Date: Thu, 24 Feb 2000 21:18:16 -0800 (PST)
From: Brew Maxwell <brew_drinker23@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Dancer, Chap. 1

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance it bears to real
people or events is purely coincidental.  This work contains graphic
depictions of gay male sex, and anyone who does not meet the legal
definition of an adult in his or her political jurisdiction must leave this
work now.  This work is being posted to the Nifty Archives.  It may not be
posted to any other medium without the written consent of its author.


The Dancer

Chapter One

	I showed up at the address I had been given by Ben, the guy who
runs the service, right on time.  He had told me it was a gay party, so I
was fully prepared to strip completely naked and jerk off.  That was
standard fare at gay events, and, frankly, they were my favorites.  Now and
then the guest of honor and I would spend an hour behind closed doors,
doing whatever he wanted to do, but that was relatively rare.
	When I rang the doorbell, the guy who had talked to Ben answered
it.
	"Hi," I said.  "I'm Brian.  The stripper."
	"Oh, come on in. Damn, you're right on time.  I'm Bernie.  The
guest of honor is Paul.  It's his birthday, and he just turned forty."
	"So, what do you want me to do," I asked.  "Did Ben explain the
options?"
	"Yes, he did, and I think we want the jerk-off package."
	"Cool," I said.
	I loved doing the jerk-off package.  For one thing, it cost two
hundred bucks, instead of a hundred, so I made a hundred and fifty instead
of fifty.  For another thing, I really enjoy showing my stuff and jerking
off in front of other guys.  It usually happened that several would join
me, and the whole room would sometimes turn into a giant orgy.  That was
cool.
	That night it was a pretty large party, it looked like, as I
glanced into the house and patio beyond.  There were probably sixty guys
there, and I pretty much figured it would turn into something wild. I set
up my tape player and got ready to perform.  Bernie showed me into a
bedroom where I was to wait while he and a few other guys herded everybody
into the living room for my act.
	I'd been doing that kind of entertaining for about six months at
that point.  I had turned eighteen in October of my junior year of high
school, my parents learned they were being sent to Afghanistan by
Physicians International a week later, and together we decided I was old
enough to stay in New Orleans on my own until I graduated from high school.
I went to an all-boys Catholic high school that was supposed to be one of
the best in the country, and they knew I'd never get the kind of education
in Afghanistan I could get there.  I had been dating an older guy for a
couple of months--he was twenty-six to my eighteen--so I figured I'd do
what he had wanted me to do and move in with him.  My parents had arranged
a pretty generous allowance for me, and I really didn't have to work.  But
shortly after they moved, I had gotten the chance, through Don, my
boyfriend, to work as a stripper.
	I had the body for it, that's for sure.  I was six feet tall,
weighed 180 pounds of almost all muscle (less than 5% body fat, thank you
very much), and I had an uncut cock that was fully six inches long and five
inches in circumference when it was soft.  I worked several nights a week,
and I usually made anywhere from five hundred to a thousand bucks a night,
depending on tips and the kinds of shows they wanted.  A lot of my work was
with women, especially for bachelorette parties.  If I fucked the guest of
honor, I got three hundred.  If I just stripped and danced in my g-string,
I got a hundred.  Either way, I had to give Ben $50.  At gay affairs, the
same rules applied, although there was the jerk-off gig for $200.  If a guy
and I went into a bedroom for real sex, it cost $300.  My pricing structure
was pretty elaborate.
	Anyway, Bernie got all the guys inside and gave me the signal to
start.  I went out in really tight, really faded 501's, a tee shirt, and
tennis shoes.  I sang dirty lyrics to the music that played on my tape
deck, and, gradually, I stripped to just a g-string.  Then I rubbed my cock
in the face of the guy who was being honored, and I got hard, as always.
That happened to be a Friday night, and I had already fucked a girl at her
birthday party an hour before, but I had no trouble boning up for this guy,
who looked every bit of forty.
