoughts and notions -- and more and more often, his fantasy world seemed to revolve around Jake and David. He would lie awake at night, listening to Jake's soft breathing, wondering if his muscle-bound teammate was asleep. Then he would wonder what would happen if he happened to slip out of his own bed and stealthily creep across the room to Jake's. And what if he pulled the sheet down just a little, then a little more, exposing Jake's big chest, and dark brown nipples, and then, a little more, exposing those taut, six-pack abs. Then, a little more, until Jake's snug boxers came into view. And then, what if he just happened to slide a furtive hand into those boxers, run his fingers through Jake's dark, curly pubes, and...oh...what's this? Something long and hard thrusting upward, warm, pulsing with life, musky to the scent. "No, no," Derek's mind yelled, "don't go there. Don't think about these things. Be a real man and think about girls!" But time and again, it was Jake -- or David, in his too-small red Speedo, whose image floated just out of reach as sleep finally overtook him, night after lonely, tormented night.

That night was a restless one for Derek. He tossed and turned, and found sleep was hard to come by. The fact that tomorrow was Friday and another game was at hand also had him wound up. Finally, he fell into a deep, restful sleep.

It was game day, and Dr. Witherspoon was in the front row, watching the game. Derek was playing well, despite often having two guys covering him. And they were big guys, and they were always snickering as they played tag with Derek's body. One would grab for his nuts while the other would rub his ass through his soaking wet Speedo. "Why aren't they playing the game?" Derek wondered. "And where is the ball -- who has it?" Derek would swim to and fro, the two opponents making playful grabs between his legs, as he searched for the yellow ball. "Why aren't my teammates playing? They are just floating in the water, watching me! What is going on?" Once again, the big dudes caught him, and again, they took turns with him -- not hurting him, just rubbing, touching his privates, tormenting him. Derek had to piss -- he had to go bad. Should he climb out of the pool and run to the locker room? He had gone just before the game started -- how could he need to go again? And so badly he thought he would burst! And again, that player, rubbing him between the legs, now stimulating him, stroking him, fondling him. "Stop, stop," Derek said weakly. "I have to piss so bad." His opponent just smiled and continued grabbing at Derek's small suit, rubbing the lump that had formed in the front. "Oh no, I can't hold it," Derek thought -- and then it happened -- like a little boy who just can't control himself, Derek let loose, urinating in his suit as the pool water around him turned yellow. Suddenly, he was alone in the pool while all the other players were standing on the deck, laughing and pointing at him. Suddenly, the big guys who had been covering him reached down and lifted him out of the pool, planting him firmly in front of Dr. Witherspoon. The old man reached forward and yanked the front of Derek's Speedo open, then peered down toward his exposed sex organ. "Oh my," exclaimed the old man, "you haven't wee-wee'd yourself. You've had an ejaculation!" "No, no, leave me alone," cried Derek, as he pawed at the air, pushing the old man away, as the old man faded into nothingness. He was awake -- Derek gasped for air, catching his breath as he realized the entire thing had been a weird dream. He was lying on his bed, the sheet and blanket on the floor nearby. Reaching down toward his briefs, he moaned aloud. "Oh no," he mumbled, as he felt the sticky dampness soaking the front of his underwear. He'd had a wet dream, and had soaked his briefs -- he'd have to get up and change.

A few feet away, Jake had been awakened by Derek's moans and dreamy mutterings. The early pre-dawn light filtering into their room had illuminated Derek's bed just enough to allow Jake a view of his roommate's torment. He could see Derek writhing slowly on his bed, his little briefs tenting more and more obscenely as the dream carried Derek toward a nocturnal emission. He watched, transfixed, as Derek's long dick arched against it's white cotton prison, twitching and stretching, straining and yearning to shoot the teen's raging load. He could see the first spot of dampness form where the tip of Derek's cock pressed against the fabric. And moments later, as Derek softy cried out `no, no, leave me alone', he could see the sperm wetting Derek's underwear, as his penis jumped and pumped, his laden testicles finally expelling the pent-up semen that had been accumulating for so many days. Jake watched through half-closed eyes as Derek awoke and touched the front of his briefs, and hid his smile as the boy discovered his soggy underwear, muttered `oh no', and climbed slowly to his feet, stripped his Fruit-of-the-Looms down, and fished around in his bottom drawer for a fresh, clean pair. He saw Derek kick the soiled undies under his bed, retrieve his sheet and blanket from the floor, and climb back under the covers for a few more minutes of shut-eye. And later that morning, moments after Derek left for class, Jake reached under his roomie's bed, pulled out the pair of briefs, and slowly ran his fingers across the still-damp material, then placed the briefs against his face and inhaled the musky scent of Derek's viscous seed. Jake was puzzled by his own actions -- in a million years, he could not have explained his sudden urge to touch and sniff Derek's cum-stained underwear, yet the compulsion to perform this strange deed had completely overwhelmed him. Yet for the life of him, he couldn't imagine why.

Soon enough, Friday evening had arrived, and another water polo game for the Hornets. It should be an easy win for Derek's team, since their opposition was a newly formed high school team without much experience, and with only a volunteer coach. Derek wanted to laugh at the poor team they were playing -- their horrible passes, missed opportunities, slow reflexes -- but the more he played against them, the more he appreciated the effort they were making. Up 8-0 before the half, the Hornets' coach subbed a lot of their rookies and junior players into the game to give them some experience. At the water fountain, Derek and Jake overheard a couple guys from the other school lamenting their poor performance, and making admiring comments about the Hornets' well-organized team play. Jake and Derek took the kids aside, and pointed out a few mistakes the new team was making. The boys thanked Derek and Jake sincerely, and hurried back to their teammates with the tips they'd received. It was still a blow-out at 14-3, but the losing squad was delighted to have scored a few goals against the renowned Hardwood team. And Derek was delighted to escape uninjured -- apparently, the newbies were too focused on picking up the basics to spend time learning the underhanded tricks and illegal moves more seasoned players were all too familiar with.

