Date: Tue, 10 Jul 2018 11:25:18 -0600 From: Rocky Hawkins Subject: The YMCA part 3 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. Donate: Nifty operates free because there's people who donate to keep it running. Donate. It's worth the spunk. Contact me: Feedback and such to justwriting@soniq.org. ======================================================== This is part three of my story. You may have read it already in part one or two, but in case you didn't, here's a recap. 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. My father is Drill Sgt. Ronald Murphy, and he's insisting that I spend my free time at the YMCA to 'become a man' and get a build. It's 1994, and I have a Nintendo I never get to play. Almost every day at 7am my father raps on my bedroom door. It's the 5 minute, 'shit, shower, and shave' routine, where he then drives me to the Y. Barely time for a banana and some granola. The YMCA has an old army buddy there that my father's coerced into molding me. She's not all that bad, really, but it's still like a mini-boot camp. I'm still 5'7, of course... but my weight is now up 5 lbs, to 115. Myt abs hurt all the time, but they are starting to look like those Calvin Klein underwear commercials. I've completed week seven, and I'm hooked. Not really because of the workouts, either. In fact, now I workout to pass the time, until Rick gets there. Rick. The first man I've seen naked at the gym. Rick. The man who chose to shower next to me. Rick. The man who got me to admit I liked guys. That I liked him. Rick. The man who took my virginity. Today. I was standing in Rick's shower, the hot pulse of the massaging-shower head on my backside. Just moments ago, the man of my fantasies was behind me. He was pushing his full length into me, and I was helpless to prevent it. What started out as the most intense pain of my life, slowly, ever so slowly, turned into mind crashing waves of pleasure. He was perfect. He had told me he was 7", but he was so much more than that. Tall and tan skinned, he had a smile that could melt icebergs. His body was tone; he actually did use the YMCA to workout, so he was in shape. I was using his soap to wash up, and now I smelled like him. I could still taste him on my tongue. I ducked my head under the water, my mind still feeling the touch of his strong, firm hands, and his deep voice resonating in my ears. It hurt so much at first, I couldn't believe it - but after, and now... I wanted more. When I got out of the shower, my clothes were folder neatly on the sink and Rick was leaning against the door, Coke in his hand. "That was amazing. Are you ok?" I nodded and bent to put my clothes on. "Yeah, I'm ok. Didn't like the middle part, but the end was good." He laughed and we walked back to the living room, where I picked up my ALICE pack. "Next time, it won't hurt like that. You've been, well, broken in," he said. "Well, if you want there to be a next time." I smiled. "I want there to be a next time, Rick." He drove me back to the YMCA, just in time. There, on the opposite corner, was my Dad. Like always, he was sitting there reading the paper. It was exactly 11:58am. He would be expecting me to rush out of the door at 12:00. I was about to hop out of the car, when Rick stopped me. \ "Dade," he urged, "You can't tell anyone about us, or this. I could get in some big trouble..." I waved my hand. "Yeah, I know. My lips are sealed. Well, I mean, not for you.. but... yeah." I blushed. He smiled. I popped out of the car, passed the YMCA, and came up on the passenger side of the vehicle. As I opened the door, Dad closed his newspaper. "Good workout?" he asked. I nodded, with a smirk. "Yea, I did a lot today." He started the engine, and began to drive home. "The Major told me that you've been doing a good set," he paused. At the stop light, he turned to me. "She also said you've been popping out early with some guy for free lunches. That true, son?" My heart stopped. I had to lie, but I can't lie. He knows my lies. He knows my face WHEN I lie. So, maybe part of the truth? I stammered. "Yeah, well, this guy at the gym invited me for smoothies, and we sometimes go together." The light went green, and Dad was silent. We turned onto the long road home, and he finally spoke again. "What are you giving him in return, son?" I could feel my face go blank and my skin go pale. My hands began to shake. I had been caught. He knew what I had done. I would never live with the shame. He would surely kill me if he knew. I had no words. "That's what I thought," he sighed. At the fork, he took a turn. Away from the house. My eyes went wide. We weren't going home? As if he read my mind, he spoke again. "Don't worry, I ain't gonna punish ya. I just need to talk to you man to man, and we can't do it with your Mom around. I am sure you don't want her to hear any of this, do ya?" He looked over at me, his eyes commanding an answer. When I looked back, my fear was all that controlled me. I shook my head, and he snuffed. "That's what I thought." We were