Date: Tue, 31 Jul 2018 01:02:22 +0000 From: Douglas DD Subject: Aiden II Chapter 31 (Revised) CHAPTER 31 A WEEK IN THE LIVES OF... (Part 1) SUNDAY, APRIL 29 Aiden woke up around 7:30 Sunday morning, happy that he finally got some sleep. He checked to see if he had any bruises from the kicks administered by Miles during the night. He couldn't remember his friend being such a restless sleeper. Seeing that were none, he got up and headed to the bathroom to pee. When he returned to his bed he found that Miles was awake. "Dang, Miles, when did you become a kick boxer in bed?" Aiden asked as he crawled under the covers next to Miles. "Was I kicking you?" Miles asked. "Yeah, like four or five times. You kept waking me up." "I never did that before. But then, since Christmas a lot of times when I wake up my blankets are on the floor. Then I have to make my bed like from scratch." "Well, next time we spend the night together, one of us is going to sleep in a sleeping bag on the floor if you keep being a kicker." "But not until after we suck each other," Miles giggled. "Well, duh. That's half the fun of having overnights. But sleep is good, too." "I'll talk to my mom about it. Maybe she knows why I'm sleeping like that. I haven't slept with John in like forever, so he couldn't tell me about me kicking. And Mason never says nothing when he sleeps over." Miles looked at Aiden's alarm clock. "It's still kind of early to get up." "Not if you're fixing breakfast. I'm the pancake maker this morning." "I thought you made French Toast." "I do, but I've added pancakes to my cooking menu. My dads say mine are nice and fluffy so they let me keep cooking them." The boys arose almost simultaneously. Miles went to the bathroom while Aiden grabbed a t-shirt and boxers. He liked having more than just a long t-shirt covering his dick when he cooked. Aiden thought about Miles and himself after his dad tucked them in and turned out the light. He thought Miles gave the best blow jobs of any of his friends. Mason was the most enthusiastic, but he never seemed to slow down for some licking and jacking and ball sucking. Gordy was willing to give a blow job, but he didn't like it enough to do it often. And when he did give a blow job he did his best to get it over with. As far as anybody else went, he hadn't gotten one from Muddy in a long time so he didn't know how he did it now. Darnell was good, but he lived too far away for them to do it much. The twins were learning. He didn't mess around with them as much as he wanted to. Chase was the best ever as far as Aiden was concerned, although he had a feeling Logan was going to be just as good someday. He wondered what people thought of his blow jobs. He also wondered about two other friends and what it would be like getting blow jobs from them—that is, even if they were willing to suck him. The two he was thinking of were Nolan and Kalie. Why Kalie was on his mind as he thought about blow jobs he didn't know, but he couldn't help but wondering if she would ever give one and how good she'd be. Miles interrupted his thinking as he returned to the bedroom. "I wouldn't go in the bathroom for a while—it's a major poison gas zone." "Didn't you spray it?" "Yeah, but I think my stink ate up the spray." Aiden shook his head as he watched Miles put on a long t-shirt. "It's bad enough you have the worst smelling farts of anybody alive, but now you go and make my bathroom a disaster area." He saw Miles reach for a pair of boxers and said, "You can leave them off if you want." Miles dropped the boxers on the floor. "You've got your undies on." Miles had been able to look up Aiden's t-shirt when he reached down for his underpants. "That's because I'm cooking." "So? Put an apron on. Besides how is anything going to attack you through your shirt?" "I guess I'm being dumb." Aiden pulled his boxers off and tossed them next to Miles' pair. "And now I'm being smart." The two boys headed downstairs, feeling sufficiently naughty for the morning. Jeffrey Bednarzyk admired the features of his younger brother Sammy's face. The seventeen-year-old considered his thirteen-year-old brother one of the most beautiful boys he knew. It wasn't that long ago, Jeffrey remembered, that his face wasn't as beautiful. It had become long and drawn as he was quickly spiraling into the grip of drugs and alcohol. Sammy had slowly changed from a friendly, hard-working, sweet-tempered boy to an angry, difficult to deal with adolescent punk. Jeffrey knew that his family had a history of alcoholism. His father, George, had over thirty years of sobriety and attended Alcoholics Anonymous meetings regularly. His grandfather on his father's side drank himself to death. The disease had caught Jeffrey's little brother by the balls, squeezed hard, and wouldn't let go. Jeffrey had been drunk a couple of times when he