Date: Sun, 06 May 2001 21:10:56 -0700
From: The Pecman <thepecman@yahoo.com>
Subject: Groovy Kind of Love 1-4 (t/t, HS, 1st, HS, size, mast, oral, anal)

GROOVY KIND OF LOVE
*******************

-----------------------------------------------------------
Author's Introduction

The story that follows is my first work of fiction. As a
longtime non-fiction writer and occasional journalist, I've
been published many times over the years under various
names. I never felt the need to try my hand at fiction
before, but after recently enjoying some of the stories on
the ASSGM and Nifty websites and erotic fiction newsgroups,
I thought I'd give something back for a change.

Some of this story is autobiographical, or at least loosely
based on things that really happened to me. Some of it
falls into the category of "I wish it happened this way."
Other parts are completely fictional, while a few are
closer to "it almost happened," or even "I wish this had
never happened at all." More than I'd like to admit is 100%
true, but I've changed most of the names, dates, and
locations to protect everyone involved, innocent and
guilty.

The usual restrictions apply: don't read this if you're
offended by sexually-explicit male homoerotic material, or
if you're under 18. And since most of the story takes place
in the halcyon days from 1968 to 1970, my characters don't
practice safe sex. Things are different nowadays.

Note that this is a revised version of the story uploaded
to various Usenet newsgroups in early April of 2001.
Several chapters have been combined, but virtually all of
the original text has been retained (with several vital
additions and corrections, totaling about 600 additional
words). The text may be reprinted anywhere on the Net,
without permission, so long as it's done intact, without
a single word changed, and preserving my copyright and
Email address. And that's c)2001 by
ThePecman@yahoo.com. All rights reserved.

Constructive criticisms are welcome; spams and other
annoyances will be flushed so fast, your head will spin.

On with the show.

--The Pecman
  Los Angeles, CA
  5 May 2001

-----------------------------------------------------------

"When I'm feelin' blue
all I have to do
is take a look at you...
then I'm not so blue

When you're close to me
I can feel your heartbeat
I can hear you breathing in my ear.

Wouldn't you agree
baby you and me
got a groovy kind of love?"

--------------------------------------------------
music & lyrics by Toni Wine and Carole Bayer Sager
c) 1966. All rights reserved.
Published by Screen Gems-EMI Music, Inc.
Administered by BMI.
--------------------------------------------------


Chapter 1

It was the kind of perfect summer day you hope will never
end. I floated lazily on a rubber raft in the Gulf of
Mexico, oblivious to the noisy splashes and cries of the
swimmers and tourists around me. The sky was the most
beautiful shade of blue you can imagine, and there wasn't a
cloud in sight. A gentle breeze blew in from the East. For
all I knew, I was in the middle of the ocean. The smell of
salt water was overpowering, and the hot Florida sun was
searing, but I didn't care. I had recently turned 13,
officially making me a teenager. Life was great.

It was the last Sunday of August, 1968, in St. Petersburg,
Florida -- the very last weekend before school started. The
public address speakers by the lifeguard stand blasted out
The Happenings' "See You in September," a golden oldie from
a couple of years before. I hummed along with the music as
the waves gently rocked me up and down. The cool seawater
sloshed over the raft, soothing my sunburn-ravaged chest
and legs.

Just as the last notes of the song faded and the WLCY
deejay began his endless chatter, I sensed a sudden
premonition. It seemed impossible. Everything was so
perfect: the weather was wonderful, and the raft couldn't
be more comfortable. But despite the near-summer scene, I
knew there was a black cloud on the distant horizon.

I was dreading the first day of school: 9th Grade. Just the
thought of it made me wince. For the past few years, I'd
been going to an advanced school in town for brainy kids --
"The LaFontaine Institute for Gifted Children." I'd made it
up to 7th grade okay, but over the last six months, my
grades had started to slide. I just didn't seem to give a
damn anymore.

As if to echo my thoughts, the radio began playing a new
song -- "Give a Damn," by Spanky & Our Gang. I giggled. It
wasn't often you heard that word on the radio, at least not
in 1968.

I sighed. Since I was little, I had always been the brain
in school. A week after I started elementary, they'd bumped
me up to third grade when I was just six. I spent the next
four years being tormented and antagonized by most of the
other kids, who were always older than I was. At least when
I was at the LaFontaine school, I was surrounded by other
brainy nerds, most of whom weren't much of a threat to me.
But my parents were so furious at my mediocre grades,
they'd given me the death sentence: tomorrow, they were
making me go back to public school. Dad said if I pulled my
grades back up, and proved I could be a disciplined
student, they'd consider letting me go back to LaFontaine -
- next year.

I felt overcome by a terrible foreboding. I knew most of
the kids in high school would be bigger and at least two
years older than me. Without the relative sanctity of the
private school, now I was getting thrown to the wolves. I'd
already had nightmares about how I was going to deal with
regular school kids again, for the first time in a long
time. But I figured I'd get through it somehow; either my
smartass mouth or my fast-thinking brain would keep me out
of trouble. I grinned, remembering some of the mischief my
friends and I had gotten into the year before. All innocent
fun, but Jesus, we sure drove the teachers nuts.

At least Tampa Central High was bound to be easier than the
LaFontaine, I thought. No advanced classes, no 20 pages'
worth of homework every night. This is gonna be a piece of
cake. I grinned to myself and started to carefully roll
over on my back. Easy does it, I thought, taking care to
not to lose my balance on the raft. I sighed with relief.
The cool water felt good on my back, which I knew without
looking was already red and sunburned after a day at the
beach. My skin would probably be peeling for a week, but I
was too happy to care.

Suddenly, without warning, I felt the raft lift up in the
air and flip over. Still half asleep, I groggily tried to
open up my mouth to yell, but all I got for my efforts was
a throat full of salt water.

"Gotcha, fuckwad!"

I floundered, choking and spitting, and grabbed the raft
only to see my best friend Schuyler -- "Sky" for short --
who was treading water five feet away, hysterical with
laughter.

"You dick!" I screamed.

I tore after him in the surf, while he raced away as fast
as he could. He was a decent enough swimmer, but he was no
match for me; eight years on local swim teams had given me
an edge he couldn't possibly beat. I caught up with him in
no time, grabbed him by the neck and yanked him under water
as hard as I could. After a few seconds, I pulled him back
up to the surface and yelled at him as loud as I could.

"You give, asswipe?"

Sky could only glub, but I could tell he was still almost
doubled-over in laughter. I grabbed him again, and pulled
him down even deeper, this time locking my muscular legs
around him. Ten long seconds passed, while I poked him in
the ribs a couple of times, determined to go for victory.
He fought me valiantly, but finally nodded in defeat,
bubbled up to the surface, then spit out a mouthful of
saltwater, still laughing.

"Alright, alright, Wil -- I give!" he said, coughing and
sputtering.

I playfully spit a stream of water in his face and laughed
maniacally. After pausing to catch his breath, Sky suddenly
splashed me right back, which unleashed an immediate and
intense tidal wave battle between the two of us. After a
few minutes, we finally declared it a draw, and we floated
in the water and laughed hysterically.

This was the kind of relationship my best friend and I'd
had for almost as long as either of us could remember. Sky
was kind of like the older brother I never had. We'd been
through many adventures together, usually with him daring
me to do something stupid, and me following, like an idiot.
When we were little kids, he once goaded me into throwing a
rock through a school window; little did either of us know
our teacher was still in the classroom at the time. Oh
Halloween, we covered car windshields with shaving cream,
and even once broke into an abandoned house on Bayshore
Boulevard. I had my first cigarette with Sky. Last summer,
he dared me to jump off the downtown bridge into Tampa Bay,
and damned if I didn't do it -- with my clothes on, yet.
Little did I know how many people had gotten hurt trying to
do it at low tide, but I was stupid and lucky in those
days.

Sky's family lived just a couple of blocks down from us on
El Prado Street in Tampa. Even though he was a almost two
years older than me, we'd been kind of thrust together when
I got advanced into third grade in school. Sky was one of
the few kids I knew who never seemed to care about our age
difference. He actually treated me like an equal during all
the years we were together. Even when we both didn't see
each other every day, after I started going to the
Institute -- "Brainiac school," he called it -- we still
hung out occasionally after school and on weekends.

Despite my brains -- my mother and father constantly
reminded me that I was supposed to be a genius and hounded
me about my grades -- I always let my friend get me in
trouble. I honestly didn't know why, and I didn't care. I
guess it was just the way it was meant to be: Wil and Sky,
Sky and Wil... we were the dynamic duo, just like Batman &
Robin on TV.

We grabbed my raft, which was dangerously close to drifting
out to sea, and leisurely dog-paddled back to shore,
laughing and cursing each other under our breath.

"THERE you boys are!" yelled an angry female voice from the
shore. We looked up to see Sky's older sister, Carol,
looking reasonably-cool in dark glasses and a tight-fitting
bathing suit that left little to the imagination.

"We were ready to call the lifeguards and have them drag
you back in!" she yelled. "C'mon, we've gotta go, now.
Mom's really pissed!"

"Shaddup, Carol," Sky snapped as we sloshed to shore.
"We're here, so just can it." He shot her The Look of Doom.

Sky didn't get along well with his sister, who was already
18. She glared at both of us. I grinned, and her face
softened as she laughed, then shook her head. Somehow,
Carol always liked me, and I liked her, too. I dunno what
it was -- we had some kind of connection, I guess, like the
"good vibrations" in the song. I caught myself glancing
down at her breasts, which were looking awesome today. I
felt a stirring in my bathing suit, which felt tighter than
normal.