	Anyway, I danced and sang, did the bump and grind, and, as I looked
around the room, trying to draw the other guys into it as fully as
possible, I noticed one of the coaches from school.  I made eye contact
with him and winked.  The other guys noticed it, of course, and they went
wild.  The show went as it usually did.  I got completely naked, got
harder, and jerked off.  I let the guy suck my cock a little bit, and that
just about brought down the house.  I wondered what the neighbors must have
been thinking.  The whole thing was over in forty-five minutes, and I
stayed for another half hour walking around complete naked.  I had a drink,
as I usually did, smoked a cigarette, flirted with the guest of honor, and
otherwise earned my money.  When I left, Bernie gave me four hundred
dollars, two hundred for the fee and two hundred for a tip.
	I had some time to kill before my next appointment, so I stopped at
McDonald's and got a Big Mac, fries, and a coke.  Shit, I was working, and
that was my lunch break, even if it was ten o'clock at night.
	The next place was an all-girl bachelorette party, and all I did
was a simple strip to my g-string.  They paid me, gave me a fifty dollar
tip, and I went home.  It had been a pretty good night.  I had made seven
hundred bucks, after I gave Ben his cut, and I was happy with that.  Damn
happy, in fact.
	Don was waiting up for me, as he always did on weekend nights.
	"So, how'd it go," he asked, after he kissed me hello.
	"Great.  I did okay tonight."
	"You want a drink," he asked.
	"Yeah.  Make me a scotch, will you?"
	"One scotch, coming right up."
	"What did you do tonight," I asked.
	"Watched a movie on HBO, and then I surfed the Internet a while.  I
found a site that had some really cool .wav files.  You'll have to listen
to them."
	Don was basically a computer nerd.  He had a master's degree in
computer science, and he worked as the systems administrator at a huge
hospital.  He knocked down $120K a year, and he was investing money hand
over fist.
	"Anything unusual about tonight," he asked.
	"Not really.  I fucked a birthday girl, jerked off for a
middle-aged gay guy, and did the g-string routine for a bride-to-be.  I
made seven hundred bucks, though.  Clear profit."
	"Damn," he said.  "I wish you'd teach me how to sing and dance."
	That was a standard line between us.  Don was a muscle stud and
could have easily brought in a thousand bucks a night with his looks and
build.  The trouble was, he was uncoordinated as hell, when it came to
dancing.  Put him on a racquetball court or a golf course, and he was an
all-star.  Ask him to dance, and he was two left feet.  Plus, he couldn't
sing for shit.
	"I saw a teacher from my school tonight.  At the gay thing," I
said.
	"Did he recognize you, do you think," he asked.
	"Oh, yeah.  We made eye contact, and I winked at him."
	Don laughed.  "You should wink at him the same way every time you
see him at school from now on," he said.
	"I will.  He's a P.E. coach, and he's pretty fucking cute.  He was
one of the younger guys there tonight."
	"Well, don't let him mess with your mind, whatever you do."
	"No way will that happen.  If any mind is messed with, it'll be
his."
	Don and I went to bed around one.  We made some serious love that
night, and we had a good time.  I really loved that guy.  Still do, in
fact.

	I had to work again on Saturday night.  I only did two weekend
nights in a row once a month, and Don understood and accepted it.  I got
home around eleven, though, and we went out to eat.  Sunday would be our
day together, even if it didn't start until we woke up at noon.
	Monday morning came much too early for me.  Don and I had gone to
bed early enough, but we fucked our brains out until after midnight.  When
our alarm clocks went off, neither of us wanted to get up.
	But, life had to go on.  We always made coffee and set the pot on a
timer the night before.  We were both hard as we made our bed, but those
hard-ons were from having to piss, not from passion.  Don had first dibs on
the shower, so he stumbled into the bathroom and bathed.  I went into the
kitchen, poured myself a cup of coffee, went outside and pissed in the
yard, came in and turned on the TV, and settled back to watch the first
part of the Today Show.  I lit up my first Marlboro of the day, and settled
back to watch Katie and Matt tell us about all the shit that was going on
around the world.