"Hey Derek -- you played awesomely tonight," said Bryce, the team statistician. Derek smiled and thanked his younger schoolmate for the compliment. Bryce was a sophomore, and hailed from a small town in the Midwest -- someplace in Minnesota? No, Missouri, thought Derek. Bryce was a quiet, studious kid in class, but on the pool deck, he was always yelling support for the Hardwood team as he hurried along the deck, tracking points, shot attempts, assists, and the myriad other statistics that went into the record books. He was also something of an amateur photographer, and was often on deck shooting pictures of the games. Always eager to help, and the first to congratulate a player for a good move, the kid had become a team favorite right off the bat. Derek took a seat on the bench after the game to dry himself off, and watched Bryce as he gathered his papers and pens. All of a sudden, Bryce stood still and seemed lost in thought. Following his gaze, Derek saw Jake standing on the deck, his back to Bryce, maybe fifteen feet in front of the sophomore. "What is Bryce staring at so intently?" wondered Derek. Looking again, he only saw Jake -- good old Jake, with his two-sizes-too-small Speedo showing, as usual, a good two inches of butt crack! Or maybe three inches this time, mused Derek. Jake had no inhibitions -- he didn't care how low his suit went. He would frequently stand there and hook his thumb into the front of his suit, tugging it so low you could catch a glimpse of his dark, curly pubes. Just the memory of that view stirred Derek in an embarrassing way, as his mind flashed back to the times he had stood before Jake, his eyes darting down toward Jake's exposed bush whenever Jake was distracted from their conversation. Sometimes, Derek wondered if Jake did that on purpose -- as a tease or a test, Derek couldn't be sure. Derek got up and wandered over to Bryce's side, trying to fix his gaze on whatever seemed so interesting to Bryce. And then he realized the truth -- it WAS Jake, or more specifically, Jake's nearly naked ass, that had grabbed Bryce's undivided attention. Feeling mischievous, Derek whispered to the team assistant, who was still unaware of his presence -- "If Jake's suit slips any farther down, he'll be naked to the world."

A cannon firing directly over his head would not have startled Bryce any more than Derek's comment whispered into his ear. Bryce whirled toward Derek, his eyes wide as saucers, as he stammered, "Wh...wh...what?" And that was when Derek realized that Bryce had indeed been gazing longingly at Jake, perhaps fantasizing or imagining things he would never have said aloud. "What...what did you say, Derek? I...um...I was lost in thought about ...well...something," said the stunned boy. Suddenly feeling guilty for intruding, Derek smiled sheepishly and nodded at Jake, whose back was still facing them.

"I was just commenting on Jake's small suit. I don't think he realizes how much ass he shows in that little thing," said Derek quietly, glancing at Bryce for his reaction.

"Oh, um, gee," said the younger guy shyly, quickly averting his face. "I guess I hadn't noticed."

Derek chuckled, and said, "How could you NOT notice? I mean, it's almost a scandal how brief his suits are. I think he wears them that way to show off to the girls. Or maybe to try and distract his opponents! Jake is cool, though -- he's such a stud, such a jock -- but he has a good heart and is a really decent guy." Suddenly, Derek fell silent, when he saw Bryce looking at him with a strange expression on his face. Derek feared he had revealed more to the kid than he meant to, and he needed to watch what he said more carefully.

Bryce said, "Yeah, he is a cool guy. He never talks down to anyone, and is always friendly and outgoing. What is he like as a roommate, Derek?"

"Oh, um, he's great, I guess," said Derek. "He is a good guy, as you said. Never gets mad, never hard to get along with. A little messy -- I have to nudge him constantly to clean his side of the room -- but to be honest, I wouldn't trade him for anyone else here at Hardwood."

The boys parted company, as Bryce gathered up his papers and pencils, and then began removing the polo nets and helping the junior players carry them to the storage room. As upperclassmen on the team, Jake and Derek were exempt from such menial labor. The two boys showered and changed in the locker room, then headed toward the cafeteria for a late dinner. Afterwards, they returned to their room. Suddenly, Derek remembered that Dr. Witherspoon had not attended the game, and he wondered why. Since Derek had not suffered any injury, or been the victim of any unsavory blows or kicks, he assumed there was no need to visit the doctor. But was he still supposed to avoid any `gratification'? Or could things go back to normal?

Within minutes of returning to their room, Jake was donning a light jacket, asking Derek if he felt up to a little adventure in town, and assuring him there was a young lady or two he would find of interest. Derek politely declined, telling Jake he just wanted to take it easy, and maybe catch up on some net surfing. "OK, buddy, but you'll be missing out on some fun!" Jake replied, before slipping out the door, grinning in anticipation of things to come.

Derek was distracted that evening, and was just not into doing much. He surfed a little, listened to some tunes, thought about beating his meat, wondered about Bryce checking Jake out, checked out a web site with some pictures of guys in Speedos, thought about beating his meat again, and finally decided to just hit the sack for some shut-eye. He had just fallen asleep when a sharp knock at the door awakened him. Thinking it was Jake, he groggily stumbled to the door and opened it, ready to chew the jock out for forgetting his key. Instead, he found Dr. Witherspoon standing before him. "I'm sorry to disturb you boys at this late hour," said the old man, "but I was delayed all evening at a social function. I just wanted to check in on you, Derek, to make sure you had sustained no injuries in this evening's game. If you have, I will need to examine you."

"Oh, um, Dr. Witherspoon," the teen said, wiping his eyes sleepily. "Come in sir. I'm glad to report no injuries tonight -- none at all. And we won our game easily." As Derek stepped back, the headmaster entered the room, carrying his medical satchel. Glancing about, he noticed Jake was nowhere to be seen.

"Well, I'm glad you suffered no assaults this evening, and that the game turned out so well," said the man. "I had wanted to attend, but these gatherings can sometimes drag on and on, and it's just impossible to slip out unnoticed! Tell me, young man -- have you experienced any problems since I last examined you? It's been a week -- have you had any pain in your scrotum, or noticed any blood in your urine? How about sexual problems -- I had suggested you avoid any sexual activity for awhile -- how is that going?

Derek shyly glanced at the man, then began answering his queries. "Well, I've had no pain whatsoever, so I guess that's good. And no sign of blood. As for the, um, sexual part...well, um, I honestly haven't, well, you know, caused anything to happen along those lines. I've been real good about that, doctor, just like you suggested. But, well, um, I'm afraid last night I sort of had an accident." Dr. Witherspoon's gray eyebrows shot upwards, a quizzical look on his face. Derek stammered on: "Well, I um, you see, well, I had a really weird dream -- you know we can't help what we dream, right? Well, it was weird, and then, all of a sudden, I...I..."

"You had a nocturnal emission -- is that what you are trying to tell me, Derek?" said the headmaster, as Derek slowly nodded yes. "Well, that's to be expected for a boy your age -- all that testosterone pumping through your teen-aged body -- all those randy hormones. Did you inspect your emission -- was there a trace of blood or other unusual discharge?"