"I'm sorry, Carol," I said, sincerely. "It's all my fault.
Sky was just trying to bring me back in. Tell your mom it
wasn't him this time."

She rolled her eyes. She knew neither of us was ever up to
any good, especially when we were together,

"Alright, you two," she said, exasperated, "but you better
watch out -- one more screw-up, and your beach days are
numbered."

She swatted our behinds, and we scooted across the hot sand
and across the parking lot, hopping all the way on our
burning toes.

Just as we reached the family car, Sky jabbed me in the
ribs. "Pssst! Wil!"

"What?" I hissed back.

He gave me a conspiratorial look. "Didja catch the pubes in
her suit?" he whispered. I glanced back to his mom and
sister, who were trundling back to the car with an ice
chest, a folding chair, and a beach umbrella.

"What're you talking about, doofus?" I whispered back,
thoroughly confused.

He grinned and pointed down with his eyes. Quizzically, I
followed the view just as Carol walked up to our parking
space. Sure enough, I could see there were a couple of
errant curly light brown hairs visible in the very crotch
of her bathing suit. I literally fell down laughing, and
Sky grinned like a hyena. He took one look at me, then
burst out laughing at the top of his lungs. He wound up on
his hands and knees on the pavement right next to me,
chortling until tears of laughter rolled down his face.

"What're they laughing about?" asked his Mom, who was
wearing a large sun hat. By then, both of us had dissolved
into disheveled heaps on the hot asphalt.

Carol frowned. Somehow, she knew she was the butt of a
joke, and she didn't like it one bit. "Mother," she wailed,
"they've been acting like complete idiots all afternoon!"

Sky's mother rolled her eyes and said patiently, "Carol,
they're just boys being boys." She unlocked the doors, and
pointed inside, with a no-nonsense look on her face. "We've
got to get back home, now, you two. And don't forget,
Schuyler -- it's the first day of school tomorrow!"

That did it. Sky and I both winced. He hated it when his
mom or dad called him by his real name.

"That's right, Mom," Carol echoed. "Both our little boys
are starting High School tomorrow!" She shot Sky a
withering smile. Our laughter stopped immediately as the
reality of our fate hit us.

That meant that summer was almost officially over.
Dejectedly, we scrambled up, brushed the sand off our
butts, and crawled in the back seat. Sky slammed the car
door shut, and we rode the 25-mile trip over Gandy Bridge
back to Tampa in silence, each of us lost in our own
thoughts.



Chapter 2

"You scared about tomorrow?" Sky asked, bouncing a
Superball off the ceiling of his incredibly-messy room.

We both lay on his bed, still wearing our now-bone-dry
bathing suits, and nursing our sunburns from the day at the
beach. We'd just finished wolfing down some McDonald
burgers that we'd picked up on the way home. I had my hands
behind my head, still not sure if I should tell my friend
about my gnawing fear.

"I dunno... I guess a little," I muttered. "Aaaaa, look --
if nothing else, there should be about 600 other new ninth-
graders that'll be as screwed-up as we are."

"Good point," he replied, as he continued to idly bounce
the ball against the ceiling. In the distance, I heard
Sky's sister yell from a room down the hall, "Mother! Tell
him to stop making that noise!"

I punched him lightly in the shoulder. "Sky, you better cut
it out. The next thing you know, your Dad'll be in here,
and he'll slap the shit out of both of us."

He grinned his patented million-dollar smile. My heart
skipped a beat. Sky was amazingly good-looking -- blonde
hair, blue eyes, perfect teeth, and he was never without
that little gold chain around his neck. Sky was probably
the closest thing to a TV star I'd ever met in real life. I
wasn't the only one who noticed. His mother always
theorized he got away with as much as he did simply because
of his drop-dead gorgeous looks, but his sister insisted he
was the Devil in disguise. I grinned back at him. I think
they were both right.

As for me, I dunno why, but lately, something about the way
Sky looked when he smiled at me gave me a weird feeling in
my stomach. At times like this, when I was this close to
him, my mouth went dry, and it confused the hell out of me.
I didn't know exactly how actors or male models got a job
or what they did, but I did know in the back of my mind
that Sky could easily be one, once he got older.

"Alright," he said, "Not because of Carol, but only because
you asked me nicely," he said, chuckling. He reached up and
put the ball back on a shelf behind him, then turned back
to me. "So, you gonna go out for the swim team at school,
Wil?"

"Maybe," I said, nonchalantly. I'd thought about it. I was
probably the most un-athletic kid on two feet in the known
universe, but the one thing I could do was swim. At the
ripe old age of 13, I had racked up an impressive pile of
ribbons, and had recently helped my team win trophies for
the 200-meter relay. But our opponents at that level had
generally been pretty lame.

Sky, on the other hand, was a natural athlete. You name it
-- baseball, basketball, track... he was an ace at
everything. He probably outweighed me by 20 or 30 pounds
and was at least four inches taller than I was, since he
was already 15. Like me, Sky had a pretty decent chest, but
his arms were almost twice as big as mine, like he had
little footballs in his biceps. I thought he was at least
as muscular as Robin, the Boy Wonder on TV.

But I was no slouch, either. Because of all my swimming
over the years, I didn't have a spec of fat on me. I was
more wiry, and even though I wore glasses and was just
barely five feet tall, I didn't take shit from anybody.
Luckily for me, most of the time Sky had been there to beat
the crap out of any assailants bigger than me. Maybe that's
why we got along so well together -- "the brains and the
brawn," as he put it.

"My brother says high school is a piece of cake," he said,
leaning over to turn the radio on. A familiar Beatles tune
popped out of the speaker. "You're not gonna wear that
Brainiac geek outfit of yours to school tomorrow, right?"
he asked idly.

I shook my head. For the last two years, I had to wear
matching coats, ties and pants when I attended the
LaFontaine Institute. Sky was right. It was a geeky
uniform, and I never felt comfortable with it on. "I think
I'll just wear the kind of stuff you wear," I said
hopefully, knowing full well I'd never look as good in it
as he did.

"And don't forget," he said, as he slid back on the bed
next to me. "You gotta dress out for Phys Ed. That means
the official shorts, showers and everything."

"Like I care," I said, trying to look nonchalant while a
cold chill hit me in the pit of my stomach. I already knew
what to expect, having been through the painful ordeal of
locker rooms every past summer on the swim team. Even
though I was a little short for my age, I was blessed -- or
cursed, depending on how you looked at it -- with the
family trait, which was a large penis.

When I say "large," I mean, abnormally out-of-proportion
with the rest of me. Make no mistake: this was a man-sized
dick on a boy. I'd always been a little embarrassed getting
undressed in public places. It'd been even worse over this
past summer. Lately, I'd been subjected to occasional
stares and ridicule from some of the other swimmers, but
the coach stopped that pretty quick, calling them "a buncha
homos" and telling my teammates to shut up. Later, in the
privacy of his office, Coach gently advised me that I might
want to get a slightly larger pair of Speedos or maybe a
jockstrap, since I clearly was having a little trouble
keeping everything in my suit. I looked down at the floor
during his lecture, but he laughed and said, "listen, son
-- don't let the others ride ya. Trust me, you're totally
normal. And if you ask me, they're just jealous. The day'll
come when you'll be glad you're the way you are. And so
will your girlfriends." He gave me a knowing wink and
pushed me gently through the door and back to my locker.

In addition to my prodigious member, I was embarrassed by
my relative lack of body hair. I'd never seen Sky naked
before, but judging by his legs, he was already about ten
times hairier than me. I stole a glance over at him on the
bed, and could see a small forest of blond hairs growing on
his thighs. He even had a little thatch under his arms. Me,
I had a only few brown wisps down below, and that was about
it. I felt like a little kid next to a real teenager.

"I said, are you LISTENING to me?" Sky asked, exasperated.

I looked up to see him staring at me like I'd gone to Mars.
I hadn't heard a single word he'd said.

"Sorry, man," I said, distractedly. "I'm just thinking
about tomorrow."

He nodded at me. "Yeah. You've never had to take a shower
at Phys Ed before, right?"

I winced. The closest thing we'd had to Phys Ed at
LaFontaine was the Chess Club. "No," I said. "But don't
forget, I've been on the Junior Tampa swim team for six
years. I know what guys look like naked."

"Yeah," he said, giving me an amused grin, "but those are
just little kids, Wil. You're gonna be with the big boys,
now -- real teenagers! I bet you'll pop a woodie! Shit, you
got one right now!" He pointed over to my crotch and
giggled.

I looked down. My bathing suit looked totally normal to me,
but I gulped, realizing I had a noticeably-bigger bulge
than Sky.

"It is not!" I protested. "Trust me, you'd _know_ if I had
a boner, you dip-shit."

I slid off the bed, and started for the door. "Look, Sky, I
gotta get home. I need to get ready for school."

"No, wait!" Sky ran to the door, blocking my exit. "You got
a little boner, don'tcha!" he taunted, wiggling his
eyebrows.

I was getting mad, and my face was getting redder every
second.

"You pea-brain, I said I didn't!"

"Then what's _this?_" he said, gently poking me in the
groin.

I recoiled. "Watch that, you homo!"

_"You're_ the homo!"

"I'm not the one poking somebody in the dick, dork-face!" I
snapped. I nervously adjusted my family jewels.

He giggled again. It was the same infectious laugh that I
always loved -- not vicious, not cruel, but nonetheless a
mischievous laugh, from somebody who was definitely up to
no good.

I finally grinned and shook my head. It was impossible for
anyone to stay mad at Sky for very long.

"C'mon, man," taunted. "You've got a boner. My older
brother Bill and I get 'em all the time. Show me."