both silent as he pulled off the gravel road, approaching the old farmhouse at the end of our property. When I was younger, my friends and I would meet here. Back then, this place became a pirate ship, or a castle, sometimes the launchpad of a rocket ship. Now, as we approached, I saw it differently. I was very nervous. My dad parked, and waved his finger toward the door; this was not unusual, and I got out of the car. "Out of the sun, Dade." We walked into the farmhouse, the door long-since missing. I edged up to the wall, and watched him flop his keys onto what was left of a countertop. He didn't face me. Instead, his hands leaned on the sill of the far window, and he looked out. Far out. He was searching the land, scanning it. I was shaking. My father wasn't always there, the Army made sure of that. But in the last few years after his release, he had made a point to help us when we needed it; when I broke my arm, he carried me to the car and then in to the hospital. When Mom lost her job, he took on factory work overnight to help with the bills. He was a good father. But this was different. I was gay, and he knew I was... doing stuff. "Dade," he started. I stood up straighter. I didn't know what to do with my hands. He turned, a stern look on his face. I was fighting tears; if I cried, he would just get angry. He sighed, then, more gently, "Dade." I sniffled, but did not cry. "Yes, sir?" "What's happening here is that you're a man now. I'm gonna talk to you about this like a man, and it's not easy to hear. But you need to hear it." He turned fully to face me, then looked up at the ceiling. There was not much left, and the second floor has long since collapsed into itself. It was a wonder that there was still a room to stand in. "I was in the service a very long time," he said. "I joined as a teen, only 4 years older than you." I nodded. "While I was there, I met a lot of guys. Smart ones. Dumb ones. Strong. Weak. You get it," He found a shard of plaster, and gave it a small kick. It slid to the wall, making a chalk mark across the floor. "I've served with them all. And, there are a thousand differnt types of guys out there-" he turned to me. "But you know what they all have in common?" He looked at me, and waited. I felt myself begin to shake. I didn't know. I shrugged. "Sex." I blinked. Sex? "Yea, buddy. You heard me. Sex. Guys, no matter what, know that Sex is soemthing that every guy wants. Needs. Craves." He picked up another plaster shard and tossed it at the wall. I blushed. Sex. He knew. He could read it from me. He knew my dark secret, that I was only figuring out myself. "And if you look at every guy on the planet that is capable of having sex, there's really only two kinds of dudes. Now, they may tell you otherwise, but I have years and years of RnR in who know's how many deployments - all guys fall into two categories." He took a breath, and paced a bit. "There's guys like me, you see. These guys don't get laid right away in life; but when they do, they become pussy hounds. They find every way they can get lucky. They pay for dinners to make sure they can get some handy work. Or, they date some chick for a while to get into her pants. They find the easy girls who will go down on them, or get numbers from their buddies. Sometimes, they get time off on a deployment, and go to the local whore house for some relief. Sometimes, they even get wind of a glory hole or something where a random mouth will take your nut.. oh, uhm..." He coughed. I watched him as he slapped his hands together, sending dust everywhere. These were words I had rarely heard in general, let alone from my father. It was as though he were speaking to an army buddy, not his son. I was intent on listening, still scared as hell where it was going. He took his palms and slapped them against his pants, white marks now on his jeans. He walked over to me, and put a hand on my shoulder. "What I'm saying is, there are those guys like me who found sex, and crave it so bad, they will take it anywhere they can get- especially when the service is keeping you from it. But, then, those same kind of guys usually get lucky enough to find a girl, settle down, get all the sex they need from her, have a family,. Just like I did." He looked down at me. My eyes, once staring at my feet, slid up to meet his. I wasn't as tall as him, but at my height, I could look straight forward and be at his chin. I was getting there. Once my eyes made contact, his lips tightened, and his grip firmed up. It didn't hurt, but I wasn't moving anytime soon. I felt a slight panic hit me. "And then, Dade," he murmurred, "There are guys like...you." I flinched, and recoiled a bit. Dad's grasp was firm, and I could tell I wasn't getting out of this. "But, I..." I tried. He shook his head tightly, and I stopped talking. "There are only two types, Dade." he looked at me. "See, guys like me, who need sex, and get it from where it's offered. We are pretty much everywhere. And guys like you... who give it to those who need it." I