	By 7:20, Don was out of the shower and dressed for the day.  He had
on a navy suit, a red tie, and a white shirt.  He looked so damn good I
thought I would pop a woodie right there.  I didn't, though, at least not a
full one.  I went in and took my shower and dressed for school.  By the
time I came out at 7:45, he was gone for the day.  I had another cup of
coffee and another cigarette.  That would have to last me till break at
10:30, when I would buy a couple of sausage biscuits from the Burger King
vendor in the cafeteria.
	The school day went as usual.  Math first period, English second,
recess, and so on through my schedule.
	And then came seventh period and P.E.  That was usually my favorite
period of the day.  I loved sports, although I didn't play for the school,
and I always enjoyed whatever physical activity the coaches had planned for
us on any given day.
	The school I went to was really strict, and the coaches minced no
words in talking to us.  We were in a volleyball unit at that time, and I
played a hell of a good game.
	"Maxwell," Coach Tate shouted, as the class was finishing.  "You
gotta run the bleachers.  You can't get away with that shit."
	Damn, I thought.  I didn't realize he had seen me double hit the
ball.
	"Yes, sir," I shouted back.  "How many, sir?"
	"Thirty, Maxwell.  Hit it."
	Thirty, I thought.  This fucker wants to kill me.  The usual
punishment for a rule infraction was three times.
	"And I'm gonna watch every fucking one of them, Maxwell," he said.
	Damn.
	Well, I got started.  Don and I worked out three or four times a
week, if I wasn't working, and I was in really good shape.  Running the
bleachers was tough, but I knew I could handle it.  True to his word, Coach
Tate stood on the gym floor and counted for me.  He let me off with only
twenty, though, and I was about half dead.
	"Let's go," he said.
	He led me into the locker room.
	"Get undressed," he said.
	That was the usual procedure.  I would take a shower, get dressed,
collect my books from my locker, and go home.
	I got undressed to go to the shower, but Coach said, "Not so fast.
I want you in my office."
	Jesus Christ, I thought.  So I double hit a ball.  I cheated, and I
was wrong.  But hadn't I been punished enough?
	He led me into his office stark naked.  Being naked didn't bother
me, but I wasn't sure where this was going.  Coach Tate was fat and ugly
and not at all well built.  If he wanted sex with me, it would take real
effort on my part.  Frankly, I was too tired just then to put out.
	I started to sit in a chair in front of his desk.
	"Stand up.  I didn't give you permission to sit down."
	I did as I was told.
	Instead of going behind his desk and sitting down, he came and
stood in front of me.
	"How old are you, Maxwell?"
	"I'm eighteen," I said.
	"Don't you mean, 'I'm eighteen, coach'?"
	"Yes, sir, coach.  That's what I meant.  I'm eighteen, Coach."
	"What's all this shit on your chest?"
	He was referring to my nipple rings, of course.  Some of the guys
had teased me when I had gotten them a few months before, but nobody
commented on them anymore.  He flicked them up and down a couple of times,
and I felt myself starting to get aroused.  No way did I want this fucker
to get me hard, but I couldn't control the reaction.
	"Coach, please take your hands off me," I said.
	"I thought you might like that, Maxwell."
	"I like it a lot, coach.  You're starting to make me hard."  Then I
decided to see if I could take control of this situation.  "Is that what
you want to do, coach?  To give me a hard-on?"
	"That will arouse you sexually," he asked.
	"Yes, sir.  Look at my cock, sir.  Can't you see it's getting
bigger and harder?  Can't you see you're giving me an erection."  He looked
down at my cock, and he saw that, indeed, it was getting hard.  I didn't
mind it, but I didn't want him to know that.  "What are you, some kind of
pervert?"  I decided to play it up big.  "Oh, God, coach.  That feels so
good."  I said that in what I thought was my sexiest voice.  "I've never
seen anything like this," he said.  "Since I had my nipples pierced, it's
like they're hard-wired to my penis.  If you play with them, sir, that
gives me an erection."
	"And what is this all about," he asked, running his hand over the
tattoo I have just above my pubic hair line.  I keep my bush cut short and
shaved around the edges so it won't show in a g-string.  I had had the
tattoo put on a couple of months before.  It was a small butterfly, very
colorful, and he was fingering it.
	"It's a tattoo," I said.
	"Well, I can see that, shithead.  Why do you have it there?"