I gulped. I'd heard some whispers at school about "beating
off" a couple of months ago. I'd looked up 'masturbation'
in the reference books at the library months ago, and had
the general idea of what it was all about. I'd tried it a
couple of times in private, but aside from a curiously
pleasant feeling, I didn't get much out of it. I didn't see
what the point was. But I was still acutely embarrassed
about my oversized endowment.

Sky frowned. "Alright, look -- I'll show you mine. I got
nothing to hide." With that, he yanked his bathing suit
down to his ankles, exposing a skinny, boyish 5-inch
erection, with a decent-sized patch of blonde hairs on top.
A tiny trail of curls led up to his belly-button. He looked
at me, expectantly.

"Pretty big, eh?" he said, wiggling it comically from side
to side. "This is what a real teenage boner looks like,
Wil."

Despite our closeness, Sky had never seen me naked before.
I guess I was just too modest up 'till now. Shit, I thought
as I felt the blood surge to my groin. He's gonna laugh at
me for sure, just like the guys on the swim team.

"Chicken!" He grinned and started squawking like a bird and
flapping his imaginary wings, while kicking his bathing
suit across the room.

"Alright," I said at last. "But if you laugh at me, I
swear, Sky, I'll kick your ass."

Sky grinned evilly. "I bet yours isn't nearly as big as
mine! Watch this!" He suddenly let go of his erection and
made it bounce up and down, using his powerful stomach
muscles. He giggled proudly. I felt my groin harden in
seconds, and my heart was pounding in my ears. My mouth
felt dry.

"C'mon, Wil," he taunted. "Let's see it! You've seen mine
already." He reached down and wiggled it back and forth,
leering at me. "I dare ya."

I sighed. Silently, I took two steps forward, pulled down
my bathing suit, and revealed my prized possession in all
its glory. It throbbed in time with my heartbeat, and began
to stiffen almost straight up.

"There. Happy now?" I grimaced as I looked down in
embarrassment, and braced myself for the jeers of laughter
that I knew would inevitably follow.

Much to my surprise, he was silent. I looked up and saw his
face. Sky was wide-eyed and stared at my groin, his mouth
agape. I trembled slightly and felt a wave of shame wash
over me.

"Holy shit!" he whispered, sitting down on the bed. "I
thought my brother's was big, but yours..." He shook his
head in disbelief.

"And I barely have any pubic hair at all," I wailed. "I'm
gonna be a goddamned freak at Phys Ed tomorrow."

Sky was still wide-eyed. "Jesus, Wil, I'm sorry, man," he
said, quietly. "I didn't mean to embarrass you. How big is
it, anyway?"

I rolled my eyes. "Does it really matter?"

"Lemme grab a ruler."

He raced across to his desk and grabbed a foot-long wooden
stick and pushed me down on the edge of the bed.

"I dunno," I protested, trying to sit up. "I think it's
like seven or eight inches..."

"Hold still!" he hissed. "I wanna see this for myself."

I felt strangely excited. Every time he touched my groin, I
felt a little electric shock roll through me. Why was I
feeling this way? I felt something like this...when? Shit -
- earlier today, when I saw Carol in her bathing suit! What
was this all about?

Sky let out a low whistle. "Fuck, man! You're almost nine-
and-a-half inches, hard! Mine's like half that! My
brother's was just six inches, and he's in college! Mine's
five inches on a _good_ day!"

I didn't know what to say. Sky's was the first erect penis
I had ever seen, other than my own.

He leaned over to get a closer look. "Man, you got a lot of
veins in this thing," he whispered, admiringly. "I can
barely get my hand around it." he said. He wiggled my
engorged member back and forth like it was some kind of
obscene rubber doll.

"OW! Watch it, man!" I cried.

"Ssssh, keep it down! Lemme lock the door." He raced across
the room and clicked the knob.

Good idea, I thought. It'd be just great if his mom and dad
walked in on us now.

Breathlessly, he climbed up on the bed beside me. "You
shootin' sperm yet?"

"What?" I asked.

"You know... cumming!"

I was puzzled. I had read three entire books on sex in the
public library, but never saw that word before. (What can I
say? It was only 1968, and the sexual revolution hadn't
quite hit yet, at least not in Tampa.)

Suddenly, it dawned on me. "Oh, you mean an _orgasm_," I
said. "I dunno... maybe I did and just didn't know it."

Sky giggled uncontrollably and fell back on the bed in
hysterics. "You've got a nine-inch dick and you haven't
shot any sperm yet? Jesus, you don't know anything, Wil!
Some genius you are!"

I frowned. Usually, between me and Sky, I was the one to
discover this stuff first. Maybe that was my problem: I
read too many encyclopedias, and not as many issues of
_Playboy_, like the ones I occasionally stole on the sly
from my Dad.

Sky sat on the edge of the bed and spread open his muscular
legs. "Lemme show you, Wil," he said, with an air of
excitement. "Watch me. Just grab it, and move your hand up
and down like this."

I stood and stared as Sky lay back and started pleasuring
himself. I tried to imitate his hand moves, but his
technique didn't work for me. "Am I supposed to feel
something yet?" I asked.

Sky grinned. "Trust me, you will. Here, lemme do it for
ya." With that, he sat up, reached over, and grabbed my
iron-hard erection. Tingles of pleasure shot through my
body.

"Fuck, this thing really is huge!" he said, admiringly.
"You're hung like a horse, you know it?"

Where does this guy get these words? "Hung?" I asked,
quizzically.

He grinned. "That means you have a big cock, dummy. And
shit, look at your balls," he marveled, cupping them gently
in his left hand. "My nuts are like, well, walnuts. But
your balls are almost the size of eggs! Man, this is too
cool," he said, in a low voice, not taking his eyes off me.

I looked down and did a quick size comparison. I was
embarrassed to see that mine was at least three times as
big as Sky's boyish equipment. I sighed. Maybe I really was
a freak.

Sky leaned closer, letting his erection bounce down, then
grasped my member firmly, but gently. "Just lay back," he
whispered, breathlessly. "My brother Bill and I did this
over Spring break."

I did as he asked and lay back, propping myself up with my
elbows to watch. After a minute or two, I began to feel
something stirring. My pulse quickened, and I started
panting.

"You feelin' it yet?" Sky asked. He used his other hand to
fondle my balls, and I felt another twinge surge through my
groin.

I gulped and nodded. "A little," I said, meekly.

"Lemme try something else." Kneeling on the floor, he took
hold of me with both hands, stroking me faster. Oh, man, I
thought, my heart racing. NOW, something was happening. I
felt some kind of spark rocket through my body. Was it...

"Shit!" I panted. "Sky, you've gotta stop! I think I'm
gonna pee!"

"No, this is it," he whispered, and he started pumping
faster. Seconds later, I felt something warm moving up from
deep inside me, like the mercury rising in a thermometer.
Before I knew what was happening, fireworks went off and I
erupted like a volcano. Milliseconds later, I felt
something hot, wet and slimy spatter onto my belly. I
moaned and fell back on the bed, exhausted, as if I had
just swam a 3-minute mile.

Sky leaned over close to me. "How was that?" he asked,
beaming.

"Holy... holy shit," I gasped. "I guess... I guess THAT was
an orgasm." I tried to gather my wits as I caught my
breath. "I gotta tell the _Encyclopedia Britannica_ they
left a few things out of the Sex Ed chapter."

We laughed together. Sky leaned over and lay beside me on
one elbow, his warm skin almost touching my left side.

"I told ya! Isn't it great?" he grinned. "Now, it's my
turn. I gotta shoot... my balls really ache, man. That's
what happens when you really gotta do it. Here I go!"

Sky lay back beside me and started pumping his little tool.
Looking at it more closely, I could see it was like a
miniature replica of mine, only hairy. After just a dozen
quick strokes, he reached down with his other hand, grabbed
his testicles and started panting.

"Oh, god... I'm cumming!" Sky suddenly tensed his back and
thrust his hips as spurt after spurt of white goop shot out
of him like a cannon, hitting him in the chin and all over
his muscular chest, which rose and fell. We lay there for a
few seconds, exhausted.

"Shit!" I whispered, impressed with the intensity and
volume of his performance. "Is it always like that for
you?" I looked down at my own sticky groin and belly, which
had just a few drops of clear liquid on it, and then looked
at Sky's body. "Hey," I said. "Yours is all white! Howcum
mine is different?"

He laughed and rolled over slightly. "Howcum your _cum_ is
different, you mean?" He grinned. "My brother says when
most kids start out, they can barely shoot any sperm. I've
been doin' this for almost two years. Now, I shoot just
about as much as my brother," he explained, proudly.

"You've been doing this for that long?" I asked. My face
fell. I didn't think me and Sky had ever had any secrets
from each other before. For once, he had left me out of
something, and it looked like it was something really cool.

Sky looked embarrassed. "Shit, I'm sorry, Wil. My brother
said I shouldn't talk about this stuff to other guys.
They'd think I was a homo or somethin'."

"You mean like a homosexual? A guy who has intercourse with
men?" I asked. I had read about this stuff in the
encyclopedia, but never quite grasped what it was all
about. What I needed was a goddamned book with more
pictures.

Sky wiped off his chest and stomach with a kleenex. "Shit,
Wil," he laughed, "do you always have to sound like a
professor? You know what I mean -- a pervert, a sleaze-
bag... a HOMO!"

I thought for a moment. I sure didn't want to be one of
those. It sounded pretty bad. But it couldn't mean how I
felt when I looked at Sky. This was just being buddies,
right?

"Here," he said, tossing me a tissue, "take this and wipe
yourself off. And be sure to get rid of the evidence in the
trashcan. Carol once discovered my beat-off rag under my
bed, and she razzed me for a week about it."

