Date: Mon, 25 Jun 2018 15:44:23 -0600
From: Rocky Hawkins <justwriting@soniq.org>
Subject: The YMCA

Author's Note:
This story is told as a fantasy, and I won't tell you that there is any
truth to it. But, as narrator and protagonist, I am not really that
creative. So, you can decide if I made it up or not...

I love email and feedback, so let me know if you like this one!

DISCLAIMER:
The following content may contain detailed descriptions of sexual
interactions between a minor and adult. If the laws in your place of
residence or your religious beliefs make it illegal or wrong to read such,
do not continue. If this type of content offends you, do not continue.

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Feedback and such to justwriting@soniq.org.

========================================================

This is a story about a 'firsts'.

My name is Dade Murphy. I am 14 years old. I've lived in more towns than I
can count, and I am on my 6th school. See, my parents have chosen the Army
life, and well, that means we move. A lot.

So, here I am, again, starting a new school. Thankfully, it's the first
week of school, so this time, no playing catch-up. I'll be staring with the
other kids in my grade (freshmen), and since it's the first year of high
school for us all, I don't feel so bad.

The first week of school had just ended, and my father, Drill Sgt. Murphy,
at work and at home, has insisted I join a gym. "You're a bit scrawny for
your age son," he says. I don't agree. This week, I've taken a long hard
look at a lot of the boys in my class (in the halls and in the gym showers,
shh!), and I'm pretty well off. I am almost 5'7", and I weigh in at just
under 110. Ok, so it's not basketball OR football sizes, but I like how I
look. My stomach shows some abs, my clothes finally fit right, and I'm
getting hair in all the right places. Some of the boys in my 7th period
phys. ed. class don't even look like they hit puberty yet. Still cute,
though.

Yeah, I dig dudes. I know, not the best thing in a family of military folk,
but what can you do, right? Don't ask, don't tell. I know I won't.

So, I just look. And drool. And jerk off - a lot. I mean, it's the 90's. I
see gay stuff on tv once in a while, and since no one talks about it, I
just dont.

Anyway, so Friday comes along and school is out. I'm home with an apple in
my chops, and a plan to conquer The Legend of Zelda, once and for all. But,
apparently, that's not the plan.

"Attention!" my father yells, stomping into the family room. I can't get
out of it, so I stand up, rolling my eyes, puffing out my chest.

"Sir, yes sir," I say.

"Dade, what did I tell you about them games! Rotting your brain!"

I sighed. Thankfully, mom helped me win that arguement. "It's 1994,
Ronald," she'd say. "Let the kid be at least a LITTLE bit like his
friends..."

They didn't get along much these days, so I think she takes my side just to
piss my father off.

"You. Car. Now." He pointed to the door. I turned the game system off, and
dragged my feet to the door. He handed me an ALICE pack and I scrunched my
nose. It smelled like sweat.

"What is this dad," I asked. "Are we going on a survival hike? Cuz, you
already pulled that one on me last..."

"No, Dade," he inturrupted, "This is for the gym. I signed you up on the
Army family plan. You're going to start going 4 days a week, 2 hours a
day. I want you working out."

I stomped my feet as we walked to the car. I couldn't argue - he was my
father. I couldn't not go - he wouldn't stand for that.

The YMCA came into view, and I smiled a bit. In my head, the song began to
ring. I hummed a little, and my father cleared his thoat.

"Son," he said, his tone lower, "I got you a membership here, and I expect
you to use it. None of this pussy-footing around playing video games. I
want you stong and healthy like my men. When you're 16, we'll get you into
the teen boot camp - but for now, there's a Retired Major who works here,
and he'll get you on a good track."

I stared out the window.

Major Randall, a 40-something thin red-headed lady, walked me through the
moves. She and my father reminisced about the good old days, while I
struggled with something called a kettle bell.

I was breaking a sweat, 20 minutes into it. Thankfully, Randall was a
merciful one. "5 more of those, a cardio-job around the track, and you can
go shower. This is a marathon year, not a sprint."

I didn't know what that was supposed to mean, but she smiled and gave me
the 'I know your Dad is a tyrant' look. Ok, so maybe this won't be SO bad.

On my way back around the track, I slowed to meet my dad and the Major.

"...and you know them damned communists are just sucking us dry.." my
father was ranting. I caught his eye, and he reached for the bag.

"It's all in here Dade," he said, passing me the pack. I looked inside.
Change of clothes, towel, soap, shampoo.

Major chimed in, "The men's locker is just around that bend," she said.
"Just like the Army son, there isn't much privacy. But the water is hot and
never runs out!"

They both laughed, and the realization hit me. I'm going to have to shower.
With other adults. Naked.

I slowly opened the locker room door. What was I expecting? A bunch of wet
naked dudes? No, but what was this going to be like?