Derek pursed his lips, then said, "Well, I was still half asleep. I just stripped off my briefs and put on a new pair. Damn...uh, I mean darn, I forgot -- I tossed my briefs under the bed and just put on a fresh pair -- I didn't even check them." Reaching under the bed to retrieve them, the youth was surprised they weren't under the end of the bed where he was sure he'd thrown them after the dream, but down under the middle of the bed. "How did they get there?" Derek wondered. "Did someone -- maybe Jake -- find them, then throw them back under a different part of the bed" Hmmm..." Finally, he pulled them out and sheepishly placed them in the old man's proffered hand. Dr. Witherspoon methodically held them up to the light, turned inside out. He carefully inspected the crotch region, even running his bony fingers across the dried yellow-white stain.

"I don't see any reddish or other dark stains here, so I believe your sexual emission was perfectly healthy -- and, judging by the size of the stained area of your briefs, quite copious. Perhaps, due to the late hour, we can postpone your exam, since everything appears normal. Or, if I understand correctly, your team has a scrimmage game tomorrow -- maybe we can delay your exam until after that game, since you seemed to have sustained no injuries today." Derek nodded in agreement. "By the way, it's past 11 p.m. -- where on earth is your roommate? Down the hall in the lavatory, preparing for bed I assume?"

"Oh, um, well, um, yeah, I think he's down the hall somewhere, sir" Derek stuttered, as his eyes turned away from Dr. Witherspoon's gaze, telling the good doctor all he needed to know.

"So," stated the older gentleman, "your roommate Mr. Taylor is `out' for the evening, is he? Against school rules to be off property at this hour, and he certainly knows that! I will need to nip this in the bud immediately!" Dr. Witherspoon stepped further into the room, still clutching Derek's cum-stained briefs, and walked over to the dark corner where a window overlooked the grounds below. Pulling the curtain aside, he lifted a slat on the blinds and peered outside, expecting the truant Jake to appear at any minute. Derek stood quietly by his desk, not sure what to say, silently kicking himself for not being a better liar and covering Jake's ass. A moment later, Derek was startled to hear the knob turn and see Jake stealthily creep across the threshold.

Jake glanced up to see Derek standing by the desk lamp, but could not see Dr. Witherspoon in the dark corner. "Dude," said Jake aloud, addressing Derek, "I wasn't sure you'd still be up. Shit, I'm so pissed -- this whole night sucked! First, I get to Alexis' place -- she's the little hottie I was telling you about -- man, that bitch is a freak!" Derek tried desperately to signal to Jake about the headmaster's presence, but Jake didn't notice as he peeled off his outer jacket. "Man, I wanted to put the stones to her so bad, play a little bit of `Prick-in-the-Puss', but she's on the rag this week, so no way was anything happenin' there. So I told her to just suck me off, which she's usually more than happy to oblige. But tonight, we'd barely got started when her folks come home early from the movies -- her mom had a damn headache. Fuck, I barely got my fly up before they popped through the door." Derek tried to interrupt the less-than-appropriate narrative, but to no avail. Jake continued to prattle, saying "Man, I've got the worse case of blue-balls in history! What the fuck am I gonna do...dude, why are you jerking your thumb like that? Are you having some kind of a stroke or something?"

"Ahem," came the voice from the darkened corner, scaring poor Jake nearly out of his skin. "I suspect young Mr. Weathers was trying unsuccessfully to signal my presence to you, Mr. Taylor. By the way, good evening."

You could have knocked the jock over with a feather, he was so shocked to come face to face with the headmaster -- the headmaster who'd just caught him sneaking in after-hours, who'd just heard him describing his evening's exploits so graphically. His eyes dropping to the floor, Jake barely whispered, "Oh, good evening sir."

"Well, it sounds as though you've had a busy evening off-campus," continued Dr. Witherspoon, a touch of anger in his voice. Jake could only stare at the floor, afraid to move or speak. The old man then said. "Now, let me see -- please remind me, Mr. Taylor -- school rules state explicitly that students are not to be off campus after 9 p.m. without written permission, and here it is after 11, and you are just returning?" Jake could only stare at the floor, terrified to move or try to speak. Dr. Witherspoon stepped over next to the shaken teen, and surprised both boys by stating, "Perhaps I need to examine you for certain communicable diseases, Mr. Taylor. Please remove your school uniform."

The man tucked Derek's soiled briefs into his jacket pocket, picked up his medical bag, and walked over to stand next to the husky jock, who remained stock-still. "Quickly, Mr. Taylor -- I haven't got all night," snapped the perturbed headmaster, as Jake meekly began to comply. "The disgrace you have brought to our institute's uniform should make you eager to shed those garments -- now get busy," stated the man matter-of-factly.

Jake slowly slid his blazer off his shoulders -- the navy blue blazer with the gold crest. Jake, even in his state of shock, knew better than to toss the blazer aside, so he quietly stepped over to the closet and placed it on a hanger. Returning to the center of the room, he looked pleadingly at the headmaster, hoping for some exemption from the coming humiliation, but received none. "Now, remove the tie, and your shirt, and please hang them up neatly," said Witherspoon. Jake undid the tie, then slowly unbuttoned the light blue, button down collar Oxford shirt -- regulation wear for all young men on campus. He hung both in the closet, then returned to stand next to the headmaster. "Now, remove your shoes and socks." Jake did as he was told, sliding the shoes under his bed and laying the socks on top of his dresser. "Now, the belt." Jake unhooked the leather belt and placed it on his bed. "Now your school trousers." Jake meekly glanced at Derek, then at Dr. Witherspoon, hesitating to drop his pants for some reason, perhaps hoping for a final reprieve. "I'm waiting, Mr. Taylor," came the curt response to his delay. Drawing a deep breath, Jake lowered his pants -- and the sight revealed caused both Derek and Dr. Witherspoon to draw in sharp breaths of their own. Jake removed his slacks and walked to the closet to hang his slacks, now wearing only the smallest, skimpiest pair of blue-and-white checkered bikini briefs imaginable. "Not exactly regulation boxers or briefs, are they, Mr. Taylor? Care to explain this choice of underpants?" inquired the doctor.

"Um...well, um...you see, Dr. Witherspoon, these bikini briefs were sort of like a present from this girl...the girl I was supposed to fu...uh, have a date with tonight, sir," Jake stuttered. "She, well, um...she asked me to wear them for our date tonight, sir."