We sat around naked on his bed and talked for another
twenty minutes about masturbation -- or "beating off" as he
called it, along with half a dozen other names for it. Sky
still marveled at my dick. I was glad he at least didn't
call me a freak, like some of the guys on the swim team
did.

"Is everybody else at school real hairy, Sky?" I asked
nervously.

He shrugged his shoulders. "You've seen my brother -- he's
only four years older than me, and he already shaves and
has chest hair and everything. I guess my family's just
hairier than yours, that's all."

I grinned. "That's 'cause you're all a bunch of apes,
asshole!" I retorted.

"Look, relax, Wil," he said. "You said it yourself --
everybody in high school is scared to death the first day.
They're gonna be so worried about not poppin' a boner in
gym class, they'll be too scared to look at anybody else.
And besides, look at your dick now."

I looked down.

"It looks a lot smaller now," he said. "It's not that much
bigger than mine, now, is it?"

I grabbed the ruler and held it in position. "Almost 5
inches soft," I said.

Sky shook his head in amazement. "Fuck! Mine's only 3,
soft." He looked down at mine, then back at my face and
grinned. "You're pretty cool for a 13 year-old, Wil."

I sighed. "I hope the other guys in the locker room think
so."

My friend laughed. "Just keep your back to the rest of the
guys, leave your towel on, and whatever you do: don't get a
hard-on! They'll probably just ignore you."

I nodded. Then I looked over at the clock by his bed.
"Shit!" I cried. "It's already 7:30! My folks will kill
me!"

I jumped off the bed and tugged on my swimsuit and T-shirt.
"Look, I gotta go, Sky," I said. "I'll see ya at school
tomorrow, OK? We won't know our class schedules 'till
tomorrow, but look for me in the lunchroom at noon!"

"Alright. Get outta here!"

He threw a pillow at me, but I jumped as it sailed past my
head. But before I unlocked the door, he darted over and
put his hand on the knob.

"Look, Wil," he said, quietly. "Don't tell anybody about
this, OK?"

I was startled. "Shit, no, Sky. Just between us."

"You swear?"

"I swear."

"Best friends?"

I grinned. "To the end."

He nodded and playfully punched my arm. I raced home on my
bike and made it back in record time. I walked through the
front door, hoping the coast was clear, and closed it
quietly. As it was, nobody even noticed I was home. Mom,
Dad, and my stupid sister Sharon were all engrossed in
watching _Ed Sullivan_ on TV in the living room.

The coast was clear. I started to tiptoe upstairs, but the
wooden stair step creaked and let out several loud cracks,
giving me away. I winced and braced myself.

"Wil!" called my Mom. "Did you get any dinner at the Jones'
house?"

Won't they ever leave me alone, I thought? "Yes, Mom."

"Did you have a good time at the beach?"

"Yeah." But a much better time in Sky's bedroom, I thought.

"That's nice, honey. Don't forget, you have school
tomorrow!"

I stopped, halfway up the stairs, but refused to turn
around. "I'd rather go back to LaFontaine," I said, trying
to keep the whine out of my voice.

I heard my dad get up off the couch and walk over to the
foot of the stairs. "We've already had this conversation,
William," he said, wearily. "I'm not going to throw away
good money on an expensive private school, only to watch
you get four C's, two D's, and an F again."

I nodded meekly, then trudged the rest of the way up the
stairs.

"Don't worry, son!" Dad called after me. "You'll get to
make a lot of new friends at Tampa Central. You know, your
mother and I went there for high school, and we had a great
time!"

"Yeah, right," I muttered to myself as I made it down the
hall and slammed the door to my room. "Only you weren't two
years younger than everybody else."

I turned off the light, yanked off my swimsuit, threw it in
the hamper, and leapt into bed. I thought about everything
Sky and I had talked about and done at his place. It was
like a whole new world had opened up. Uh-oh. I felt a
stirring between my legs. I leaned back on the pillow and
sighed.

What the hell, I thought. Maybe I can try this again. I
started massaging my groin, and felt it spring to life,
quickly elongating to its full length. Just as I started
leisurely stroking it, my door suddenly burst open and my
stupid little sister yelled out in a sing-song voice, "you
came home laaaaa-aaaaate!"

I quickly yanked the covers up to my chin. "Sharon!" I
yelled at the top of my lungs, "get the hell outta my
room!"

"Mommmmm!" she wailed in the hallway. "Wil said 'hell'
again!"

I'll say a lot worse than that if you don't close the
fucking door, you little bitch, I thought.

"Wil, will you two keep it down?" my father yelled from
downstairs. "We're trying to watch _Ed Sullivan!_"

"Close the door, Sharon, or I'll TICKLE you!" I yelled,
making a move like I was going to jump out of bed. She
squealed, slammed the door, and ran back down the hall.
Christ, I thought, falling back to the pillow. That was too
close. I made a mental note to lock the door from now on.

I got back to business, pulled down the covers, and began
jerking and squeezing in earnest. I began fondling my
balls, like I had seen Sky do. After only a minute, I felt
the now-familiar wave start to build. I vividly remembered
how Sky looked -- muscles straining, a few beads of sweat
on his chest, his hand pumping furiously. I visualized his
tight stomach, which had a row of deep muscular ridges all
the way up to his ribcage.

I felt another surge building from deep inside me. Fuck, I
thought, I'm gonna cum again! I arched my back as the waves
of pleasure shot through my body. This time, the feeling
was only about half as strong as it was an hour ago, and
only a few scant drips trickled down my shaft. But it still
felt great. I leaned back and tried to catch my breath.
God, I could really get to like this "beating off" stuff.

Curiously, I examined my gooey hand. Hmmm, I thought,
taking a cautionary sniff. It was an unusual odor, almost a
little like bleach. I wondered what it'd look like under a
microscope. Maybe I'll save that experiment for another
day, I chuckled. Yawning, I wiped off my hand on my pillow
and fell back, exhausted. Before I knew it, I was fast
asleep, my head filled with confusing and conflicting
visions of sleek, muscular bodies, women with breasts, and
hairy body parts of every size and variety...



Chapter 3

Tampa Central High was a ratty-looking, faded brown-and-
gray stone building, right out of the 1920s School of Bad
Architecture. It was enormous. The front three-story facade
was built nearly half a century ago, and looked ancient,
like a relic from ancient Greece. The back of the school
housed a half a dozen newly-added modern wings, constructed
a couple of years ago after the local politicians had
closed a nearby school, combining the two student bodies.
With more than 2400 students, Tampa Central was the
largest, best-equipped high school in the state.

Promptly at 8:15AM, our busses rolled up to the sidewalk in
front of the school. A large banner hung over the
courtyard, proclaiming "Welcome Class of 1969 - The New
Tampa Central Cheetahs!" As I stumbled down the bus steps,
an obnoxious fat guy yelled through a bull-horn for us to
line up in alphabetical order. I couldn't get over the
culture shock. Compared to my private school, this place
was a madhouse, with teenage boys and girls of every size
and ethnic mix milling about. I glumly stood in the row for
the L's, and nervously glanced around, hoping desperately
to spot my friend Sky. When I got to the front of the line,
I gave my name to a bored-looking woman with a clipboard.

"Wil -- with one 'L'," I said. "Last name, 'Larson," with
an 'O.'"

She handed me an ominous-looking folder that said, "Larson,
William G.," and pointed down to a reinforced steel door on
the far right side of the main building. "That leads down
to hallway 3," she said. "You want room number 311. Your
9th grade homeroom teacher will give you the rest of your
schedule for the semester and give you the orientation for
the first period."

I meekly walked down the hallway, passing by a couple of
jocks with letter jackets on the way. Shit, I thought.
Those guys looked like they were six feet tall already! I
got to homeroom and scanned around for a familiar face,
without success. The teacher made us sit in alphabetical
order, so I got wedged in-between a nerdy red-haired kid
named "Lannigan, Ronald G." and a black girl named "Lillie,
Yolanda R."

Our homeroom teacher, Mrs. Swatts, was a dour, stern-faced
older woman, definitely a no-nonsense type. She droned on
for over an hour, made us fill out forms, handed out crap
for our parents to sign, a map of the school, our daily
class schedules, and basically giving us 'the rules of the
road.' I had to stifle myself from yawning out loud.
Judging by the stupefied looks on everybody's faces, they
were just about as bored as I was.

When Mrs. Swatts asked if we had any questions, everybody
was quiet except for the nerdy kid right in back of me, who
muttered, "yeah, will you please go to hell?" I laughed so
hard, I just about choked. The teacher glared at both of us
and said, "what was that?" I immediately stifled my
laughter and looked down at my desk, but the nerdy guy
behind me quipped, "I said, 'did I just hear the bell?'"

As if to answer his question, the 2nd Period bell sounded
at that very instant, and we all bolted for the doorway.

"Hold it!" the teacher shouted.

We stopped dead in our tracks. She pointed to me and the
nerd.

"I'm keeping my eye on you two," she said. "You wouldn't
want to get sent to the principal's office the very first
day of school, would you?"

We solemnly shook our heads and slinked out into the
hallway, then raced off in separate directions.

The next three periods were a blur, but somehow, I managed
to survive until noon. Finally, lunch. My stomach rumbled
as I entered the school cafeteria. It was immense. There
must've been at least a thousand kids crammed into the
room. My previous school had only had 300 kids, total.
Everybody in the lunchroom seemed to be jabbering at once.
The hubbub was so loud, I could barely hear the radio that
blared on the PA system. It was The Turtles with their new
hit "Elenore."