	"Business reasons, sir," I said.  In a few seconds he took his hand
away.
	This guy was married and had two kids.  His son had graduated the
year before, and I knew him.  I stood there in front of him half hard.
	"How come you're eighteen and only a junior," he asked.
	"That's a long story, sir," I said.  "I spent the first eight years
of school in France, and, when I came back here, they put me a grade lower
than I was in in France because they didn't think I could speak English all
that well."
	"Do you speak French," he asked.
	"Yes, sir.  Do you?"
	"Shut up.  You know I don't."
	"Sorry, sir.  I just thought...."
	"Is that why your cock is uncut?  Cause you were born in France?"
	"Uncut, Coach?"
	"Uncircumcised.  You know what the fuck I meant, Maxwell."
	"Yes, sir.  I guess so.  Although I was born here in New Orleans.
I thought all guys looked like me."  I was fibbing big time, but I couldn't
let this guy get away with that without putting him through the ringer.
	"No, Maxwell, you're the odd man, here.  Like you haven't noticed."
	I didn't say anything, but I looked him squarely in the face.
	"Pull the skin back," he said.
	"I beg your pardon, coach," I said.  I had heard him perfectly
well, but I wanted to play with his mind a little.
	"You heard me.  I want to make sure you can retract it all the way.
You uncut guys have to be especially careful when you bathe to make sure
you clean that thing properly.  You can't do it if you can't pull the skin
all the way back."
	I grabbed my cock in my left hand and held it at the base.  I
worked the skin back and forth with my right hand.  I could see that Coach
Tate was boned up under his sweats, and I was enjoying the hell out of it.
I also got a lot harder, as rubbing your cock will make you do.
	"If I keep doing this, I'll get as hard as you are, coach," I said.
Then I winked at him.
	"You little shitass.  You got some mouth on you."
	"I don't mind doing it, coach.  And you can play with my nipples
some more, if you want to.  I don't mind getting hard for you.  We can even
jerk off together, if you want to.  Or you can jerk me off.  Or even suck
me off.  I love having that done to me, coach."
	I could tell this guy was hot and bothered, and that he didn't know
quite what to do with a kid like me.
	"Coach Matthews has seen me jerk off.  You should ask him about it.
My cock gets really big, and I shoot a whole lot of cum.  Do you like my
hard meat?  This really feels good, coach.  I love jerking off, and I
especially like doing it for another guy."
	He was fiddling with his hard-on, but it looked like it was more to
get comfortable inside his jockstrap than to play with it.
	"You want me to keep on retracting my foreskin, coach?  Or are you
satisfied I can do it okay."
	"Yeah.  Cut it out and get the hell out of here."
	I dropped my cock, but by then it stood straight up on its own.  I
didn't turn and run, though.  Instead, I stood there watching him look at
me.  I knew he wanted to touch my cock, maybe even suck it, but I also knew
he knew that was out of bounds.  I tightened my butt muscles a few times,
and my cock bounced up and down.
	"Coach, why the fuck did you get me in here," I asked.
	"Watch your mouth, boy."
	"Ten minutes ago you were fondling my nipples, and then you made me
just about jerk off.  Now you're gonna get on me for saying 'fuck'?  I
might not be a minor, sir, but I'm still your student."
	"What?  Are you going to blackmail me?  Is that it, you little
shit?"
	"Sir, I'm not the one who ordered me in here naked.  I'm not the
one who played with my nipples.  I'm not the one who told me to jerk my
cock."
	He had a pack of Marlboros and a lighter on his desk.  I didn't
know if they were his or some he had lifted off a kid.  I reached over and
picked up the pack.  I opened the box, popped one into my mouth, and lit
up.
	"I hope you don't mine if I smoke.  I haven't had one since early
this morning."
	He was speechless at my audacity.
	"So, you never did answer my question.  Why did you make me do all
of that?  Do you find me attractive?  It's okay if you do, man.  A lot of
guys do."
	This poor guy was in agony.  I figured Matthews had told him he had
seen me at the party the previous Friday night, and I even thought the two
of them might have something going on.  I knew he spent a good portion of
every day supervising a lockerroom full of naked high school studs, and, if
he had any gay or bi tendencies, it must be a killer for him.