I'll tell ya. Nothing. It was another door. To which, I pushed through.
Inside, a well lit room with lockers and benches. A row of sinks and
mirrors. Off the the side, the entrance to the pool area. Some bathrooms.
And, in the corner, the shower. Wait. The. Shower. One.

Yea. This YMCA was like my elementary school gym locker room. Along each of
the walls, 4 shower heads stuck out. IN the center, a pole with 4 more. 16
shower heads, not a hint of privacy.

I walked over to a locker, looking at the rest of the room. No one here,
right now. Time to get it over with.

In 10 seconds, I had flung my shoes and shorts off, shucked my shirt, and
yanked the towel out of the pack. With soap and shampoo in hand, I was
ready.

And she was right. The water was perfect. I hung my towel to the side,
opting for the shower furthest from the view of the lockers. Pressure was
great, a steam began to hover. At home, I'd never be allowed to 'waste'
water - but now? Oh yeah.

I lathered up, and ducked my head under. The beating of the spray was
relaxing, and my mind began to wander. It was no wonder I didn't notice, or
hear, the shower next to me turn on.

When my eyes opened, I gasped, and slipped a bit.

"Oh, sorry little guy," the fuzzy, blurry image said. Shampoo, once
tingling in my scalp, now burned at my eyes. Instinctively, I backed away,
the hot stream from my shower now between us. "Seriously buddy, I didn't
mean to scare ya - just showering before work."

I leaned forward to rinse my eyes, and finally, I could see my new
neighbor. As silly as it sounds, I was surprised to see a fully adult man,
standing in the shower with me.

And he was beautiful. I realized quickly that I was looking at a naked man,
and turned away. "Uh, no problem, mister," I yammered, "Just got soap in my
eye."

He chuckled, and lifted his arms to rinse. "Yeah, gathered that. You ok
now?"

I nodded, my head now fully under water. It was the only way I could stop
myself from looking again. A big no-no, to be sure. I closed my eyes to
piece together what I saw. A man. About a foot taller than me. Younger than
my dad. Dark features. Jet black hair, short but slick - way different than
my dirty blonde mop. Facial hair. More than my dad, but less than a beard.
Stubble? And a strong chest. No hair there, maybe shaved - oh, maybe he was
a swimmer? He was tan too, like he was from California. When we lived
there, everyone was like that - but maybe it was his ethnicity?

I dared to take another peek. this time, he was facing me, but his face was
covered in scrub, and he was busy sudsing shampoo through his hair. I was
right, no hair on his chest, and he had abs, and...

Uh oh. I looked. Less than 3 feet from me, a very naked man. With a very
adult sized cock. It was uncut. It swayed slowly as his arms created motion
to his torso. I watched - no, I stared - as he twisted away, to begin
rinsing. I gaped at the lucky soap that got to trace the lines from the
back of his broad shoulders down his spine, into his round....

Oh shit. I could feel it starting. My eyes darted forward. My hands, once
on the wall, now trying to casually block the new activity my cock has
decided to show off. My body started sending shocks down my arms, my legs
getting shaky. Shit.

I could feel my whole body go flush with embarrassment. I twisted away from
him, and shoved my head under the water in shame. I needed both hands now
to cover the uncut 6" rod that was now showing itself to the world. I had
broken my own rules, and now I was paying for it. This guy is surely going
to be pissed if he sees me with this hard-on. Then he's going to report me!
Then my Dad will find out-

"Hey, kid," the man's voice snapped me to attention, but I didn't dare look
over. A hand, soft but firm, touched my shoulder. With a lowered voice, he
leaned in. "Don't worry - every guys gets hard-ons in the shower."

I blinked. Did he just...

I turned my head to look at his hand on my shoulder, then up to him. He was
facing me again. "To be honest, I'll take the compliment."

He laughed, and patted me on the shoulder a couple times. He flicked off
the water, and I watched him saunter over to the towel rack, dry his hair a
bit, then wrap himself in the towel. He took a step out of the shower room
into the lockers, looked around a bit, then turned.

"I'm here just about every day around this time. Maybe we can jog together,
or something? The name is Rick."

I went beet red again, and my cock twitched in my cupped hands. I couldn't
answer. He chuckled a bit, and started to get dressed.

I stood under the water until he left; moments later, my father's voice
bellowed. "Shower time is up, Bud! Let's get home!" He wasn't in the room,
but his voice echoed throughout. I turned off my shower.

The way home was silent. Dad was never talkative, and I wasn't offering
much in the way of subjects. He had given me a chore; a task. He expected
me to follow it. Each day, I was now supposed to stop at the YMCA on my way
home, and do the workout the Major set up for me.

It was a quick shower, dinner and bedtime for me, and of course, laying in
bed, in the dark.. all I could think of... Rick.