As I made my way through the food line, I chuckled at the
song's corny lyrics, and started idly humming to the tune,
which I had heard once or twice before. Eh, it's got a good
beat, I could dance to it. Screw that -- I can't dance
worth a shit, I laughed to myself. I handed fifty cents to
the cashier and took a quick glance towards the lunch
tables. Damn. Not an open seat in sight, except for a
couple at the very back of the room.

As I trudged down the cafeteria corridor, I heard a voice
behind me. "Hey! Asshole!" I turned and it was Nerdy Red-
Head from my homeroom class, holding a tray piled with
food. He jogged up to me, laughing.

"Sorry about almost gettin' you in trouble earlier," he
said. "Sometimes, my mouth moves before my brain has a
chance to catch up, ya know?"

I grinned. "Yeah, I see what you mean. I'm Wil."

He grinned and nodded. "I'm Ron, but call me Ronnie. You
find a place to eat, yet?"

I nodded as we walked down the aisle, and I started to
point towards the last two open spots near the far wall.
Just as I did, Ronnie let out a yelp and fell backwards on
the floor with a noisy thud, followed closely behind by his
lunch tray, which splattered pudding, potatoes, and some
greasy meat-like substance all over him and the general
area. I helped him struggle up to his feet, just as a roar
of laughter came from a table behind us.

"That asshole," he muttered. "He tripped me as we were
walking by." He tilted his head to our left.

I glanced over and saw a wide-shouldered kid, at least 16,
sitting with a group of thug-like goons in matching
football jerseys, who were guffawing hysterically and
pointing at us. "Who's that jerk?" I asked.

Ronnie rubbed his shin and flicked some of the mashed
potatoes off his shirt. "That was Scott Michaels," he said,
ruefully. "Him and his little friends are part of the New
Hitler Youth movement here at Tampa Central."

I laughed. "So, do the Nazis here roll over the rest of us
like Poland, send us to the ovens, or what?"

He gave me a sideways glance, like he was surprised I
caught the historical reference. "Yeah. Somethin' like
that. You wanna sit down?"

"Okay -- but don't you need some food?" I asked.

"Aaaa, the food sucks here, anyway," he said making a face.
"My brother says it's swill."

I looked down at my tray. Even without taking a bite, I
suspected he was right. "Tell you what, Ronnie," I
chuckled. "I'll split some swill with you if you'll at
least go back and get us some napkins." He nodded and took
off, taking care to avoid sliding into a pile of squashed
lima beans that was already becoming a traffic hazard.

While I waited for Ron, I found a half-empty table off in
the back corner, and was still looking around frantically
for Sky. If he had the second Lunch period, I was screwed.
Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and a low voice
behind me whispered, "is this where the big-dicked boys
sit?"

"Sky, you asshole!" I cried.

My best friend scooted around and plopped himself beside me
in a chair, immediately grabbing a handful of greasy-
looking French fries from my plate. "What're you waiting
for?" he asked, as he stuffed his face. "Siddown, you
ultra-maroon!"

I grinned and sat next to him, just as Ronnie ran up.

"Oh," he said, dejectedly. "I guess you're out of seats."

Sky looked over and made a face. "Who's the geek?" he said,
in-between mouthfuls.

I stood up. "Hold on -- Sky, this is Ronnie; Ronnie, Sky.
Ronnie's running from the Neo-Nazis and we're gonna smuggle
him through the bunker to the underground." The smaller
boy's face brightened, while Sky looked puzzled.

In a near-perfect German accent, Ronnie quipped, "Klink!
We're goink to haff to zend you to ze Russian Front!"

"You watch _way_ too much TV," Sky laughed as he pulled
over a chair from a nearby table, then turned back to me.
"Why's this kid wearing his lunch?"

Ron's face reddened as he started mopping some gravy off
his shirt.

"A buncha assholes tripped him. Same old crap," I
explained.

Sky shook his head. "Christ, it's the first day of high
school, and already we're running into jerks. Great." He
eyed our new friend. "Shit, Wil," he laughed. "Ronnie's
even shrimpier than you!"

I grinned. I hadn't noticed, but it was true. Maybe I
wouldn't be the shortest kid in 9th grade, after all.

Ron looked up, and grinned. "Yeah, but good things come in
small packages," he said, with a stupid look on his face.

I winced, and playfully tossed a cube of Jello at him,
which bounced harmlessly off his nose. He immediately broke
into a bizarre dead-on Jerry Lewis impression, screaming
"Lady! Oh, LADY!" The three of us laughed so hard, we
almost cried. Sky nearly fell backwards in his chair.

In between our conversation, we wolfed down our food, such
as it was. Ronnie chatted non-stop about the teachers and
curriculum at the school, telling us which kids were OK and
who we should watch out for. It turned out he had the
inside scoop, since his brother had already gone to Tampa
Central the year before, and was now a sophomore in 10th
grade.

Ronnie seemed impressed that I was going out for the swim
team, and that Sky was a shoo-in for football. We compared
our class schedules: I was both pleased and annoyed,
because I had only one period with Sky -- English, my best
subject and Sky's worst -- but I had four with Ronnie,
including homeroom, Geography, American History, and Phys
Ed, which was my last class of the day, at 2:45PM.

The warning bell sounded, so we dumped our plates in the
trash and bounded out the back door. Sky yelled goodbye and
scooted off down the sidewalk, leaving me and Ron to race
back to our lockers to grab our books for the next class.
As it turned out, the lockers were also assigned
alphabetically, just like our seats in homeroom; Ronnie's
was right next to mine, since his last name was Lannigan.

Just as I dropped in my math book, I heard a voice behind
me and froze. "Hey, faggot -- you have a nice lunch?"

I turned around to find this Scott Michaels character
smiling down at us. Was he talking to me? Before I could
answer, Ronnie muttered, "shut up, douche-face."

In an instant, the older boy grabbed him and slammed
against the locker, hard, twisting his arm behind his back.

"I didn't hear what you said, faggot!" he hissed. "What was
that again?"

I felt my face redden with anger. "He said DOUCHE-FACE,
douche-face," I said, gritting my teeth.

Michaels let Ronnie drop to the floor and turned to me. "I
didn't ask for comments from the peanut gallery," he
sneered. "What's your fuckin' problem, asshole?"

My heart was pounding a mile a minute, but my gaze never
wavered from his. "N-n-no problem, man," I started, trying
not to panic. "We're just trying to get to class. Just
leave him alone, okay?"

Scott leaned in uncomfortably close to my face and grabbed
the front of my shirt. I tried to size up my opponent. He
looked to be about five-foot-ten, 150 pounds, and he had
jet-black hair and narrow, beady eyes. I could smell the
remnants of a cigarette on his breath, and I could see the
stubble of the beginnings of a wispy moustache on his face.
His faded football jersey had the number 14 on it, and his
jeans were at least a size too large and were ripped and
frayed along one side. Judging by the visible muscles and
veins in his arms, along with the menacing scowl on his
face, he could probably eat me for lunch and then have
Ronnie for dessert. I clenched my fists, ready for
anything.

The three of us jumped when the final 5th Period bell
sounded. The hallway was deserted except for the three of
us.

Michaels gave me a dirty look and let go of my shirt. "This
isn't over with, fuck-face," he said pointing at me. "You
watch your ass." He sauntered away, laughing quietly as he
turned the corner and disappeared.

Ronnie was practically in tears. "Shit. I'm r-really sorry
to drag you into this, Wil," he stammered. "Scott really
hates my brother, and I guess he hates me, too."

I shook my head. "Forget about it, Ronnie. Look, we're
already late for American History," I said, consulting my
little fold-out map. "Great -- it's just three doors down."

We slinked into the back of the history classroom
unnoticed, just as the teacher was clapping his hands to
get everyone's attention. We made it through that one
unscathed, and an hour later, we were in Mrs. Kester's
English class. Ron sat behind me, and Sky took the seat in
the row immediately to my left -- perfect for him to cheat
off my test papers, just as we'd done successfully all the
way through 6th grade, back in elementary school. Sky
wiggled his eyebrows at me and grinned. I shook my head and
laughed to myself. It was gonna be a long school year.

I stared at the clock for most of the class, and somehow
managed to successfully avoid getting called on by the
teacher. The clock hands moved in slow motion for the
entire hour, but at last, the 7th Period bell sounded. Time
for my moment of truth -- Phys Ed.

"You know we've gotta dress out for PE, right?" asked
Ronnie, nervously.

"I know," I nodded, holding my gym bag. "I've got my stuff
in here."

Silently, we trotted into the Boys' Locker Room, which was
already crowded with at least two hundred loud-talking
students donning the requisite school-approved T-shirts,
gym shorts, and sneakers. I noticed just one or two
familiar faces, and immediately had felt a pang because Sky
wasn't there with us. Ron and I each grabbed adjoining
clothes lockers, and I started unbuttoning my shirt.

"I'm a little nervous about this," Ron whispered to me.
"I'm, uh, not real big on public nudity."

I grinned. "Yeah, I know what you mean, Ronnie. Just get
dressed fast. We'll deal with the showers later."

He nodded his head meekly and finished slipping on his
shoes. I quickly tied up my sneakers and we ran outside to
line up with the rest of the class.

Chuck, the junior assistant coach, separated our class into
three different groups. Every six weeks, we'd rotate
between football, gymnastics, and golf. Next semester would
be basketball, track, and softball. Luckily for me and
Ronnie, we both got tabbed for gymnastics, so we headed
back into the locker room and through a large double-door,
into the indoor basketball court. A dozen large padded mats
had been laid down on the floor, and a fit-looking middle-
aged man, dressed in white shorts and a matching T-shirt,
gestured for us to join the group.