	"You're a very striking boy," he said.
	I started rubbing my cock again.  A long string of precum dripped
onto the floor.  "And?"
	"And just that.  Please leave now, Brian.  And please don't tell
anybody about this.  I should never have done what I did.  I'm sorry I
punished you, too, by making you run the bleachers."  I could tell he was
extremely nervous at that point and that I was in complete control.
	"I needed the exercise, coach."  With that, I flicked my butt out
the open window behind him, turned around, and walked out.
	I went into the shower room and turned on four of the shower heads.
I wondered if he was watching me.  The shower room was right next to his
office, and there was a rumor around school that the mirror in the shower
room was really one-way glass so the coaches could keep an eye on what went
on in the showers without having to be present in the room.  There was a
curtain on a wall right next to the two desks that faced each other in the
office, so the rumor was plausible.
	My cock was still rock hard, so I decided to do something I had
thought about a hundred times.  I lay down on the floor of the shower room
right in the middle.  Steam was rising all around me.  My cock stood up
over my stomach about six inches, parallel to it.  I had to piss, and I had
always wanted to piss on myself and then jerk off.  It's tough for me to
piss through a hard cock, but, in a few minutes, after a good bit of
concentration, my stream started trickling out.  After a few seconds, it
shot out with its usual force, and the stream landed high on my chest,
right below my chin.  I took my cock in my hand and sprayed myself all over
with my piss.  As I had imagined, it actually felt pretty good.
	When I had finished pissing, I started stroking my erection.  I
have pretty good control over my ejaculations.  I can make a beat-off
session last a long time, or I can get it over with pretty quickly.  Since
I thought he might be watching, I decided to take a long time.  I don't
usually moan when I jerk off, but that time I did, really loud, in fact,
for Coach Tate's benefit.  I started thrusting up into my own fist after a
while, and, pretty soon, I let my cum fly, and it splashed all over my
chest.  I scooped up as much as I could, walked over to the mirror, and
wrote the name TATE on the mirror with my cum.  I did it backwards so he
could read it easily, if, in fact, he was watching.  I then finished my
shower, dressed, and went home.
	That night, over dinner, I told Don everything that had happened.
	"Whoooa, man," he said.  "Are you going to tell the principal?"
	"What would you do?  If I told the principal, he'd probably expel
me for being an exotic dancer.  That isn't exactly consistent with the
goals of the school, you know, and this isn't a public school where you
have things like constitutional rights, and all.  Plus, it would ultimately
be Tate's word against mine, and he's been there a long time."
	"Yeah, you're right.  Shit, Brian, I don't know what I'd do.  Maybe
nothing."
	"That's what I'm figuring.  I've got the goods on Tate and
Matthews, now, if I ever need to use 'em.  And there were like sixty
witnesses to Matthews' being at that party."
	"You said Matthews was cute.  Is Tate?"
	I burst out laughing.  "Yeah, like any bald, fifty-year-old guy
with a forty-eight-inch waist.  He sets a horrible example of a tight
masculine physique.  He must have a huge cock for me to even see it hard
past that stomach of his."
	Don laughed with me on that one.

	The rest of the week went on as usual, with no more encounters with
Coach Tate.  I danced Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday nights, and,
altogether, I earned $1,800.00 that week.  It was kind of hectic, balancing
school, work, homework, and Don, but I managed.  The next week was Spring
Break, and I was eagerly looking forward to that.
	Don took the week off.  He got six weeks of vacation a year, but he
rarely took any of it.  That week, though, we went to Panama City Beach in
Florida, and we had a blast.  We discovered there was a nude beach not far
from where we were staying, and we went there every day to tan our hides.
At night, we made the club scene.  All things considered, it was a perfect
vacation.  When it was time to go back to school, I had pretty much
forgotten all about Coach Tate, Coach Matthews, and all of that shit.
	The first day back at school was hell, of course.  I desperately
wanted a cigarette by ten the first morning.  I had been smoking any time I
wanted to the week before, and I was paying the price of withdrawal.