Jake stood perfectly still, his large chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, though fear seemed to empty his lungs as rapidly as he tried to fill them. The small bikini clung provocatively to his body, the front stretched enormously by the large mound of man-meat contained within. "Remove those, ah, briefs, and hand them to me," said Dr. Witherspoon. Jake closed his eyes, swallowed hard, then quickly hooked his thumbs into the waistband and stripped the tiny briefs down his thick, muscular legs and over his feet. Standing straight, he placed the small wad of fabric into the old man's hand. Dr. Witherspoon never glanced at them -- he simply slipped them into his medical bag.

Snapping on two rubber gloves, the older man leaned over and began to roughly handle Jake's maleness -- lifting and tugging his long penis, then his sac, scrutinizing every inch for signs of infection or disease. "Hmmm," he muttered softly, "guess I'd better cleanse this area thoroughly. Hygiene and cleanliness are quite important around such sensitive parts of the male anatomy." Reaching into his bag, he produced a gauze pad, then a bottle of antiseptic. Liberally splashing the liquid on the pad, Dr. Witherspoon began to thoroughly scrub Jake's long, thick cock -- a cock that began to harden and lengthen almost as soon as the rough gauze began to rub against the sensitive flesh. At first, the old man dabbed and wiped cautiously along the shaft. Peering down through his spectacles, a frown appeared on his face. "Mr. Taylor, can you explain this? There appears to be a ring of some pink substance encircling the upper end of your penis -- have you any idea what it could be?"

Jake looked crestfallen as he mumbled something incoherent. When Dr. Witherspoon told him to speak up, he said. "Well, um, sir, I think maybe it could be some lipstick or something." Jake closed his eyes, afraid to see the old coot's reaction to this revelation.

At first, Dr. Witherspoon looked perplexed. "Lipstick? Why, how on earth would lipstick get all over the shaft of your..." Suddenly, the answer flooded into the old man's brain , and he visibly quivered as he sputtered for words. "Oh, for the love of...why, in all my born days...why, I am just shocked...oh, Mr. Taylor -- shame on you!" And with that pronouncement, the elderly man yanked Jake's hard shaft outward, wrapped the gauze completely around the distended organ, and began to scrub the offensive protrusion with a fury. He wrapped his hand tightly around Jake's now-aching prick, and began to methodically scrub the shaft from root to tip, even twisting the gauze from side to side before returning to the up-and-down stroking that was driving the horny teen into a frenzy. Faster and faster the old man scrubbed, hard enough to remove the offensive pink substance and anything else that might be clinging to Jake's rock-hard dick. Scrubbing and wiping, another splash of anti-septic -- then more cleansing. Dr. Witherspoon had completely wrapped his fingers around Jake's turgid man-meat, and was continuing to rub the itchy gauze up, down, and around the teen boy's engorged cock. At one point, the doctor retrieved a small piece of gauze, soaked it in cleanser, then proceded to swab Jake's sensitive cockhead, even dabbing and rubbing at his piss-slit -- then returning to rub and stroke the shaft until, to Derek's amazed eyes, it appeared the old fool was masturbating the boy's cock, which in fact was exactly what the good doctor was doing.

Jake had been so horny, so turned on when he had returned to the dorm full of sexual frustration, that he had been prepared for a nice long jerk session in the dorm showers, where he could usually find some privacy at this late hour. Instead, he was being stimulated in a most unexpected way -- by the hand of his school headmaster -- or should he call him head masturbator? -- who was stroking his meat furiously with that damn piece of scratchy, wet gauze! Oh, the shame he was feeling was real -- to be naked and fondled by this old fool in front of Derek, who was staring open-mouthed from a corner of their room. But the sensations created in his shaft and groin were too real, too powerful, to be ignored. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Jake sensed the tingling sensation in his nuts, and could feel that quivering in his lower abdomen -- the feelings he always got moments before ejaculation. "Uhnnh," Jake uttered through clenched teeth, as a moan of pleasure escaped from his lips. A few more swipes of the gauze -- another swab of his super-sensitized mushroom head -- and he grunted again. Jake's cock was on fire, and the stimulation he was enduring was quickly overpowering him. "Ohhhh," Jake moaned, as his sexual desire reached a boiling point. It both shocked and stimulated the teenager to realize the old geezer had his number -- had him completely in his power, completely at his mercy. "Damn this old goat," thought the tormented teen, as his final resistance was breached with another swipe of the gauze over his super-sensitive glans. And then it happened -- Jake lost all control.

His dick stretched to its seven plus inch length, and with a shudder began to spew thick strands of his white-hot cum, shooting to and fro as his dick jumped and pumped. His seed sprayed on the old man's arm, on his hand, on the gauze, on the floor -- nothing within two feet of his groin was safe. Jake groaned audibly as his cum-shots continued, the older man finally pulling back to admonish the youth while secretly admiring his handiwork. The ejaculation had been so intense that it literally drained the muscular young man of his strength, and he sank to his knees in exhaustion as the remaining dribbles of sperm continued to ooze from his gaping piss hole.

At the moment of Jake's collapse to the floor, Derek's excited cock began to emit a flood of sperm into his own briefs -- the excitement and sexually charged atmosphere proving too much for the high school athlete to resist. Derek feebly tried to cover the front of his wet briefs, but his hand was not large enough to hide the rapidly spreading wet spot, so he gave up trying. The old man glanced at Derek's freshly soaked briefs and knew the poor boy had become so aroused by what was happening to Jake that he had lost all control over his sex organ. Like his roommate Jake, Derek had been brought to a sexual climax by the headmaster, though the man had not been within six feet of the teen stud.

Moments earlier, Bryce had been walking down the hallway near Derek and Jake's room. He frequently found cause to visit the dormitory wing housing the older boys -- the bathrooms there were much cleaner, and the lone student using the toilet was far less likely to be victimized here as back in the dorm area where Bryce resided with the younger students. There, it was not uncommon to have a trickster snap off the lights on someone in the stall, or bombard the hapless victim with wads of wet paper towels over the stall walls. Much safer among the more `mature' students, mused Bryce. As he neared Jake and Derek's room, he noticed light coming from the room, and saw the door was slightly ajar, perhaps an inch or so. Bryce knew the team had a scrimmage game the following day, and wondered if either older athlete knew whether score and assist totals were recorded for scrimmages. Realizing the boys must still be awake, he raised his hand to tap on the door, when he stopped short, recognizing the deep voice of headmaster Witherspoon. Bryce put his eye to the crack, and was astounded at what he saw.