"Listen up, gentlemen," he announced. "I'm Coach Lucas.
We'll be doing basic gymnastics in this class over the next
few weeks. I know some of you would rather do 'real' sports
like softball or football, but trust me -- gymnastics is
just as tough as those are, and it can be just as fun. For
some, it's even more of a challenge, because you're
essentially competing against yourself -- improving your
agility, and giving you basic skills you can use every day
of your life, like balance, timing, and coordination.
Here's the exercises for today."

The minutes went by as we began to imitate his movements.
Sure enough, before long, we were somersaulting like little
kids all over the mats, and falling all over the place
trying to do cartwheels. Ron did a lot better than I did;
he seemed to be a natural, cartwheeling like an expert and
bouncing around like a seasoned pro. The last exercise had
us trying to do headstands, and I felt like a total retard,
unable to hold the position for more than a few seconds.

"Jeez, Ron," I lamented to him in frustration. "I thought
_you_ were supposed to be the dork, and _I_ was supposed to
be the cool swimming champ!"

He grinned. "I guess these things just come easily to those
of us with inherent skill," he said, in a faux British
accent.

"Oh, shaddup, professor!" I laughed, punching him
affectionately in the shoulder. Now I knew how Sky felt
when I tried to act like an intellectual to him.

Finally, the coach blew his whistle. "That's it, boys!" he
yelled. Several students groaned. "Hit the showers. Don't
forget -- they're mandatory! You'll get a point off your
grade if we catch anybody dodging their shower!"

I felt a cold feeling in my gut. This is it, I thought. We
made our way off the basketball court and back through a
long crowded hallway, pulling off our T-shirts on the way.
By the time we got into the locker room, I could see that
half the class was already in various states of disrobing.
As we crossed the crowded benches, I was relieved to see
that several of the other 9th graders hardly had any more
body hair than I did. But all of them looked noticeably
smaller than I did down there -- a lot smaller.

Ronnie chatted nervously while we opened our clothes
lockers and pulled out our towels. We both acted nonchalant
and modestly turned away from each other as we undressed
and continued our idle conversation. I yanked off my shorts
and underwear with one fast move, and quickly pulled the
towel around my waist. It's now or never, I thought.

We both pushed through the jam-packed locker room and
walked down the hallway, over to the shower area. I heard a
distant howl from an unfortunate kid who apparently just
got blasted with cold water. My heart sank as we entered
the tile doorway. Just as I feared, it was a group shower,
with more about 20 ancient fixtures in the wall. So much
for privacy.

As we walked through the steam-filled room, I avoided
looking at the half-a-dozen wet, naked boys inside. Much to
my embarrassment, I started to get a strange warm feeling
in my gut, and a stirring in my groin. Shit, I thought. If
I get a boner in here, I'll never hear the end of it! I
deliberately bit my lower lip and tried desperately to
recall the square root formulas from tonight's math
homework.

Ronnie and I took adjoining showers, while he chattered on
endlessly about what was going to be on TV that night. We
both stood apart, and I kept myself carefully aimed towards
an unused shower head on my right. One kid on the far end
gave me a curious glance as I quickly lathered up, and I
saw him do a double-take when he walked by and glanced
below my waist. I turned my back to him and rinsed off the
soap as fast as I could, then grabbed my towel and quickly
wrapped it back around my waist.

Ronnie and I nervously made our way back through the line
of naked teens, down the hall and over to our clothes
lockers. Breathing a sigh of relief, I carefully unwrapped
my towel and began quickly drying myself off, keeping my
waist as close to my locker door as I could, to avoid any
unwanted glances. Maybe this won't be so bad, I thought,
with a sigh of relief.

Suddenly, I heard a loud THWAK! and Ron let out a yelp of
pain. I looked up and saw a nude older boy grinning and
holding a towel. I felt a twinge when I saw his cock, which
looked to be almost as big as mine, only a lot hairier.

Shit. It was Scott Michaels again. "Gotcha, ya little
faggot twerp!" he snarled. Ronnie whimpered and spun around
against the locker, dropping his towel and holding his
backside. His face was beet red, and his eyes were filled
with a mixture of anguish and sheer terror.

Michaels roared with laughter. "Hey, guys! Get a load o'
this! We got an anteater-dick here!"

A few chuckles erupted from the crowd of boys, who
momentarily stopped dressing to enjoy the show. Ronnie's
face reddened, and I glanced down. Shit, I thought. He was
uncircumcised! It was pretty good-sized, too -- bigger than
Sky's, I thought -- and though I hated to admit, it did
kind of look like an anteater's nose.

"Don't pay any attention to them, Ron," I whispered,
keeping my back to our antagonist, as I retrieved my
glasses out of my gym bag.

"I think it's more like an armadillo-dick, Scott!" yelled
one of his cronies.

Michaels took a menacing step towards me. "And you, shit-
for-brains," he began. "I bet you got an anteater dick,
too!"

Before I could respond, he ripped the towel off my waist,
and I spun around -- completely nude, dripping wet, and
thoroughly embarrassed. My hands weren't nearly big enough
to cover my groin.

"What the FUCK?" Scott yelled, as he slapped my hand out of
the way.

I felt my face flush as every eye in the locker room turned
where I stood. Oh, shit, I thought. Here it comes.

Scott hooted with derision. "What are you, kid -- some
kinda FREAK? That's a horse dick!" he yelled.

Nervous laughter and titters echoed through the locker
room, and every conversation stopped. Scott took a step
closer to eye me carefully, as if he were examining an
animal at the zoo. Even Ronnie stared, open-mouthed.

Michaels pointed at my appendage and guffawed like it was
the funniest thing he'd ever seen. "Now that I think about
it," he said loudly, "you're such an ass, I'd say it's more
like a big DONKEY dick, wouldn't you?" He laughed again,
and I felt my dick twinge. If anything, I think it was
starting to respond to all the attention.

Before I could even think, I tore my towel out of his hand.
"It's not too big for your mouth, jerk!" I muttered.

"WHAT WAS THAT?" the bully roared, taking a swing at me. I
ducked, and his fist slammed into a metal shelf by my head,
hard. He let out a cry of pain, and I leapt over a bench
and took off running, my towel dropping as I hit the floor.
Michaels yelled and tore after me, while the other boys
looked on, laughing and yelling.

Everything was a blur as I darted past three rows of
benches and back down the hall into the shower area, with
Scott hot on my heels. Desperately, I spun on my heel and
made a fast 180-degree turn as I hit the far tile wall,
just like a flip-turn in the swimming pool, and came back
at full speed in the opposite direction. Michaels made a
lunge for me, but his hands slipped on my still-wet skin,
leaving red marks down my back. Just as I cleared the
shower doorway, I heard a yell and a satisfying thud close
behind me, as several naked bodies slammed down on the wet
tile floor. Good, I thought. I hope he cracked his skull.

I darted back to my locker, slowing down to a trot as I
became aware of the dozens of wide-eyed boys taking in the
show. I scurried past several on-lookers and hopped over
the last two benches on the end. Ron was already half-
dressed, and he tossed my underwear to me as I reached our
bench. "Thanks, man," I whispered.

"No problem, Wil," he whispered back. "Just hurry!"

"I'm gonna kick your fuckin' ASS, Donkey Boy!" Scott
bellowed from across the room, then began angrily shoving
his way through the crowd, cursing with frustration and
rage. All of them were still staring at me, their mouths
open with surprise.

Just as panic seized me, an older voice called out. "You're
not going to kick anything, Michaels!"

I looked up. It was Coach Lucas, who had emerged from his
office to see what all the commotion was about. He grabbed
Scott by the neck and dragged him over to where I was
standing. My heart was still pounding, but at least by now,
I'd managed to get my underwear on to conceal my throbbing
organ.

"What's all this about?" the Coach barked. The room
immediately fell silent.

"Michaels started it," yelled one kid to my right. "Yeah!"
said another loud voice from the back of the room. "Scott
snapped a towel at the shrimp, and then tried to punch the
kid with the big dick!" Heads turned to look at the
loudmouth from the back, who immediately looked down at the
ground, and muttered, "well, it is."

The coach released the older boy from his grasp and folded
his arms. "Look, you two. I don't have the time to deal
with this bull-crap. Michaels, you aren't gonna start the
year with detention, like you had all last semester?"

"No, SIR," he grimaced.

"You've got an excellent chance to make the varsity squad
this year, Scott. Don't blow it by getting into fights. Put
that anger into the game, son, and not in the goddamned
locker room!"

The coach turned to me. "And you -- you're Larson, right?
You just signed up for the swim team?"

I nodded, meekly.

His voice softened as he looked me right in the eye. "That
goes ditto for you, son. You're new here, and my advice is
to stay out of trouble if you want to make the team."

Lucas was also the Dean of Boys at the school, but
according to Ronnie, he had the reputation of being a
pretty fair guy.

He looked at the two of us. "Gentlemen, I want the two of
you to shake hands and apologize."

Scott stared at me. "But Coach..."

"No buts," said Mr. Lucas. "Just do it."

We shook hands in silence, but Scott shot me a look that
could've melted bricks. I felt him squeeze my hand almost
hard enough to break it, but my expression never changed as
we muttered our apologies.

With that, the coach clapped his hands together. "That's
it, folks -- the show's over. You gentlemen get dressed and
get outta here. The school busses leave in five minutes, so
move it!"

Ron stayed with me while I finished dressing, in silence.
As we walked down the hall to our book lockers, I overheard
a couple of whispers. "Biggest dick I ever saw... shhhh,
here he comes," muttered a tall kid on our left. "Michaels
was right -- it's like a horse dick!" whispered another.
"DONKEY dick, you mean!" More laughter.