Seniors were allowed to go off campus for lunch second semester, and that
day I snuck out with some of them so I could smoke.  I was a bad boy.
	Coach Tate wasn't there for seventh period P.E. that first day
back.  He and his wife had gone to visit their son at Duke University, and
they weren't back yet because of some airline glitch.  Coach Matthews took
the class in his absence.  I had only seen him a few times on campus since
that party I had danced at, and every time I saw him I winked at him as I
had done that night.  He usually turned a couple of shades of red and
pretended he hadn't seen me.  I got a kick out of watching him squirm.
	In general, though, I didn't have anything against the guy, but he
did something during that class that really pissed me off.  There were
three effeminate guys in the class.  When one of them missed a hard spike
in a volleyball game, he shouted, "Get it.  What are you, a girl?"  The
other guys laughed, and I could tell the boy was embarrassed really badly.
I made up my mind right then to get his ass.  After class, I hung around in
the gym by myself shooting baskets with the volleyball until I figured
everyone was out of the lockerroom.  Then I went in and showered.  I didn't
get dressed, though.  Instead, I went into the coaches' office to talk to
Coach Matthews, stark naked.  I had a small tape recorder that I used in
class sometimes if a teacher was lecturing too fast for me to take good
notes.  I turned it on "record" and wrapped it up in my towel, which I took
with me.
	"Hi.  You mind if I come in," I asked, as I knocked on the door.
He was doing something in his grade book.  When he looked up and saw me
naked, he did a double take.
	"Why aren't you dressed," he asked.
	"Cause I just got out of the shower, man.  Besides, you've seen me
naked before.  I've got nothing to hide from you or be ashamed of."
	He blushed a little.
	"I've been wanting to talk to you since you saw me dance at that
party a few weeks ago."
	"Look, er, Maxwell, is it?  I really don't have time to talk right
now."
	"Yes, you do."
	He got an exasperated look on his face.  "Okay, what?"
	"Well, are you gay?"
	"Er, I can't see how that could possibly be any of your business,"
he said.
	"Well, ordinarily it wouldn't be.  I am, by the way.  I'm gay.  Or
bisexual, maybe.  I live with a guy who is my lover, but I fuck girls, too.
Not romatically but as part of my job as a dancer."
	"Er, ..."
	"Well, are you or aren't you?"
	"Son, how old are you?"
	"I'm eighteen.  I'll be nineteen in October.  How old are you?"
	He didn't answer right away, but in a few seconds he said, "I'm
twenty-three."
	"Man, we're almost the same age.  Cut the 'son' shit, okay?"
	I grinned at him, and he sort of smiled in return.
	"Okay, Brian."
	"That's better, man.  You got a smoke on you?"
	"What?"
	"You heard me.  I know you smoke because I saw you smoking that
night.  You got a cigarette I can bum?"
	He reached into his brief case and tossed a soft pack of Malboros
on the desk.  I took one out.
	"You got a light?"
	He handed me his lighter and fired up one for himself.
	"Now what is it you want from me, Brian?  Yeah, I'm gay.  I have
been all my life.  So what?"
	"So nothing," I said, "except that you and Coach Tate make fun of
effeminate guys."
	Silence.
	"You guys act toward them like you think they're gay and that being
gay is like being the scum of the earth."
	More silence.
	"It's gotta stop, man.  You've got to stop razzing those guys.
They can't help the way they are, and you fucking well know it.  You
embarrassed the shit out of that kid today, and you only added to the
humiliation he has to put up with every day from the other guys."
	"Well, no guy has to be effeminate."
	"Oh, man.  Get a life!  I probably know three hundred gay guys, and
maybe fifty of them are effeminate.  Some more than others, of course.  But
you can't judge a guy by the way he holds his wrist.  Surely you know
that."
	"What's your point?"
	"My point is, you and I are gay.  And so is Coach Tate, I think.
We happen to be the masculine type of gay guys, so nobody thinks we're gay.
Those poor fuckers who are limp-wristed may or may not be gay.  But we know
we are, man.  So why pick on 'em?"
	"I do it to keep my image up."  He spoke softly, almost
apologetically.
	"Well, you don't need to, man.  What's your first name?"