was around Sammy's age. His father had caught him once and reminded him of the danger he was facing. While Sammy had been a calm boy until alcohol started to consume him, Jeffrey had been a wild boy, earning the moniker "Hurricane Jeffrey". Jeffrey didn't know if he was an alcoholic or not, but he decided the odds were good that he was and he didn't want to test the theory. He hadn't had a taste of alcohol since he was fourteen. The good news about Sammy was that interventions by his brother, father, mother, and Marty Carlson got him undergoing outpatient drug and alcohol treatment and even some young people's AA meetings since the start of the year. Granted Sammy went screaming and kicking to treatment, venting his anger and resentments every way he could. But, he no longer snuck out to drunken teen parties, no longer took clandestine puffs of weed or sips of booze in school, and had not used drugs or alcohol at all since Thanksgiving. When he started treatment Sammy refused to acknowledge he had a problem. He blamed his family for his being in the counseling sessions. He said that they were all pricks for picking on him. But, he slowly changed his attitudes as he got more sober time in. He became more civil to his mom and dad, but he wouldn't forgive his brother, Jeffrey, for butting into his business. He pointedly ignored Jeffrey for months for ratting him out to their parents. Sammy would often glare at Jeffrey when they were in the same room, saying nothing. Their parents noticed the behavior and worked with Sammy to accept his brother, but any attempt to lessen Sammy's bad feelings toward his older brother were met with one simple, angry statement: "I hate him." To his credit, Jeffrey tried his best to be a good big brother even though Sammy's attitude hurt him deeply. About a month ago, things started to change. Sammy met a college freshman at the Saturday morning young person's AA meeting his father drove him to in Olympia. His name was Mel Gardner. He was a student at Olympic College in Olympia and a graduate of Centralia High School. He had been sober for three years. Mel noticed the angry young boy sitting in the back of the room and decided to talk to him after the meeting. Somehow the college student connected with Sammy and got permission from Sammy's father to take him to lunch where the two started bonding. Mel became Sammy's sponsor and started driving out to Mayfield two evenings a week to work with Sammy on his program. The thing about Mel that appealed to Sammy was that, unlike the way he perceived his parents' and brother's intervention, he could see that Mel was getting involved not for selfish reasons, but because he wanted to. As Sammy would eventually learn, Mel actually was selfish, because the Twelfth Step of the AA Twelve Steps was all about how helping fellow drunks and was a key factor in staying sober—one alcoholic helping another is what made the program work. Mel was helping Sammy more so he, himself, could stay sober than for Sammy to stay sober, although that was important. It all interlinked. As he looked into his brother's eyes, Jeffrey's mind went to the evening before when he was rinsing the dinnerware and putting everything into the dishwasher. It was his day to do it—weekdays varied depending on everybody's schedule. As he set the dishes into the rack, Sammy came into the kitchen. Jeffrey tensed a little at first, but Sammy had actually been friendly during dinner, so Jeffrey decided to act as if everything between them was back to normal. Whenever he'd done that before the results hadn't been very good. "Hey, bro, coming to help me fill the dishwasher?" Jeffrey asked with as much cheer as he could muster. Sammy answered by grabbing some glasses and placing them on the top rack. "I need to talk to you tonight," he said in his squeaky, changing adolescent voice. "So, talk." "No, I mean in private." "So, see me in an hour or so if that works for you." Sammy let out a sigh of relief. It was as if he had been expecting a different answer. "Okay, I'll see you in an hour or so." After an hour had gone by and Sammy hadn't shown Jeffrey was about to write off a visit from his brother when he remembered the "or so" part of the statement. Right about then his phone vibrated—it was Nick. Jeffery went to his room to chat with his best friend and sometime lover. It was nine o'clock, almost two hours after Sammy said he would show, that Sammy knocked on his older brother's door. "Come on in, bro," Jeffrey said. Sammy entered and sat on the old overstuffed arm chair in the corner. He was wearing nothing but a t-shirt and boxers. Jeffrey sat on his bed. "Sorry, I'm late. I was thinking," Sammy said. "No biggie. You're here. Just remember, though, that thinking can be dangerous." "That's what Mel keeps telling me. He says I think too much instead of just