The old man was ordering Jake to remove his underwear, a pair of scandalously small bikini briefs, then began muttering about hygiene and cleanliness as he began rubbing a piece of gauze all over Jake's male organ. And did the old fool say something about lipstick? Bryce's jaw nearly hit the floor as his mouth flew open wide in astonishment. He watched the doctor swabbing and scrubbing briskly on Jake's rapidly hardening shaft, as Jake squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip. He watched as the dirty old man wrapped his fist, still clutching the gauze, around Jake's distended dick and rubbed and pumped furiously. He watched as Jake's muscular body began to tense and quiver as the man worked the jock into a sexual frenzy, and stared in utter awe as Jake shot his copious load of sperm. At the instant Jake shot, so too, did Bryce -- his aroused sex organ, which had been leaking pre-cum from the moment Jake first stripped off his bikini, suddenly ejaculating his own seed into the briefs he wore. And then Bryce saw Dr. Witherspoon heading for the door, and he knew it was time to flee.

Dr. Witherspoon, still shaking his head at the `foolishness' and `lack of control' of today's teenaged males, removed the wet gloves and dropped them and the soaked, spooge-covered gauze pad, into his satchel. Heading for the door, he said good-night to the youths and left the room, an odd smile spreading across his face as he walked down the hallway toward his office. He did not notice the figure that dodged around the corner just before he entered the hallway.

Back in their room, Derek and Jake glanced shyly at one another, before each started to clean himself up -- both heading quickly for the bathroom and showers at the end of the hallway. When they returned to their room, Derek went straight to bed, uttering a quiet `G'night' to Jake, who nodded somberly in return. Jake sat down on the edge of his bed, saying nothing, just staring at his hands in his lap. Finally, he crawled into bed, hugging his pillow tightly to his chest. Sleep was a long time coming for both boys. Jake's last thoughts that night were of how ashamed and humiliated he felt after what that old fool had done to him. But Jake's sexual humiliation had only just begun.

The scrimmage was a non-sanctioned game against a college team from Florida Coast College, one of the powerhouse water polo teams in the East. Normally, college teams would not play high school squads, but the coaches were old friends, and had obtained permission from the administrative bureaucrats for a friendly scrimmage game. But the game was anything but friendly in the water.

The college team easily outmuscled and outweighed their high school counterparts, as expected, and their extra years of training gave them a further advantage. Try as they might, the Hornets were outplayed and overmatched. And what hurt the Hornets the most was the fact that Jake, their star player, seemed to have his mind anywhere but in the game. But the reason for this wasn't the events of the preceding evening, it was the opponent Jake found himself up against at that very moment.

Brett Halvison was simply a polo stud -- at 6'7", he towered over Jake by a good 4 or 5 inches, and outweighed him by perhaps 40 pounds -- 40 pounds of solid muscle. Jake also quickly discovered Brett had `roaming' hands -- Jake was shocked to find himself being blatantly fondled underwater -- his ass pinched, balls and shaft grabbed and squeezed, even Brett's hand constantly trying to slip inside Jake's suit, though the tight, brief suit Jake wore made that virtually impossible. At one point, Brett began tugging furtively at Jake's small Speedo, trying desperately to slip it down the boy's thighs as Jake tried to swim away from him. In frustration, Jake hissed, "Why don't you just strip my suit off me, dude -- just strip me nude, fuckhead!". He hadn't meant to say it as loudly as he did, but players nearby heard it, as did a few players and viewers on deck and in the nearby stands. Brett just smiled his big, toothy grin, and whispered back, "Bet you'd like that!"

Jake was beside himself with fury. As one of the biggest, strongest high school players in the region, he was accustomed to dominating those who played against him -- his size, muscularity, and playing skills tended to make those who faced him a little leery of being too much in his face. Jake was not -- and never had been -- a `dirty' player -- one who intentionally kicked, hit, ball-punched, or anything of the sort. His opponents were simply not as big, quick, strong, or skillful as he, and he used that to dominate members of the opposing team. But against the college players, this would not work, and certainly not against Brett, who continued to torment him into the second period, with a nasty squeeze, a quick feel, a pinch, a suit-snagging, or whatever else he could do. Brett had achieved exactly what he wanted -- taken Jake `out of his game' -- frustrating and annoying the high school star, making him drop passes, miss shots, and most importantly, lose his focus and concentration.

The refs had called for an extended half-time, realizing the high school team needed some extra rest and re-grouping while preparing for the rest of the game. Derek swam over to Jake, and pulled himself out of the water to sit on the edge of the pool. Jake uncharacteristically remained in the pool, hanging onto the pool gutter. "Aren't you going to hop out and rest?" Derek asked.

"I will in a minute or two. That college bastard won't keep his filthy hands off me, Derek -- he keeps groping my dick under water, squeezing my ass, trying to strip my suit off. It's kind of got me, well, a little stiff, if you know what I mean. I...I...well, I can't get out right yet, not `til I calm down a little," Jake said forlornly. "Dirty players," he added, "I hate `em."

Even through the rippling water's surface, Derek could notice the obvious bulge tenting Jake's small suit. He smiled to himself, and told Jake, "Hey, at least he's not pounding your boys into mush the way guys have done me lately. At least this college kid who's been covering me is cool -- hasn't touched me down there, at least not yet."

Jake finally hoisted himself up to sit beside Derek, who couldn't help but take a quick peek at the front of Jake's suit -- to see, or maybe hoping to see? -- if the bulge was still in view. Apparently, Jake now had himself at least partially under control, though it was still easy for Derek to see the shaft of Jake's cock outlined in the small suit, and even to make out the ridge of the flared head -- easy to see Jake's `religion', as some might put it. Jake was still full of anger, cursing and hissing threats at the beefy Brett, now standing with his teammates at the far end of the pool. But when he saw Jake sitting with Derek on deck, he walked over to the duo. Jake glared at him, and said through clenched teeth, "Dude, you try to yank my suit off again -- even just one more time -- or you squeeze my nuts, pinch my ass -- whatever -- and I swear I'm gonna hit you. I don't give a damn if the refs eject me for the rest of the fuckin' game -- I'm gonna hit you." Jake's hands were balled into fists, his muscular arms trembling with restrained power.

Brett just smiled his big, handsome smile, then astonished the boys by reaching out to shake Jake's hand. Jake just stared -- refusing to stand or offer his hand in return. "Your Jake Taylor. One of the top high school players in the country," said Brett, seemingly unfazed by Jake's icy stare. "And I see I've got you just where I want you -- distracted, confused, unable to focus on the game. Consider this first half of our scrimmage a valuable lesson. A lesson to prepare you for this summer."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jake asked, wondering who this guy really was, and what he was referring to. Derek sat quietly next to Jake, ready to jump to his friend's defense if the powerfully-built college man with the well-filled Speedo (Derek couldn't help but notice), made a move at Jake. He kept thinking he had seen the handsome blond somewhere before.