	"Eric.  Why?"
	"Just wondering.  That's a real masculine name.  You're a real
masculine guy, well built, very cute looking."
	He smiled when I said that, but blushed a little, too.
	"You didn't think I had noticed," I asked.
	"Well..."
	"And you think I'm cute, too, don't you?"
	He didn't say anything.
	"Don't you think I'm cute?"
	"Yes.  I think you're very cute.  And very hot."
	I started toying with my foreskin.
	"And if you don't stop doing that, I'm gonna cream my pants."
	I laughed, and he finally saw the humor in what he had said and
laughed, too.
	I turned around to shut and lock the office door.  I looked behind
the small curtain that was right over the desk, and, sure enough, it was a
window into the shower room.  I could still see the faint outline of TATE
spelled out in my cum.
	"What the hell are you doing," he asked.
	"What do you think I'm doing?  I'm just letting you know I'm ready
if you are.  You want me, don't you?"
	"God, Brian, don't do this to me.  You know I want you.  But I'd
lose my job so fast it would make your head swim if anyone found out that
you and I had sex anywhere, much less here."
	"Well, I'm damn sure not going to tell.  And I figure you won't.
Does Coach Tate know you're gay?"
	"Yes.  And you're right.  He's gay, too, or bi.  We ran into each
other at a gay bar when I was a sophomore in college.  I had gone to school
here, so we already knew each other.  When he hired me, he said he was glad
to be out to someone at school and that he and I would get along fine."
	"You guys ever do anything?"
	"Oh, shit, man.  Don't ask me that."
	"I take that to be a 'yes.'"
	The whole time this conversation was going on, I was rubbing my
foreskin back and forth over the head of my cock.  By then, I was rock
hard, and the head of my cock was slick with precum.  I walked around to
where he was sitting and stood in front of him.  I didn't say anything, but
my cock was in a place where he could take it into his mouth if he wanted
to with minimal effort.  A long string of precum dripped off the end and
onto the floor.
	I could tell the guy was in agony.  I knew he badly wanted to suck
my dick.  His hand moved toward it tentatively.  Then he took it and licked
the head under my skin.
	"Oh, man.  I've always wanted to do that.  I've never been with an
uncut guy before."
	"Did you like doing it," I asked coyly.
	"Yeah.  It's so soft and smooth, but hard at the same time."
	"Stand up," I said, and he complied.
	"I see you're boned up pretty good here, Eric."  I started rubbing
his cock through the tight polyester shorts he was wearing, and he moaned
audibly.  I pulled his shorts down, and he stepped out of them.  He was
naked underneath, no jockstrap or anything.  "Let's take care of each
other," I said, as I pulled him to the floor.
	We quickly got into the sixty-nine position, and we were slurping
and sucking on each other in an instant.  He was definitely a moaner, and I
did my share of moaning, too.
	"God, you suck good cock," I said.
	"You ain't so bad yourself," he said.
	We continued sucking and slurping each other for a few more
minutes.  He pulled off me and told me he was about to come.  I did the
okay sign with my hand to let him know I'd take his load.  He put my cock
back in his mouth, and, within seconds, we both came.  We licked each other
clean, and then he kissed me.  I returned the kiss with as much passion as
it had been given.
	"You're a great guy, Eric.  So how about letting up on the fem
guys?"
	"I'll try, Brian.  That's all I can promise.  It's an old habit,
though."
	"Old habits can be broken, though."
	"I know.  And I know you're right.  And look, let's don't do this
again, okay?  Let's wait until you graduate.  Then we can have a giant
suckfest.  I know Tate will want in on it, too."
	"Okay, Eric.  One more kiss before I go?"
	He leaned forward, and we kissed deeply.
	"That's enough, now.  If we do that again, I'll be hard again in no
time," he said.
	"Sure, coach."  With that I picked up my towel and tape recorder,
and left the office.

	Don's brother Mike, who is also gay, often ate with us on Monday
nights.  I'm not sure why or how it started, but he was there that night.
After dinner, I told them the story of what had happened at school and
played the tape for them.
	"Jesus Christ, you're a ballsy guy," Mike said.