accepting that I should just do what I'm supposed to do." "I don't know about that, but I know that thinking gives me headaches if I do too much of it. Anyway, what can I do for you, bro?" Sammy looked directly at his brother. "I want to make amends for being a shithead and a crappy brother." "What brought this on?" Jeffrey knew that he'd just asked a stupid question. Through his dad and through Marty, Jeffrey knew that making amends was a key part of recovery in the AA program. He also knew it was often one of the most agonizingly painful and difficult parts of the program. "I got to Step Eight with Mel and made my list." Step Eight was making a list of people he had harmed. "This is Step Nine." Step Nine was making amends. "I talked to mom and dad yesterday. Look, Jeffrey, I know I was an asshole. I know how wrong I was. I know all you wanted to do was help me because you loved me. All I can do now is tell you that I will do whatever it takes to be a good brother to you." Sammy wiped away a couple of tears, took a deep breath, and said, "I guess I can tell you...tell you..." The young teen's body shook. "What is it bro? You can tell me anything," Jeffrey told his brother gently. "Oh, fuck it." Sammy got out of the chair, plopped onto the bed, wrapped his arms around his big brother, and kissed him on the lips. "That's what I wanted to say. I wanted to say I love you and I missed you." Jeffrey wrapped an arm around Sammy's shoulder. "I love you, too. But, I was never gone." "You weren't, but I was." That was how Jeffrey had ended up making love to his brother for the first time in months. What happened between them was more than sex—it was a reaffirmation of the love that the brothers held for each other but had become buried under Sammy's addiction problems. After they recovered from their intense Saturday night romp on Jeffery's bed, the two teens lay side by side catching their breath. Sammy kissed his brother and said, "I heard making up is the best part about having a fight—and wow, I guess when you fight for a few months, making up is huge." Jeffrey smiled. "It feels good, too." Sammy reached down and gently toyed with his brother's flaccid penis. "Damn, you've got a beautiful cock." "Thanks, bro." That was how, on Sunday morning, Jeffrey woke up naked in bed with his little brother. He looked upon Sammy with a renewed love, having no doubt his brother was back. Jeffrey thought about Sammy's sponsor. As far as he was concerned, Mel Gardner was a miracle worker. "Fuck, another oh-for-four and a bogus error to go with a 7-3 loss," Marty moaned as he and his husband Rich sat on the couch in their small apartment watching the Sunday Major League Game of the Week. The Modesto Nuts had played that afternoon. "You'll get hot soon," Rich said. "You're too good not to," Rich said confidently. "It doesn't help when some of your teammates stab you in the back, your hitting coach won't coach you, and the official scorer hands out phantom errors. I mean Cassidy Howard and Coach Lewis are not at all subtle about their feelings regarding my sexual orientation and marital status." "I can't tell you what to do, except that maybe the best thing might be for you to go to a meeting." Rich was referring to Marty attending an AA meeting, which Marty hadn't been doing very often going back to the start of spring training. "What makes you think I need one?" "When you go bitching and moaning, that means you really do need a meeting." "I'm not bitching and moaning, I'm complaining about shit that is real." "When you say something like that it really seals the deal." "Yeah, I can see me as a pro baseball player walking into an AA meeting saying, `Hi, I'm Marty and I'm an alcoholic.' Talk about blowing your anonymity." "Get over yourself. I bet most of the peeps you see in a meeting won't even know who you are, and the rest of them won't give a shit." "What I didn't tell you is that the Mariners farm director was at the game today and wants to meet with me for noon lunch, tomorrow. He said he'd pay." "There's a meeting tomorrow morning at eight at the Alano Club," Rich pointed out. "And your point is?" "No point, my sweet," Rich grinned. "I was just saying." Marty gave his husband a serious glare before breaking out into a smile. "You know love, if I keep telling my little bro to pause and think and do the right thing then maybe I should take my advice." "Since this means us getting up early in the morning, we might want to get to bed early." "Or even earlier than early," Marty leered. "Since Cassidy seems to have an objection to me fucking my hubby, we may as well make sure he's barking up the right tree." The end result of that bit of exercise was very satisfactory for both spouses. MONDAY, APRIL 30 Aiden sat in what was now his regular seat on the morning school bus, the seat next to