"Oh, I'm Brett Halvison, a forward for Coast. And I'm a big fan of yours, Jake."

Derek had a sudden flash of name recognition. "Halvison, Halvison...there was a Halvison that played for the US Water Polo team at the World Championships in Australia recently," Derek stated, looking questioningly at their visitor.

"Yep, one and the same. Our team did OK in Melbourne, but not what we had hoped for," Brett replied, still smiling. "Your name is Weathers, right? Darren Weathers?" he said, looking at Derek.

"Oh, um...Derek, Derek Weathers," stammered the youth, flustered to be meeting a real water polo hero, and shocked the guy knew his name -- well, almost knew it, anyway. Derek stood, and grasped the outstretched hand which was offered for the second time. Jake eyed the handshake coldly, but refused to stand.

"Your team is good -- real good -- damn good for a high school team," continued Brett. "I've been following you guys on line -- checking the stats, game info, etc. I've even been to a couple of your recent games when I was in the area to see my family. You're very good, Derek. But Jake is the star of this team. That's why I had to take him out of his game -- get under his skin -- get him worked up a little -- get him a little hot under the collar, or at least hot under the drawstring of his Speedo," he said, still smiling. "By the look he's giving me, and the threats, seems my plan worked perfectly!"

"What is your problem, dude?" Jake bellowed. "Is it so important to you to beat a high school team that you play dirty as shit? Fuckin' with me the way you have the whole first half?"

Suddenly looking serious, Brett knelt down next to Jake, talking softly to him. "No, no, you don't understand. I was trying to show you how easily a guy can lose focus in this game. You're a big, husky kid -- I'll bet no opponent would dare `fuck' with you the way I've been doing today. That's why I did it -- I figured you'd be vulnerable in that department, not expecting or accustomed to another guy mauling your privates and butt cheeks the way I've done. But Jake, you have to be ready for that -- this summer, it's going to happen to you when you go up against some of those California boys at the Junior Olympic training camp. Those kids will do ANYTHING to make the cut at that camp -- grabbing your cock through your Speedo will be kid's play for them. You have to expect that, and much worse, and be prepared for it."

Jake stared blankly at Brett, unable to fathom what he was hearing. "California boys? Junior Olympic camp? Man, what are you talking about?" Jake asked, honestly confused.

Now it was Brett's turn to look puzzled. "Um...didn't your coach tell you? About the camp, I mean?" Jake, now totally confused, just shook his head, thinking the collegiate player had somehow bumped his head on the wall of the pool, causing him some form of temporary insanity. "I don't understand what you are talking about," Jake responded, shrugging his shoulders.

"Please come with me," Brett said, as he stood and waited for Jake to rise, which he finally did. The three athletes walked toward Coach Jaworski, Hardwood's water polo coach, who saw them coming, and suddenly looked rather sheepish. Brett walked up to the coach and warmly greeted him. "Hey Ron, good to see you. There seems to be some confusion. Jake here doesn't seem to know anything about his selection for the Junior Olympic camp."

The coach humbly reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a letter. "Uh, that's because I hadn't told him yet, Brett. I was waiting for after today's game to tell him." Handing the letter to Jake, the coach grasped Jake's hand in his own, shaking it vigorously. "Congratulations, son," he said warmly.

Jake scanned the letter, his eyes opening wider with each sentence. "I...I don't believe it," Jake said quietly, a look of shock on his face. He looked from Brett, to Derek, to his coach -- over and over, waiting for the punch line, but it was no joke.

Coach Ron explained: "Jake, I recommended you for the Junior Olympic camp, with a strong letter of support from Brett. Brett was actually the one who planted the idea in my head -- he's been following your progress and improvement the past two years. He's your biggest fan!" Jake looked confused again, glancing at Brett, trying to figure the whole thing out. Brett smiled again, and placed an arm around Jake's broad shoulders.

"Jake, my messing with you today was just my way to help prepare you for camp. Damn, I wish someone had given me a heads-up for the brutality of that camp five years ago when I first attended. I want you to be ready -- for anything they might pull. And going for a guy's nuts is one of their favorite tricks. You have to know how to fight back." Jake's head was still spinning from this turn of events, but he finally asked, rather meekly, "But how do I fight back against that?"

Brett smiled his handsome smile again, and led Jake away from the others so they could talk in private. "Ha!" he shouted. "That's the easy part! Do it right back to them, and pretend to like it! Tell the guy you'll meet him in the locker room after the game for some REAL cock play, the whole time sneaking your hand between his legs, or ask him what room he's in at the camp complex, with a promise to meet him later that night with candy and flowers! Throw in a couple fondlings of his dick, a couple pats on his ass. Believe me, the dude will back off IMMEDIATELY, once you threaten to match him with some luvvin' of your own! Damn, my first day at camp, they messed with me so badly, I thought I would be gang raped that night in the dorms, until one of the older guys took pity on me and explained the way the game is played. The desperate ones -- the ones who feel they have a right to be an Olympian regardless of talent -- figure it's easy to crush the younger competitors. No teenaged guy can stand to have his manhood `manhandled', or his manhood threatened or intimidated, so they go after the newbies by scaring them, and getting into their heads, the way I did you today. Be ready for it, Jake, and you'll do fine at camp!"

Jake could only say "Wow, thanks man," to Brett. The teen was so excited upon hearing the news of the camp, and so relieved to discover Brett had only been priming him for the battle to come, that he smiled warmly at Brett, finally grasping the collegian's hand and shaking it firmly.

The second half of the game went much better for the Hornets, with Jake back `in the game'. Brett once again sneaked his hand between Jake's legs, cupping the youth's maleness firmly, but whispering, "Now, when this happens at camp, what will you do?" Jake quickly twisted around to face Brett, and said, "Yeah, cup me now big boy -- I love it! Later tonight, I'll be visiting you in your room, making you MY little cupcake -- and making your tight ass my bitch!" Brett started to chuckle, and nodded his head, knowing his `lesson' had been well-learned. The Hornets still lost the game 11-6, but made a far better showing than the 7-1 half time score would have indicated.