The house was still when I reached into the nightstand for the familiar
bottle of hand cream. It was a trick I learned from my old babysitter when
I was 8. He'd send me to bed, and warn me that he'd tell my dad if I got
out of bed. Then, he'd go to my Mom's bathroom and find her hand cream. I'd
sneak out (of course) and peek through the cracks of the door. He knew
where my Dad's porn magazines were, and in no time, he would be stretched
on the toilet seat, with his pants down, magazine open to some naked girl
in one hand, and his own hard dick rubbing with lotion in the other. It
never lasted long, and he was quiet about it. He even made sure to point
his dick to the toilet so that his white stuff would go into the toilet. It
wasn't until I was 11 that I realized what it was, or why he did it, but I
knew that it was exciting. He never caught me looking, but then we moved,
and I didn't get to see that anymore. But, when I started doing it myself,
I was sure to go to the Benjamin Franklin and get some hand cream for
myself.

I heard nothing as my thumbs looped around the waist of my boxers exposing
my naked body now to the night. I looked down at my body. I'm not sure what
Dad was so worried about. My chest was broad, compared to the other kids. I
didn't have any belly, and my waist was thin. I didn't have defined abs or
washboard stomach, but I liked how I looked. My calves were strong from my
days in soccer, and I've seen the boys in class, so I know how I measure
up. Although, I think I'm ok soft, I probably will get bigger when I am
hard, like now. I used to measure every month - but I kinda forgot. Now,
measuring just gets me riled up - and in this house, the sleeping hours are
the only time I can get a moment to myself. You never know when Dad will
just pop into the bathroom to shave or piss while you're showering. No
privacy, just like the army.

I bit my lower lip as the cool white lotion massaged it's way into the skin
of my shaft. My left hand slid up and down, gripping at the base, teasing
the tip, and images of Rick passed through my head. It was the first time I
had let myself think about him since I got home. I'd never seen a real
adult naked before, besides my dad. And even then, it was nothing like
this. He was smooth and hard at the same time. His carmel colored skin made
me flush, The way the water beaded and trickled off him, like he was too
sexy to get wet. I tried hard to think of his legs, and his backside. He
had broad shoulders too, like a football player, but his body looked more
like a swimmer.

I arched my back slightly when I imagined what his lips might taste like.
They were golden, like his forskin, and his lips raised a little each time
he spoke. I imagined him licking his lips. I pushed down from his face, and
my mind traced the lines of his hips, his thighs. I let myself imagine him
in front of me.

I started to breathe heavier - I could picture him pulling back his
foreskin. Slowly showing my the head of his manhood. It flinched in his
hands, and got harder as he gripped it. My own hand, once gentle, began a
rhythmic, forceful stroke. I saw him in my mind pumping his foreskin
back.. and forth... and back... until a drop of something formed at his
tip.

I pumped my hips slightly at the thought of his hands touching my body,
reaching out for me, pulling me closer to his own. I began to shiver at the
thought. He was touching me now, sliding his large hands down my back. His
fingers slid to my rear, and his other hand stroking himself. His right hip
was now against my left hip, and his body began to tighten. My eyes slammed
shut even tighter and my bite got harder.

I was close. I stretched my legs and gasped. I imagined his own cum, strong
and thick, gushing from the tip of his thick cock, his fist wrapped tightly
to it. He was double the thickness of my own, and easily 2" longer.  My own
body couldn't hold out. My fist pumped like lightening. Imagining that
thick man-meat in his strong hands, his white cum hitting my body - it was
too much.

I felt the shock as the first release of my load hit my stomach. All time
stopped. I saw explosions behind my eyelids, and my chest held in my
breath. Pump after pump of my sticky cum dribbled from my cockhead, my
thumb, abs, and shaft now coated. My whole body locked in ecstasy as wave
of pleasure screamed though me.

When the orgasm subsided, I opened my eyes. I was sweating, and my stomach
was dotted in a sticky mess. This was unlike my other nights. Tonight, the
cum went everywhere. I wasn't careful. I didn't catch it with my other
hand. My mind had taken over, and Rick's body was all I could see.

Carefully, I pulled my boxers off and used them as a makeshift towel. I
wiped my cream-coated hand, then sraped across my stomach. I held them up
to my nose; my cum was a good smell - the familiar mix of iron, bleach, and
cleaner - always so appealing. I wondered if Rick's cum was liket that?  I
tossed them into my hamper. Thankfully, Dad makes us do our own laundry, so
no worries about the evidence. I sat up, my head hung down. There was no
denying it. Rick was hot.

Now that my head was clear, I got to thinking. Why did he offer to work out
with me? What about the shoulder touch? Do people touch dudes like that in
the shower? Why did he pick the stall right next to me, if there were 14
others to choose?


More to come...


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Like it? Email me.  justwriting@soniq.org