Kalie. "Hey, Kalie." Aiden gave his regular greeting as the bus pulled away from his stop. "Hi, Aiden." "You look tired." "My dog Ringer had pups last night and I was up watching and helping so I didn't get to bed `til late." "How many pups did she have?" "Five, but one of them died." "Whoa, that's too bad." "Dad says those things happen. The pup had a defect and mother nature did the right thing. But, it's still sad." "Yeah." "Do you want one?" Aiden shook his head. "Maybe someday, but not right now. My dads have asked me if I wanted a dog, too." "I thought all boys want a dog." "Almost all of them, I guess," Aiden said ruefully. Kalie surprised Aiden with a sudden change of subject. Since Aiden was the master of the subject change, he really shouldn't have been caught off guard by somebody else's modification of direction. "Did you like it that time we kissed?" It wasn't the first time Kalie had asked that question since their kiss at Kalie's party. Aiden estimated it was maybe the fourth time. His reaction was no different than it had been before—he didn't like it. Guys like Gordy and Miles and Mason never asked dumb questions about their kisses, but Kalie kept bugging him. He decided that it must be a girl thing. He gave his standard answer. "It was okay." "Just okay? Don't you want to do it again sometime?" "Maybe." Kalie did a poor job of hiding her frustration. "I really need a hug and a kiss from somebody after last night," she pleaded. "Didn't your parents hug you?" Aiden was trying hard to get out of this one. "Mom did. But it's not the same as a friend." Aiden wanted to suggest that she ask Autumn for a kiss—after all, she and Autumn were good friends. But a quick pause had him rejecting that idea. What saved him was the bus turning off of Lakeshore Drive and coming within sight of the school. "See ya in class," Aiden said as he quickly rose out of his seat. He hoped he could find one of his friends before Kalie caught up with him. When his AA meeting finished at nine in the morning, Marty felt much more balanced. Meetings always had a way of putting his life back into perspective and it had been far too long since he'd attended one. He was grateful Rich had pointed the way to a meeting without demanding he attend one. He thought Rich was probably using what he had learned in his Al-Anon meetings, not that his husband had ever been a controlling type of individual. Of course none of his fears about being recognized had come true. That's the thing about fears, he thought, we all too often let them control us only to find out that there had never been anything to be afraid of. Most of the members had gone out of their way to make him feel welcome at the meeting and reminded him to keep coming back. While meeting formats might vary from place to place, in the end every AA meeting was a place occupied by friends who made him feel like he was home. Marty drove to his apartment. Rich had been called early in the morning to substitute for an English teacher at a middle school. His earnings as a substitute teacher helped pay the rent and keep food on their table. Neither of them made enough to live alone, but they managed to make do as a couple. Marty knew this could become a problem once school was out in June and that they would probably have to dip into his savings to keep going. He left at eleven-thirty to make sure he would be on time for lunch with Vance Beck, the Mariners farm director. He had been fearful about this meeting as well, but the balance he found at the AA meeting reminded him that whatever happened at the meeting was something he couldn't control, so letting fear govern him was senseless. When he gave the meeting some serious thought, he realized that it probably had little or nothing to do with being demoted to the Low-A team in Clinton. That kind of news was usually handled by the team manager. He arrived at Walker's Grill at quarter to twelve. He told the greeter that he wanted seating for two. As he was led to a booth, he saw Vance enter the restaurant and waved to catch his attention. Marty had talked to Vance a few times at rookie camp, when he played at Everett, and at spring training. He liked Vance and thought he did a great job of getting to know the players in the farm system. The two shook hands and sat in the booth facing each other. The greeter took their drink order and told them their waitress would be with them soon. "Good to see you, Marty," Vance said. "You too, sir," Marty replied. "Although this is kind of a surprise since I didn't know you met with individual players for lunch." "First, you can dispense with the sir and call me Vance. And you're right, I don't usually meet with players individually, so I hope my wanting this meeting didn't make you nervous. If it did, I apologize—it's just that a few things came up that I wanted to discuss with