For the second game in a row, Derek had escaped unscathed, with no `accidental' or not-so-accidental punches or kicks landing anywhere in his crotch. Still, he wondered if Dr. Witherspoon would insist on another "exam", and he was dreading that possibility. But he had not seen the headmaster at the game that afternoon, so perhaps some urgent business had called him away from campus? Derek was hoping so.

It turned out Dr. Witherspoon had indeed been summoned out of town -- to New England, to attend a seriously ill relation. He was not due back to campus until late the following day. After a leisurely dinner in the cafeteria, Derek and Jake headed back to their room to complete some homework assignments, and catch up on some TV in the common room they shared with other students. Being a Saturday night, Derek half expected Jake to sneak off campus for a rendezvous with one of his girlfriends in town, but the big jock seemed content to hang with his buds that night. About 10:30, the boys headed to their room. After a final visit to the bathroom down the hall, they were preparing for bed. Though Jake had been his usual witty, talkative self ever since the game that afternoon, Derek now noticed his roomie had become quiet, somber, even introspective. In other words, not like Jake at all.

Derek was lying on top of his bed while Jake sat in his desk chair, hands in his lap, staring off into space. Apparently, it was time for Jake to do some laundry -- he was wearing a pair of white briefs, which he only donned when all his boxers were in the dirty clothes pile. Suddenly, Jake turned to Derek and said, "Derek, can I ask you something serious?"

Derek, also in a pair of briefs, said, "Sure, man, what's up?" Jake bit his lower lip, looked pensive for a few moments, then rose from his chair and stepped over to Derek's bed. Derek had to smile at the vision approaching him -- his tall, handsome, muscular friend clad in a small, clean pair of Hanes white briefs could have been the star of an underwear commercial -- he just looked that good in tightey-whities, Derek thought to himself.

"Scoot over, dude, so I can sit," Jake said, as Derek made space for him on the bed. Jake looked into Derek's eyes, then down, then back up, as if unsure how to say what was on his mind. Finally, he spoke. "Derek, do I maybe, well, sort of send out some kind of `gay vibe'?" Derek looked at Jake with puzzlement, not sure he had heard the question correctly. Jake added, "You know, do you think people around me get a feeling that maybe I'm gay or something? Maybe in the way I act, or talk, or, well, anything?"

Derek was astonished his best friend would even ask such an odd question. "Dude," he responded, "I can't think of one thing you ever do or say that would give someone that impression. Why do you even ask a question like that?"

Biting his lower lip again -- a habit Derek found so cute -- Jake explained. "Well, I've just been wondering. I mean, last night, that old fool Witherspoon put his hands all over me, just like it was nothing -- like it was something I deserved, or wanted, or something. And, as repulsive as I would've thought that was, man, my dick sure didn't seem to mind. He had me hard in seconds, and then, well, you know what happened a few seconds after that -- blast-off! Then, today, that guy Brett -- I know, I know, he explained why he was touching and grabbing my stuff -- but still, it seems odd that THAT was the way he chose to intimidate and scare me -- by going for my cock. And when he did go for my cock, I got hard in my Speedo, probably making him think I was enjoying it or something. I KNOW he could tell how hard I was -- how hard my dick was -- you can't hide a stiffie in a Speedo, man. I'm just wondering why all these men are going for my dick lately, and what the hell is my dick doing getting so damned excited when they do?" He looked into Derek's eyes, waiting for an answer.

Derek wasn't sure what to say, but knew he had to say something. "Jake, first of all, nobody thinks you are gay. It's just, well, you know how horny we teenaged guys are! Man, my dick gets hard when the wind blows. Yours probably lengthens when you get within half a mile of a donut shop." As Jake furrowed his brow questioningly at that comment, Derek laughed and said, "You know, all those holes?" Jake rolled his eyes, then burst out laughing. Derek then said, "Jake, when you got in last night, you were all worked up -- your night of `love' with Alexis had been cut short -- talk about coitus interruptus -- so when you got back here, you were primed to shoot, but with no receptacle! So here you were, all hot and bothered, horned to the max, when the old man starts feeling you up but good. Next thing ya know -- badda bing, badda boom -- and man oh man, that was a lot of boom you shot, dude! Then today during the game -- you had a guy putting the moves on you left and right -- tugging at your suit, copping feels, groping your `love muscle' -- Jake, you should count yourself lucky you didn't shoot another load off in your team suit today!"

Jake shook his head, looking thoughtful. "Man, Derek, I don't know. It just seems so strange the way I've been getting woodies so much lately from other dudes putting their hands on me. It just sort of scares me or something...I don't know."

Derek was leaning back against the headboard, propped against a couple of pillows. Jake sat at Derek's waist, his head hanging low, looking forlorn. Derek motioned for his friend to lie back next to him, and started to reach back to adjust the pillows so both boys could lean against the headboard. Instead, he was shocked when Jake scooted his underwear-clad hips right over next to Derek's thigh, then snuggled back against Derek, bringing his head to rest on Derek's chest! Derek could smell the faint scent of Jake's shampoo, and the stronger, musky scent emanating from his body. Derek had a sudden desire to lean forward and kiss Jake softly on the top of his head, but he quickly restrained himself. Jake took a couple of deep, sighing breaths, then turned his handsome face upward to look into Derek's eyes. He smiled weakly -- almost sadly -- and Derek felt his heart flutter wildly in his chest. Oh, how he wanted to kiss those full, pouting lips! How he wanted to caress the light peach fuzz evident on Jake's cheeks, or gently nibble his ear lobe. Derek began to lean slightly, bringing his lips down toward Jake's face -- getting closer, and closer..."NO! STOP!" Derek's brain screamed, forcing him to sit upright with a jolt that startled the drowsing jock resting against his chest. "Derek, are you okay?" asked Jake, reacting to Derek's sudden movement.

"Oh...um...yeah...I was just getting more comfortable," Derek answered, shifting slightly on the bed. "Sorry I startled you." Jake seemed to suddenly become aware of his position -- lying against Derek, his cheek against his teammate's nipple, and he began to rise, apologizing for leaning against Derek. But quickly, yet softly, Derek put his arm across Jake's large chest, holding him, restraining him from rising. "No, no Jake...it's cool...I sorta like this. You pretty much carry our whole team on your shoulders, man. The least I can do is be a pillow for you once in a while. It's kinda nice we can be, well, close together like this, and just talk about stuff." Jake ceased his efforts to get up, and settled back against Derek's body once again.