couldn't help it. My eyes welled up. I could feel the heat from my face burn away my secrets. He knew it all! "What's his name, son?" Dad wasn't asking. He was commanding. "Rick," I whispered. "Mhmm. And is Rick like me? Or like, you?" Again, there was no question. He knew. "He's not married or any-" My father squeezed my shoulder, and I stopped. "Two types, Dade. Two. Types. Nothing else matters. Married. Straight. Army. Police. Hell, even Priests. There are only the two types. Guys like me. And guys. Like. You." With each pause, there was a slight shake from his arms. I didn't know what to do. I felt ashamed that I wasn't like my father. I wasn't a taker. I didn't go out and find sex. Rick found me. Rick made love... to me. I was so happy with that. But now, I wasn't a real man. I wasn't... like my dad. I was the other thing. My tears increased. "Dade," he asked again, his tone solid and unwavering. I couldn't speak. I whispered, "He's like you, Dad." "Good. You understand now, what men like us are." he loosened his grip. "This Rick is a man. He has needs, and he found a way to fullfill them. I can't fault him for wanting it. I have needs too, I understand. But tell me," he pulled back, looking me in the eyes. "what was it about you? What did you do?" I shrugged, but that wasn't enough. My dad took both hands on to my biceps, holding me in place. I was secured in front of him. "No. No shrugs. From this moment, you give full answers, you understand?" I nodded, my years of being an Army son kicking back in. "Sir, yes Sir." He asked again. I replied, my eyes staring into the memory. "I, uh, got hard next to him in the shower, Sir." "There was more, though, wasn't there." "Yes, Sir." I replied. His voice commanded nothing but immediate response. "He caught me looking at him. I always looked, you know, at guys' junk when they shower." "And, then he took you out. What did you do for him? I've heard it all, don't leave anything out." So, I did. I told him about how day after day, I got to see him in the shower. I told him how at night, I'd see him in my mind, and it would make me do 'that thing' that guys do. I told him that there was exchange of looks. Then, I then told him about today. It took every ounce of courage I had. He didn't speak when I told him about being driven to Rick's house. His expression didn't change when I stumbled on my words, telling him about how he wanted to make love to me. He didn't flinch when I told him how I had to scream when I felt Rick push into me. By the end, I had told him everything. I was so embarassed. So ashamed. "Well, that proves it," he said, letting me go. I exhaled deeply, and he grabbed his keys. "We can go home now." I wiped my eyes and face, sniffling a bit. I didn't understand. He walked to the car, and I heard the engine turn over. I got in the passenger side, too scared to ask questions. He threw it into reverse, and backed us out of the drive, onto the road. He pulled the transmission into park again. We sat there. He was thinking. He turned to me while the car idled there. "Son," he said, his chest deflating. "I knew you were different. I didn't think this was it, but you have to know it. You're a faggot." I recoiled into my seat. My eyes went wide. My father had only used that word once before, and it wasn't pleasant. The guys in school talk about it too. It was a bad word. It meant you were a freak. And my father confirmed it. But, he stared out window. He continued. "In the Army, we always had a few like you. They would go out with us on RnR, all macho and tough. They drank the same, swore the same, smoked the same, pissed the same. Some of them were even my friends. But at the end of the night, it was clear who was like me and who wasn't." He opened the glove box, pulling out a tin. Inside, he took a cigarette, lit it, and returned the tin. I watched the smoke billow from his lips, his eyes narrowing from the sting. He never flinched. He simply let the smoke linger. Mom hated when he smoked, and I knew that he only did it when something was wrong. "See, guys like me would sometimes waste the whole night chasing girls, or even a single girl, hoping for some tail- you know, to get sex. On the nights we did get some girl to bang, we'd tease the guys like you. We'd take our girls, have a hot night, never call them back, and go back to service, balls drained, happy for a couple days." He began to drive towards the main road. the window was down, and I could see the smoke being sucked out. I wish I was that smoke. "But guys like you... you never chased the girls. You didn't spend any money on their drinks. You barely danced with them. No. You... you watched. You waited. When the time was right, you were there, just in case." The car turned onto the main road, and I could see the house up ahead. He flicked the cigarette out the window. "Just like your buddy, Rick. He didn't need a faggot, Dade. He just needs to get off. And you were there. You said it yourself. You waited. You watched. And when the time was right, you