you." Marty found himself feeling very nervous as he tried to use the mind calming tools he had been taught. "Is it something I've done wrong? I mean, I know I haven't gotten off to a good start on the field, but I'm willing to guess that you don't take players out to lunch because they happen to be in a slump." "Very true. This has nothing to do with your slump and you definitely have done nothing wrong. But there are some issues going on with the team that need to be addressed and I need your input to help me address them." Marty nodded. Before Vance could say more the waitress came and took their orders. Vance reminded Marty that he was paying for lunch. What he didn't say was that he knew how ridiculously little minor league ballplayers were paid and there was no way that he, as the franchise's farm director, could expect a player under him to pay for his own lunch and maintain any credibility. In the end, the team would be picking up the tab anyway. He wasn't surprised when Marty ordered the lunch steak. Vance surprised Marty by changing the topic after the waitress left. Instead of baseball, he engaged in small talk. He surprised Marty even more by asking him how Rich was doing. "He's doing pretty well," Marty said. "He's a small town boy and misses Mayfield and his family and friends. But, he's keeping busy working as a substitute teacher, at least until school is out. I think he plans on doing some volunteer stuff during the summer." Once their lunch arrived, Vance changed the course of their conversation again. "Outside of your slump, how are things holding up for you?" Marty felt he had an idea of the direction of the farm director's inquiry and had to decide whether to give a rigorously honest answer or a noncommittal one. He decided on the latter. Ratting out teammates was not going to endear him to his peers on the field, even if some of them had gone out of their way to make his life difficult both off and on the field. "Okay, I guess." That was close to what the farm director was expecting. He had played baseball up to the major league level and understood what the code of conduct between players was like. It was up to players to handle their own issues. Any other behavior was unacceptable. He knew he needed to ask the question, however. "I've been watching some video of your games. Of course it's not as complete as what we have at the major league level, but it still tells us a lot. I saw some interesting things, like yesterday's `error'. Interesting how a low throw that any competent first baseman in A ball should catch gets under him, hits the dirt behind him, and squirts out to the right of him - yet it still ends up being charged as an error to you." Marty gazed steadily at Vance, saying nothing. "That was an E-3, not an E-5, in any scorebook." Vance was spouting baseball code for the play. E-3 is an error on the first baseman and E-5 would be an error on the third baseman. "That's not the only scoring discrepancy Jed and I found." Jed Taylor was the manager of the Nuts. "Of the errors charged to you so far, one could have gone either way, one was a legit error on you, and the rest were pretty much bogus." Marty nodded. "I admit that I didn't agree with the calls. There were a couple of times when I thought I should have been credited with a hit when the opposing fielder was charged with an error." Marty could warm up to this topic since it didn't involve criticism of a teammate. After all, every player came up with gripes against the official scorer on occasion. "I saw those too. I'd say you were robbed of three hits on outright errors by the scorekeeper." "Jed talked to me about my errors, telling me to concentrate more on the field. He never mentioned the bad scoring, but then I never brought it up." "Afraid to rock the boat?" "Yeah, sort of." "Don't be. One of the reasons we drafted you fairly high is your reputation as a leader. Part of being a leader means not being afraid to open your mouth and stand up for yourself." Marty took the last bite of his steak and looked to finish his iced tea. Vance went on with his talk. "Jed knew there were problems with the scorekeeping, but felt he should communicate his suspicions to the front office, which is why I am here. The fact that your numbers were much worse at home than on the road told us a lot. We are going to have a chat with Curtis about consistent scorekeeping without pointing a finger at him. He has a chance to clean up his act quickly or we get another scorekeeper." "I don't want..." "Marty, shut up and think for a moment." Marty clamped his mouth shut. "You and I both know that what was happening was intentional. We both know that the ball that went past Cassidy Howard yesterday wasn't an error. We both know that you're getting inadequate instruction from your hitting coach. We know a couple of other