Jake began speaking quietly. "Derek, I was so humiliated last night, when that old fool started swabbing my cock, muttering about how unclean I was, shaming me for my erection, and having no self control. It, well, damn it, it felt so good when he touched me there, swiping that cloth all over my dick, I couldn't help but get hard. I kept thinking he would stop, but he didn't -- just kept rubbing and stroking me down there, and me getting harder and harder. He HAD to have known what he was doing -- how it was exciting me -- pushing me over the edge. Derek, do you think he did that to me on purpose? Did that old dog MEAN to jack my cock like that, make me blow my load? Was it his fault, or mine? Man, it all happened so fast, I can't hardly tell WHAT happened!"

Derek answered, almost in a whisper. "Jake, I think he meant for that to happen. I think he was trying to make you shoot -- I think he wanted to milk a load out of you -- same way he did to me." Jake arched his neck back, looking into Derek's eyes questioningly. Derek continued: "Jake, last weekend, when he took me back to his office, well, I didn't tell you this, but he did the same thing to me." A look of astonishment swept across Jake's features as Derek told his roommate about Dr. Witherspoon's "examination" of his cock and balls, his questions about Derek's masturbation technique, his intervention when Derek began demonstrating, and the way he brought Derek to a gut-wrenching ejaculation on the examining table. "Think about it, Jake -- first poor David, which I thought was just a fluke. Then me, now you last night. Within one week, that old man has, in one way or another, brought three jocks at this school to orgasm with his own hands. It just seems more than a coincidence."

Jake let out a deep breath, then nodded knowingly. "I see what you mean, dude. It couldn't be just a random coincidence -- he had to have done that on purpose. I think he gets off on making young guys like us blow our wads. He must love draining the spunk out of us. Shit, dude, we gotta do something, tell someone. I mean, it's bad enough to do us like that. But there are younger kids here at this school -- what if he starts messing with them? Maybe he already has!"

Derek furrowed his brow in contemplation, then agreed with Jake -- they would indeed have to do something, take some course of action. But at the moment, the boys faced another problem. Jake started chuckling, then nodded toward the middle of the bed. "Look at us, dude. All this talk about milking loads and blowing wads has put both of us on the bone." Indeed, it was true -- both Jake and Derek were sporting massive boners, the fronts of their briefs stretched nearly to the point of ripping. Both boys began to snicker, feeling both guilt and pleasure at their predicament. Derek's long cock snaked sideways, nearly to his left hip. Jake, in awe at the size of Derek's larger maleness, whispered, "Dude, your package is so fuckin' big -- it's no wonder guys from other teams find it a tempting target. How damn big is that thing -- ever measured it hard?"

"Um...no...not really," replied Derek. "One time, I tried to measure it about a year ago. I think I got around seven inches, but I think it might be bigger now." Jake had a sudden idea. He quickly slipped out from under Derek's arm, got up and hurried to his desk, retrieving a long piece of string from a bottom drawer.

"Here, man, measure it with this. Hold the string against it, then we'll place the string against a ruler and see for sure," said Jake. Derek was suddenly shy, feeling embarrassed at this sudden turn of events. But also, he was excited, wanting to show himself to Jake, to `measure up' to Jake somehow. So, reluctantly, he stood up and slipped his briefs down to his thighs, allowing his manmeat to spring out, standing tall and proud. Jake let out a low whistle of admiration. Suddenly, feeling emboldened like he never had before, Derek did something that only moments before would have been unthinkable.

"Here, Jake," he said, thrusting the string into Jake's hand. "You wanna know how big it is, you measure it." Jake stared at the string in his hand for perhaps ten seconds, unsure what to do. `What is Derek up to?' he wondered. `Is this a dare of some sort?' Then, never one to pass on a dare, Jake looked boldly into Derek's eyes and said, "OK, dude. You're on." And with that, Jake knelt before Derek, grabbed the hard shaft in one hand, and placed the string against it -- with the end snuggled in Derek's light-colored pubes, Jake pressed the string along Derek's throbbing shaft, moving his fist up the tube of flesh as he went, keeping the string flush against the flesh, finally reaching the tip, where he pinched his fingernail on the string at the exact point where it touched Derek's piss slit.

Derek, meanwhile, was having trouble standing, as he began to swoon at the feel of Jake's fingers working there way up his shaft. In a million years, he had never expected Jake to accept his challenge of measuring his dick -- he had dared him more as a joke than anything else. Now, here he stood, with Jake kneeling before him, feeling his cock up from root to tip. And he couldn't breathe. He didn't dare breathe. It was the most magical moment of his young life. And then it was over -- Jake was standing next to him, string against ruler, scrutinizing the numbers. "Fuck," Jake whispered in awe. "Eight-and-three-quarters."

"Well, what about yours? Are we going to measure it, too?" Derek asked, trying to control his breathing and not seem too excited, even as his heart was racing. Suddenly, it was Jake's turn to become shy, almost reticent. "It's only fair," Derek pressed on, hoping against hope. Finally, Jake agreed, but seemed reluctant, already muttering something like, "okay, but it's not as big as yours." Nevertheless, Jake lowered his briefs, hooking the waistband under his nutsac, causing his maleness to thrust forward provocatively. Fighting to keep his quivering hands steady, Derek knelt before Jake, whose member was back at full mast after initially losing some of its firmness to fear. Derek placed his hands gently on Jake's hard cock, running the string along the top as Jake had done to him. Derek shuddered involuntarily as the wave of excitement swept over him -- his first time touching a penis other than his own. He had to close his eyes momentarily to steady himself, then proceeded with the task at hand. All too soon, the measurement was taken, and Derek reluctantly released Jake's fat shaft, allowing it to swing full and free until the polo jock quickly snapped his briefs back into place. "Hmmm..." Derek said, using the ruler Jake had handed him. "Not bad, dude, not bad at all -- a little over seven-and-a-quarter!"

Jake smiled, then bit his lower lip endearingly. "Derek," he said, "could you maybe just go ahead and give me seven-and-a-half? You said it was over seven-and-a-quarter -- could we just nudge it up a little -- you know, one friend to another?"

Derek burst into laughter, then said, "Seven --and-a-half it is, Jake!" Jake smiled broadly, then tossed the ruler and string onto the desk. Slowly, he walked over to his own bed and sat down, facing Derek with a silly smirk on his face. "Why do you have that funny look on your face?" Derek asked.

"I was just thinking -- what a couple of crazy dudes we are! A couple of horny, sex-starved crazy dudes!" Jake replied, shaking his head ruefully, grinning broadly from ear to ear as he slid under his covers. As Derek also returned to bed, Jake reached up and snapped off the light. "G'night, big boy," he called to Derek, the grin never leaving his face.