were there." His words cut into me. I began to understand. My father saw me as those faggots from the Army. And faggots weren't men. Not really. They weren't his buddies. I wasn't a man to him... We parked in the driveway, and my face had gone blank. I didn't know what to feel, I certainly didn't know what to say. I was going numb. My father turned off the ignition, and turned back to me. Not once did his expression change so far, nor did he raise his voice. This time, however, he pleaded with me. "Do you want to be this way? Do you want to be a faggot? Do you want to be the last option for hard up guys who want to use you?" I opened my mouth. I was going to shout, "No, I'm not a faggot." Then I was going to scream, "I'm not one of those!" I was going to make a fist, and tell him that "No man is gonna use me!" but, nothing came out. The words pounded in my head, but I couldn't say them. I just looked at him, eyes wide, mouth open. He pulled the keys from the ignition and opened the door. He got out of the car, and twisted back in, his voice low but strong. "If you're gonna be a faggot, things will change around here. I won't tell your mom about any of this. You can change if you want, Dade. You can be a man. Only you can decide that. And you know, it'll starts with being a man and telling that 'Rick' that you won't let him use you again." He walked to the house, leaving me alone, still in the car. I took a look in the mirror, my face streaked with tears. I was a man. I will be a man. I need to be a man. But I was now torn. I trusted my father. He knew the world. He knew about all those guys in the Army. I didn't want to be someone who gets used. I didn't want to be the last choice. Rick didn't just take me, did he? He didn't just make a last resort choice, right? He said it himself, he was like me. And he made love to me, he didn't just use me? My head was now filled with so much confusion. I walked into the house, a haze around me. Mom called out to me, and I answered, not knowing what either of us had sad. I took to my room, not even closing the door behind me. I collapsed on the bed. I could smell something familiar cooking, and could hear Dad talking, then Mom giggling. I couldn't make sense of anything right now. It was almost an hour before Dad came up to my room. I hadn't moved from where I plopped on the bed, my bag on the floor, my shoes still on. He rapped on the open door frame, and I shook a little, startled. "Son," he said, his tone normal. "Dinner in five." "Sir, yes Sir," I said, monotone. He took a step in, and lowered his voice. "As for the other thing-" I twisted, sat up, but couldn't look at him. "You have until Saturday. When your mother goes to Aunt Maggie's, I expect us to have another talk. If you want to change, I can fix you. If you don't, well... Things will change here either way." I used my shoe to pull off my other one. I still couldn't look at him. "That gives you 2 days to say goodbye to the Rick guy, if you want to be normal." I felt tears well up, but I didn't cry. "Sir, yes Sir." I croaked. I ate dinner in silence, as Mom and Dad spoke of the events of the week. They laughed over dessert, and said nothing about my silence. My father gave no indications that anything was wrong, and my silence wasn't unusual - I was always a quiet kid. In fact, I didn't say much of anything the next day either. And on Friday, I skipped the shower, and avoided the locker room. I couldn't face Rick, and I didn't know what to do. On saturday morning, my Mom insisted I stay home from the gym, to help her pack. She liked to caht with me once in a while while she did things like that. "So, kiddo-" she started, folding her shirts neatly. "I'm gonna be gone for almost a week! I know your father can be a pest-" she laughed. "But just be a good boy, ok? Don't play too much of that game, and help him with the dishes. OK?" I smiled, weakly. "Sure, Mom." She looked at me, then put down her clothes. "Dade," she asked, sitting down next to me. "I know he's hard on ya. I know you have to sacrifice some of your summer for this workout.. stuff. But look at you! You're buff, dude!" She laughed, and slugged me on the shoulder. She had no idea how much was on my mind. Who cares about the workout. Mom, I'm a fag! Dad hates me! I'm never gonna be a man! I shrugged at her playfulness. "Ok, ok, I get it. You're a budding young man, and I'm just an embarassing Mom. Just, don't take life so serious. You're a great kid. I love you." I smiled again, finding an excuse to leave the room. I listened behind my door as Dad carried her bags down, packed the car, and they drove off to the airport. It was only a matter of time before I had to give my Dad an answer. I didn't talk to Rick. I didn't break it off. The front door opened. My Father was back. I heard him set the keys on the counter. I started to shake when I heard the smack of the refigerator. "Dade! Front and center!" he called. ======================================================== Like it? Email me. justwriting@soniq.org