players are giving you some shit about your sexual orientation." Marty felt his face flush. Just when he thought he was alone with his suspicions, he discovered that he wasn't. "I don't expect you to rat out your teammates. I've played ball and I know what the unwritten code says. But, I do expect you to understand that the Seattle Mariners will not tolerate harassment or discrimination of any kind. I want you to understand that we realize you have to be part of a team and that you are going to behave accordingly. But, don't be afraid to stand up for yourself, and please, please, please, understand that the front office has a good understanding of what is going on around you and that we have your back." "Thank you, Vance. That means a lot to me." "That said, go out there and relax and hit the goddamn baseball." The two men shook hands again, Vance paid the check, and they left the restaurant. Marty seemed to feel a fresh spring in his step as he walked to his car. Before he drove away he sent a text to his husband. "Lunch meeting was awesome. Can't wait to tell you all about it. I love you so much." TUESDAY, MAY 1. Fifth period was the first period after lunch for Chase. His mind was not focusing on what Mr. Saxton was saying. Chase thought he might be talking about African history, but maybe he thought that because he knew that was their current course of study in World History. Chase couldn't concentrate because he was horny beyond horny thanks to the teasing of Hatcher and their friend Braeden at lunch. It was Chase's thirteenth birthday and his friends were sitting on either side of him at the lunch table. After the table emptied out, they started fondling his junk thinking it would make for a great birthday treat. They were right, of course, but it would have been a better treat if they'd gotten him off. They came close, and when Braeden finally got his pants open and unzipped and started stroking him through his boxers, Chase felt his body shake with shivers of pleasure. Braeden started to reach down inside Chase's boxers, but suddenly pulled out. "He's your fucking boyfriend," he told Hatcher. "You should get him off." "I'll get cum all over my hand," Hatcher said with mock seriousness. "That's what tongues are for," Chase squeaked. He was so ready to shoot he thought he might have a spontaneous cum. "Just get me the fuck off." Before Hatcher could replace Braeden's hand, Ms Wood, the lunch supervisor started toward their table. Hatcher quickly placed his hand on the table. "Boys, how about going to the gym or outside until the bell. We need to start clearing the lunchroom." The three boys acknowledged her command. Chase sighed, pulled up his zipper, and closed up his pants. "I gotta go to the can and jerk off," he said shakily. "You guys are a pair of twat waffles. You know that, right?" "How was I supposed to know old lady Woody was going to kick our asses out of here," Hatcher said defensively. Chase got up from the bench. "Damn, your woody is really filling those jeans," Braeden giggled. "Fuck, I can't remember being this horny and not being able to do anything about it," Chase moaned. "Hey, we've got boners, too," Hatcher pointed out. "I mean molesting you is pretty sexy you know." "I dare you to shoot your wad in class," Braeden told Chase. "Only if you guys try it, too." "You're on," Hatcher said as they reached the gym. "No cleaning up the mess and it's gotta be done in class, not in the bathroom." "I got PE seventh period," Braeden reminded them. "Yeah, hard to keep your mess around when you get off in the showers," Chase laughed. "Up yours, Miller. I'll get off in fifth or sixth." That is how Chase ended up in the back row in his history class playing pocket pool. Chase's erection had gone down some in the gym, but his body was still on fire with horniness. The desk to his left was empty, but Dillon Easton was sitting to his right. Chase and his friends pegged Dillon as a nerd. He was nice enough and they all liked him, but his rimless glasses, perpetually messy blond hair, and lack of athletic skills kept him on the fringe of Chase's group. Chase liked the mussed up hair look—it reminded him of his cousin Aiden. Chase knew that Dillon was watching him as he manipulated his once again raging erection through his pocket and he didn't care. He knew it wasn't going to take him long to fill his boxers with cum and decided the smaller boy sitting next to him might as well enjoy the brief show. Dillon looked up to Chase. Chase Miller was one of the big seventh grade studs. Good athlete, good student, good looking, popular with the girls and the boys—with everyone, in fact. In other words, Dillon thought, not the kind of boy who would pay attention to a little nerd like himself. Still, Chase was always nice to him. And now, there was Chase playing with himself during