Fuck. My first day of high school, and I'm already a
laughing-stock.

We ignored them and trudged out to the front of the school,
just as the last of the busses pulled away. My heart sank.

Ron turned to me and said, "my mom's pickin' me and my
brother up over there. You want a ride?"

"Naw," I said, still embarrassed. "I think I'll just walk
home."

"No, really. Where do you live?"

I gave him quick directions. "Hey, that's only a couple of
miles from our house," he said. "I'm sure it wouldn't be
too much out of our way."

On the ride home, I sat in the front seat and I kept my
comments quiet and polite for Ron's mother. His brother
Rick was an identical clone of Ron, complete with the red
hair, freckles, and goofy looks, only he was a little bit
taller and thinner. Ron chattered the entire way,
occasionally whispering to his brother in the back, but
Rick didn't reply. He looked up at me curiously in the
mirror.

I looked out the window and began wondering if they were
both uncircumcised, then shook the disturbing thought out
of my head. Why was I suddenly having dick on the brain?

They dropped me off in my driveway, but before they drove
away, Ron ran up to me on the porch.

"Thanks for what you did for me back at school, man," he
said, breathlessly.

"I'd do that for anybody, bub," I said, truthfully. "I
can't stand to see that shit."

"And don't listen to what Scott said about you, either," he
grinned. "I bet he's just jealous. My brother says Michaels
used to have the biggest dick in the school. I think you
just beat him!"

I winced and nodded.

"See ya tomorrow, Wil!" he yelled, trotting back to the
car.

I trudged into our living room, threw my books on the
coffee table, and collapsed on the couch. I sighed. I'd
been in high school exactly one day, and I'd already made a
new friend, but also a mortal enemy as well. It looked like
it was going to be a long, fucked year, I thought.



Chapter 4

It'd been a difficult first week at school, but both Sky
and I managed to survive. He agreed to spend the night at
my place on Friday, which was something we did once in
awhile. After we went through my comic collection, I closed
my door, quietly locked it, and whipped out three of my
Dad's prime _Playboys_ from behind a drawer in my old desk.

"Take a look at these," I whispered, letting a centerfold
fall open.

Sky whistled. "Shit, look at the tits on this one!"

Almost immediately, I saw a lump grow in his shorts. We lay
down on my bed and excitedly scanned the photos. For nearly
half an hour, we flipped through the slick color pages,
each of us critiquing the girls and comparing different
shots. I think I preferred blondes; Sky said he was a
"breast man," and rubbed his fingertips lightly on the
round mounds of Miss September.

I felt butterflies in my stomach. I didn't tell Sky, but my
favorite was one that had a naked guy in the shot with the
girl. Much to my disappointment, you couldn't see much
except for the guy's smooth chest and arms, but he
definitely had muscles to spare. Whenever I saw it, I felt
a confusing mix of feelings, but I couldn't ignore the
insistent throbbing between my legs.

"You wanna... you know, _do_ it?" I asked, nervously.

"You mean... jack off?" he said, never taking his eyes off
the page.

"Yeah."

"Sure," he grinned. "Let's do it together."

We each slid down our pants, tore off our T-shirts, tossed
them in a pile on the floor, and lay on our backs in the
middle of my bed. I glanced over at Sky, who was already
rock-hard and stroking, never taking his eyes off his
centerfold. I held up my magazine in my left hand and did
the same.

"This isn't gonna take me long," he gasped.

"Me neither," I said, eying his boyish dick. I saw for the
first time that Sky had a few stray blond hairs on his
balls, which excited me in a strange way. In less than a
minute, he was groaning and flailing his hand rapidly.

"Oh, man, I'm gonna cum!" he moaned.

I tossed down my magazine, grabbed myself with both hands,
and began stroking in earnest. "I'm close, too!" I gasped.

He erupted in spasms... two, three, four spurts shot up his
chest. Sky fell back, exhausted, then eyed me as if seeing
me for the first time. "Jesus, Wil. You really do have a
big dong!" He giggled and grinned at me.

I stopped in mid-stroke. "Cut that shit out, man!" I
snapped.

"No really, I'm not making fun of you. It looks cool!" he
said, admiringly.

I felt a glimmer of pride, and held my bulging member off
to one side. "So you don't think it's a donkey dick?"

Sky leaned back on the pillow, put his hands behind his
head and chuckled affectionately. "Yeah, I heard about that
crap at school," he said. "Ignore those jerks. They're just
jealous."

"You think so?" I asked, hopefully.

He grinned and nodded. "Shit, who wouldn't be, Wil?" he
said, using a tissue to wipe off his muscular chest and
stomach. "Even I am."

I was stunned. "Sky, you're the best athlete I know! Why be
jealous of me?"

"Not of _you,_ you moron! Your _dick!_" He sat up, shaking
his head incredulously. "Any guy would be happy as hell to
have that thing. The chicks'd be lined up around the block
if they knew you had one like that." He looked down at my
groin, then said, "Shit -- I bet it's so big, you could
give yourself an S.B.J.!"

I had already heard a lot of sex stuff at school over the
last few days, but not this. "What's an SBJ? Is that
related to LBJ?" I said, puzzled, referring to the current
president.

Sky giggled and shook his head. "You know what a blow-job
is, right? When a girl sucks your dick?"

The mental image gave me an immediate twinge.

"Yeah, sure," I said. "You mean fellatio." That one I'd
found in a reference book at the public library.

"Thanks for the scientific terminology, professor," he
said, laughing. "Now, what if you could do it to yourself?
Like a self-blowjob? 'S.B.J.,' get it?"

I thought for a second and looked down at my swelling
member. It did look tantalizingly close to my face.

"Would that be too queer if I did it to myself?" I wondered
aloud.

Sky thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Naaaaa.
It's still your body. Try it! I bet you can do it." He
crawled across the bed on his stomach and leaned over on
his elbows, watching me expectantly.

I hesitated, then turned to him.

"C'mon, just try it, Wil!" he taunted. "I dare ya."

I took a deep breath, sat up and leaned forward, then
pushed my mouth towards my groin. With a tremendous effort,
I forced myself down and my lips just barely grazed the
tip.

"Wow!" he marveled. "You've almost got it!"

"Yeah," I winced, "but it hurts my back like hell!"

"Try another position," he advised.

"Like what?"

Sky thought for a minute. "Get on your back, and pull your
knees all the way over, like in gymnastics class!"

I thought for a minute and nodded. I turned over and got
into position, moving my groin right over my face. I pulled
my butt cheeks down, and was rewarded with my entire head
slipping into my mouth. The feeling was indescribable --
hot, wet, and exciting.

"Fuck!" Sky whispered excitedly. "You can actually do it!"

"Mmmmmph!" was all I could reply. I couldn't get enough of
this feeling. I slurped and gobbled up my member, which
seemed to expand even longer as my desire increased. I
pulled it out and licked it around and around with my
tongue, then shoved it back in as far as I could go, my
entire mouth wrapping it like a warm blanket. Jesus, I
thought. If this is what a blow job's like, I bet it'd be
even better to have somebody else do it for me.

Before I knew it, an involuntary guttural moan started in
the back of my throat, as I felt the oncoming orgasm rise
through my loins. Sky was silent as I plunged deeper and
deeper into my own mouth. I was oblivious to him or the
room around me; as far as I was concerned, the only thing
that existed was my own warm mouth and my enormous cock.

"Shit, that is so cool!" Sky said, marveling.

I glanced over and saw his eyes were riveted to my groin. I
looked down and saw his erection had popped back to full
attention. I felt a huge wave of excitement overtake me as
I pulled my groin down closer to my face, and tried to
ignore the dull throbbing pain in my lower back. My heart
raced even faster when Sky leaned over and gently rubbed my
backside. Suddenly, I was hit with a lightning bolt of
pleasure, and a warm salty taste blasted through my mouth.
I moaned and fell back, coughing and choking.

"GROSS, man!" Sky yelled, standing up. "You fuckin'
swallowed it!"

"What?" I gasped dizzily, my face flushed. I continued to
erupt two or three more small spurts, which trickled down
my abdomen and onto my bedspread. I lay on the bed,
exhausted, staring at my friend.

"Well, whaddya expect me to do?" I snapped. "Spit it out?"

"That's too queer," he said, shaking his head.

I stared at him, incredulously. "But it was _your_ idea!"

"Yeah, but I didn't tell ya to swallow your own cum! That's
just too weird, man."

I gazed down at my withering erection. Even soft, it was
still bigger than Sky's was erect, I thought with some
pride. Some leftover residue trickled out of the corner of
my mouth, and I wiped it off with the back of my hand. I
could still taste a little salty goo on my tongue.

Sky pulled on his underwear and reached for a pair of
shorts. "Look, I gotta get something to eat," he said. "I'm
gonna go downstairs and raid the refrigerator. You want
anything?"

I glared at him. We had just practically had sex, and now
he was acting like nothing had happened at all.

"No," I said tersely. "I'm not hungry. Lemme just clean
off."

He zipped up his short pants, tossed me a box of Kleenex,
and scurried from my room. I sat on the bed and wiped off
the gooey mess from my stomach and face. I felt... I dunno,
dirty and ashamed, like a little kid.

What was going on here? Was Sky my friend or not? Did
swallowing this stuff really make you a homo? Shit, I still
got boners whenever I saw pictures of naked chicks. Didn't
that count for something? One thing's for certain, I
thought -- I'm not a homo! I couldn't be. I didn't care
what Sky said.