	"Well, I'm proud as hell of you, Brian," Don said.
	"Oh, me, too," Mike interjected.  "I just don't think I would have
had the balls to do that."
	"What are you going to do with the tape," Don asked.
	"Nothing.  Unless Eric doesn't stop making fun of guys."
	"What's this guy's full name," Mike asked.
	"Eric Matthews.  He's twenty-three.  Do you know him?"
	"His voice sounded really familiar to me," Mike said.  He, too was
twenty-three.
	"I know.  It sounded familiar to me, too," Don said.  "Wasn't there
an Eric Matthews who lived down the street from us when we were kids?"
	"There damn sure was.  We were pretty good friends, too, he and I.
We never did anything sexual, but he sure was cute.  I'll bet it's the same
guy."
	"Damn.  Wouldn't that be a coincidence," I said.  "Did you know he
was gay?"
	"I sure didn't.  Hell, I haven't thought about him in years.  I'd
like to meet up with him again, though," Mike said.  Mike had had
boyfriends off and on over the years, but he was currently looking.
	"We could have him over," Don said.  "He knows all three of us, so
it won't be awkward."
	"You want me to ask him," I asked.
	"Sure," Mike said.  "You never know what might develop."

	Coach Tate wasn't there the next day either, so Eric had the class
again.  Ordinarily, seventh period was a planning time for him, and he got
roped into taking over for Tate.  The class went extremely well.  I saw him
talking privately with the guy he had insulted the day before.  They shook
hands when the conversation was finished, so I assumed Eric must have
apologized.  The boy was smiling when he rejoined the group.  Later, I saw
him talking to one of the other effeminate boys who was a friend of his,
and they did a high-five at the end of their conversation.  I was proud of
Eric for apologizing, especially since I hadn't even mentioned that.
	After I showered and got dressed, I went to the coaches' office.
	"You got a minute?"
	He smiled.  "Yeah, but leave the door open."
	I laughed.
	"Did you apologize to that kid for yesterday?"
	He nodded.  "I thought about what you said all last night, and I
felt really stupid and guilty.  Thanks, Brian."
	"Listen, the reason I came in here wasn't really about that.  Last
night, my boyfriend and his brother and I were talking about you, and. . ."
	"Is this going to embarrass me?"
	"Oh, no.  I told them what happened, though.  It turns out, they
both know you.  Or, at least, they think they do.  Don and Mike Eubanks?
Do those names sound familiar?"
	It took about a second for him to remember.  Then he broke out into
a broad grin.  "Do they?  I had a crush on Don for years when I was a kid.
I never imagined he was gay, though."
	"Well, he is gay, and he _is_ spoken for.  By me."
	"Damn."
	"Mike's gay, too.  We were wondering if you'd like to have dinner
with us sometime."
	"Mike's gay?  You're shitting me."
	"I'm not shitting you.  What about dinner?"
	"Man, I'd love to.  When were you thinking?"
	"How about tonight," I asked.
	"Sure.  That would be great.  God, I can't believe it.  The Eubanks
brothers both gay, and you and all..."
	"Seven o'clock good for you?"  I wrote down our address.
	"Sure.  I'll see you then."
	I called Don from my car phone and told him Eric had accepted.  He
sounded genuinely pleased and said he'd call Mike.  We talked about the
menu, and we decided to make it simple.  I would stop at the grocery store
on my way home and pick up some nice steaks.  We'd cook those on the grill,
bake some potatoes, make a salad, steam some broccoli, and serve a cake
from the bakery.
	Eric got there promptly at seven.  Mike was already there, as were
Don and I, and we settled down for drinks.  Eric and the brothers got
reacquainted, talked about guys they had known, and generally decided they
had all been fools not to come out to one another back in the eighth grade.
I did the cooking, and, if the compliments were sincere, everyone enjoyed
it.  Mike and Eric left together to "go have a drink," but Don and I were
pretty sure what would really happen that night.  The next day in school,
Eric thanked me for a wonderful evening.
	"Mike and I are going to see each other again," he told me.
	"That's great.  You're both really nice guys, and I hope you enjoy
each other."