class. Dillon wouldn't turn thirteen until July. He was an immature twelve, hairless from his ears down, still shooting dry. Dillon was a bright little boy and learned a lot about masturbation by listening to the more mature boys around him. And now, he was seeing one of those mature boys in action. Chase watched Mr. Saxton carefully and saw he was busily illustrating his point on a map being projected onto the screen above the white board. He needed to get off hard and fast and there were better ways than pocket pool to do that. He slowly pulled down the zipper on his jeans and was pleased when his boner popped out of the opening. The only person who could see it was Dillon, and once again he didn't care. For his part, Dillon thought he'd died and gone to heaven as he stared at the incredible erection on display in front of him. His own little boner was throbbing in his briefs; he was turned on like never before. Chase put two of the fingers of his right hand up to his mouth, looked again at what Mr. Saxton was doing, then spit on them. He quickly grabbed his cock and rubbed the spit around his already precum-slickened glans. His left hand reached inside his pants and rubbed his smooth balls and then pushed against the base of his erection. In his heightened state that was all it took to send cum spewing out of his cock, the first shots hitting the bottom of his desk and the rest dribbling into his boxers. Some of the cum under his desk dripped down him as well. It was all he could do not to groan out loud. As Dillon watched the eruption he found out something about his own reproductive system that he didn't know. He barely touched himself through his pants and instantly discovered that his cock could have an orgasm with him barely touching it. His body shook and he swallowed a squeal as the fabulous, but unexpected, feeling overwhelmed him. Chase zipped up, doing his best to make it look like nothing happened. He made sure to rub the cum around the front of his boxers first. He wondered if Hatcher and Braedon would have orgasms before the day ended. He looked over at Dillon and smiled. Dillon returned the smile as he pointed to his crotch and nodded. Even if his friends didn't cum, Chase was certain Dillon had enjoyed an orgasm of his own. Mr. Saxton instructed the class to get out their texts and open them. He looked at Chase and Dillon in the back of the room, knowing what had transpired there. His philosophy was that pubescent boys were pubescent boys and as long as they didn't expose themselves to unwilling eyes he'd let them do their thing. He had to admit to himself that Chase Miller was not a boy he expected to masturbate in class. He wasn't sure of how far Dillon had gone. After class Dillon told Chase that what he did was way cool and that he wouldn't tell anybody about what he saw. At the end of the school day, Chase found out that Hatcher and Braedon hadn't been able to jerk off in class. Chase made sure that his two friends saw the dried cum on his boxers. As he walked home with Hatcher, Chase thought about Dillon. In his mind, Dillon was cuter than he originally thought and he wondered if Dillon would be willing to jerk off with him at some time. Chase enjoyed his birthday dinner at Luigi's Pizza in the Magnolia District. He enjoyed his presents and his family. But his biggest pleasure of the day was turning Dillon on so much that a boy he barely knew orgasmed in class with him. When Aiden got home from school, he got naked and turned on his computer. While he waited for it to boot, he texted Chase, wishing him happy birthday. He had sent his cousin a birthday card on Saturday. He went to the website of the Modesto Nuts to check on how Marty had done on Monday. He was two-for-three with a double and a walk and had no errors as the Nuts won 5-2. It gave Aiden a happy feeling that Marty had seemed to have a good game and he hoped he was turning his slump around. He then set Horace on his bed next to him and jerked off, thinking of being on top of Gordy, both of them naked. He visualized busily kissing and humping his friend, making them both cum, which set him off to his own dry cum. What made it really wild was that he was doing it on the pitcher's mound of the East Lake Park baseball field in broad daylight. He swore Horace enjoyed the show on the bed. That night, Larry read from "Superfudge" by Judy Blume, a book Aiden thought was hilarious. After being tucked in by his daddy, Aiden fell asleep thinking about his upcoming baseball game on Saturday. He was sad he couldn't go to Chase's birthday party because of the game, but he was much more excited about playing in his first league baseball game than he was about going to his cousin's party, which was nothing against his cousin Chase. Baseball, after all, was baseball. Next: "A Week in the Lives of..." (Part 2)