                        *   *   *

Later that night, we watched TV in the living room, sitting
on the couch in our shorts. Much to my relief, Sky acted
real casual, as if nothing had happened. The local station
was showing _Bride of Frankenstein_, one of those ancient
movies from the 1930s. It was one of my all-time favorites;
I even had a recent poster of it on my bedroom wall. I
thought the movie was cool as hell, but Sky yawned and said
it was boring and stupid. Halfway through the show, I
noticed he had fallen asleep on the couch, still shirtless.
I stared at him, and still couldn't get over how good-
looking he was. Better than any kid I ever saw on TV, I
thought.

Just as the second feature began, I glanced at the clock.
Jesus, 1AM already. I switched off the set. Sky looked so
peaceful lying on the couch, I just tossed a spare sheet
over him and trudged back upstairs to my room. I tried
sleeping, but all I could do was stare at the ceiling. My
head was filled with confusing images, and Sky's insults
still rang in my ears. Almost against my will, I felt
myself harden as I relived the events of a few hours
before. I was too tired to suck myself again, but I knew I
had no choice but to take matters into my own hand, or else
I'd never get to sleep. In minutes, after staring at Miss
September's tits, I was thoroughly spent and fell back to
slumberland.

                        *   *   *

Around 10AM on Saturday morning, I awoke to find Sky
already gone. My mom told me he'd left an hour earlier,
saying he was starting football practice that afternoon and
had to get home. I called his house, but didn't get an
answer. I went back to my room and tried to do my homework,
but I kept thinking about what Sky had said.

Fuck it, I thought. I flicked on the radio and hummed along
to an "oldie but goodie" as the DJ said -- "Teenager in
Love," by Dion. I felt a pang as the singer wailed the
lyrics. I'd been going to high school only a week, and I
already knew how he felt. Was I falling in love?

No, I thought. No. Sky and I were just friends... best
friends. Nothing wrong with that. I'd save love for the
right girl.

But that didn't make up for the gnawing emptiness I felt.

                        *   *   *

The following week, swim team trials started up. I got my
dad to agree to drop me off at school twice a week at
7:00AM, since the bus routes didn't even start up until 8.
The pool was huge, roughly three times as big as the ones
I'd been used to: standard Olympic long course, 50 meters
long by 20 meters wide, with eight lanes, all housed in a
brand-new building on the far side of the Tampa Central
High campus. I wore my swimsuit under my pants, to try to
avoid having to undress and encounter the same amused
stares and giggles that I had to endure in gym class.

When we walked out of the locker room and into the indoor
pool area, I smelled the familiar odor of chlorine in the
air, and dipped my toe in the water. Not bad, I thought --
they must have a heater somewhere. I smiled and relaxed. It
was good to be back in my element, I thought, as I stood
next to the other swimmers. A whistle blew nearby, and I
looked up to see the Coach going down my row, checking our
names off on the sign-up sheet, and then assigned us to
some trial laps. On the word 'go,' I dove off like a shot
and swam as hard as I could, but yawned as I pulled myself
out of the water. This early schedule was gonna be murder,
I thought.

After we watched the other candidates swim their laps over
the next hour, the coach finally had us all line up in a
row, and called out six names. One at a time, they walked
over to him and he quietly spoke to each boy. The rest of
us stood nervously, shivering slightly in the cold morning
air. As the last of them disappeared back to the locker
room, he turned to the rest of us and said,
"congratulations, boys. The rest of you are officially on
the Tampa Central High swim team!" Our cheers echoed
throughout the building.

My elation quickly evaporated when I found out that despite
my six previous years of local championship swim meets, the
competition at the high school level was fierce. Coach
Byers assigned me to the number eight lane -- the one
usually reserved for the slowest swimmers. He took me aside
and assured me it was only temporary.

"Son, I saw your record," he explained, reassuringly. "Give
it some time. 9th graders rarely make our team at all, but
I'm going to make an exception in your case. We're gonna
put you on second-string to start, but you'll be ready to
participate in meets in a few months. I think you've got
the makings of a real champ in you, especially in
Butterfly. Hang in there, Wil."

I nodded and went back to my laps. At the end of practice,
we headed back to the locker room. I kept to myself and
quickly toweled off, leaving the shower for the others. One
of the guys I had swam with a year or two ago saw me and
flashed me a grin of recognition. "Hey, Wil!" he called
out.

I barely looked up and saw a face I dimly remembered,
searching my brain for his name. "Oh -- hi, uh... Mark," I
said. "I guess we're on the team together again." As I
pulled my shirt down over my head, Mark walked over, still
soaking wet.

"Yeah!" he said, excitedly. "Man, you and me are the only
9th graders to make the team so far! Isn't that's great? If
you and me get to do the 200-yard relay again, we got a
good chance of makin' it to the Florida state regionals!"

I glanced up at him and nodded as he snapped off his
Speedos, wrung out the water over the drain, and started
toweling down. Shit, I thought, as I glanced at his groin.
He's a lot hairier than I was.

"Coach says we're one of the few high schools in Florida
that's got an indoor pool," Mark said, as he dried off his
head, "so we can keep practicing all winter long, all the
way until the season ends in March. Isn't that cool?"

"Yeah, it's great," I muttered. I tried to avert my eyes
from his groin, which was only inches away from my face. I
zipped up my pants and started tying up my sneakers.

"Anyway, I'm glad you made the team, B.D.," he said,
grinning.

I stopped. "What's 'BD'?" I asked.

"Big Dick! What else?" He cackled with laughter and shot me
a huge grin.

I winced. "Shut up, man," I snapped, stuffing my Speedos
and towel in my gym bag.

Mark looked surprised. "C'mon, Wil," he said. "Don't be so
goddamned sensitive. Practically the whole school knows by
now -- it's not a big deal. Well, actually, maybe it IS,"
he chuckled.

I rolled my eyes, stormed off, and angrily slammed the
locker room door behind me.

                        *   *   *

For the next few weeks, things went about as well as I
could've expected. Scott Michaels and I gave each other a
wide berth in the hallways, and -- whether by luck or by
chance -- Coach Lucas kept us out of each other's groups in
7th period Phys Ed. Sky seemed to be tied up every other
day with the football team, so I didn't see much of him at
all. I was starting to feel kind of lonely. Ronnie followed
me around like a puppy, but he was getting annoying.
Besides, Sky had practically been my best friend since
third grade. I wasn't going to give up on him yet.

On Saturday, I called him up at home. "Hey, Sky, it's me,"
I started. "You want to go see a movie or something today?"
I asked.

"Oh, hi, Wil." He sounded annoyed, like I had interrupted
something. "Listen, uh, I sorta... can't. Not today. I got
some other stuff to do. Maybe next week or somethin'."

This didn't sound right. "Sky, what's up?" I asked. "I
wanted to talk to you about some stuff -- you know, like
what we talked about the last time you spent the night at
my place."

"Look, I just... I gotta go -- I got practice in two
hours," he said, sounding a little flustered. "See you next
week at school." Before I could protest, the line went
dead.

Shit. The one guy I could really talk to was too busy to
hear my problems. I was feeling horny as hell, too. Only
one way to solve that, I thought. I grabbed one of my Dad's
old _Playboys_ from my secret stash, and quickly stroked my
way to Nirvana.

                        *   *   *

On Monday, I caught Sky's eye as we walked into our English
class. "Pssst! Hey, what's goin' on, man?" I whispered to
him as sat down in our respective desks.

He barely made eye contact with me. "Can't talk now. Maybe
later."

I spent the next hour trying to concentrate on conjugating
verbs, and fought the urge to yell at my friend next to me.
What was his problem?

Finally, the bell rang. Ron leaned over at his desk behind
me and started up with one of his stupid jokes. I turned to
him and snapped, "shut up, Ronnie! I got some stuff I've
got talk over with Sky -- private stuff. I'll see you in
Phys Ed." He was taken aback, but nodded meekly and walked
away.

I walked over to Sky's desk just as he stood up, and I
tried to lay on the guilt as hard as I could. "What's your
problem, asshole?" I asked, angrily. "You can't even talk
to me on the _phone_ anymore?"

"I just got a lotta stuff goin' on, that's all," he began,
picking up his notebook and books, all while trying to
avoid looking at me in the eye.

"Look," I said, leaning in closer and lowering my voice. "I
just thought you might wanna... you know, get together this
weekend, and do some stuff. You know, with my Dad's
magazines."

My grin faded as he looked up at me with a nervous
expression. "I'm... I'm not like that, Wil," he stammered.
"Besides, I met somebody."

"Who?" I snapped.

"A girl. Melissa. You know, Melissa Rivington -- the
brunette who lives four blocks over from us, on Euclid
Avenue. Man, she's a knockout."

My mouth went dry, and I swallowed. "Yeah. A knockout. OK,
congratulations."

We both looked away, in an uncomfortable silence.

"See ya 'round," he muttered, walking quickly out the door.

I hurried after him and stopped him just as he hit the
hallway.

"But what about all that _stuff_ we did!" I hissed.

His face reddened. "I'm not a FAG!" he retorted, looking
around anxiously to see if anybody was watching us.

A cold feeling hit me in the stomach. "I didn't say you
were, Sky," I said, angrily. "I just thought we were
friends!"

He nodded, and his expression softened a little bit. "Well,
yeah. But just not... not that _way_, y' know?" Sky put his
hand on my shoulder, and I had to restrain myself from
shoving him away. "Look, Wil. You'll find a girl, too.
You'll see."

I closed my eyes. I didn't believe what I was hearing.

"Look, man, I gotta go," he said as he walked away. "Maybe
I can get Melissa to find somebody for you."

Yeah, just what I need, I thought as he walked away. I
spent the rest of the day in a funk, but I wasn't totally
sure why.

				     #