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 Preparatory Institute." I'd made it up to 8th 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. No advanced classes, no 20 pages' worth of homework every night. This is gonna be a piece of cake, I thought. 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 lurch 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. One 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 warm sand and across the broiling-hot 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 over 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, alright," he said, chuckling. "Not because of Carol, but only because you asked me nicely." 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 Larson 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 -- a lot further along the path to manhood. 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 city-wide 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 guys, 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 -- admit it," he 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 even 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 nothin' 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. An almost-invisible 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 reluctantly 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, 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. "Honest, I didn't mean to embarrass you." He nodded towards my groin. "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, or some line drawings I saw in a medical book.

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, as 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, realization 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 cock 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 rolled his eyes. "That means you have a big dick, dummy. And shit, look at your balls," he marveled, cupping them gently in his left hand. "My nuts are like, well… walnuts. But yours 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 more than twice 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 to each other 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 definitely 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, almost blacking out from the sensation. 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 hairier. 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 queer… 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 morning, 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 the black & white 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 in the 50's, 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; I'll save that experiment for another day. 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 an archeological 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 3200 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 all-white private school, this place was a madhouse, with literally thousands of teenage boys and girls of every 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 finally 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 manila 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 during 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, and our daily class schedules, 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 a gnarled finger at 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 opposite 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 cavernous. 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, I thought. 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 'bout 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 erupted from a table behind us.

"That asshole," he muttered. "He tripped me as we were walking by." Ronnie nodded 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. "So why's this kid wearin' 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 with a toothy grin. "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 green 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.

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 Geography, American History, English, and Phys Ed, which was my last class of the day, at 2:45PM.

The warning bell sounded, so we scraped off 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 freshman 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 him face-first 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 shaggy 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 upper lip. 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. We kept up our conversation, while simultaneously keeping our eyes averted.

"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 stocky-looking 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 wrapped the towel around my waist -- a move I'd perfected for the last couple of years of swim practice. 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 about 30 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 lathered up, and I saw him do a double-take when he walked by and glanced below my waist. I quickly 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 after all, 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 penis, 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, you moron!" I muttered.

"WHAT WAS THAT?" the bully roared, taking a swing at me. I ducked, and his fist missed my head by a fraction of an inch and 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 scruff of 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 out 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 off 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, I thought. 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, "Hey, my mom's pickin' me and my brother up over there. You wanna ride?"

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

"No, really," he insisted. "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 wearily into our living room, threw my books in a heap 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 somehow 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, tanned 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 hips 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, as my sensory network erupted with pleasure. 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 were the overwhelming ripples of pleasure from between my legs.

"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 a little 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 again 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 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 six lanes, all housed indoors 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 tore down the lane as hard as I could, but yawned as I pulled myself out of the water. This early schedule was gonna be murder.

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 six 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 month or two. 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 February. 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'm goin' out on a date 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 with you, 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.

 Chapter 5

For the next few weeks at school, Sky managed to avoid me in the halls. We were cordial enough in English, and I even let him copy my homework a couple of times. But I could sense that things weren't going to be like they were before.

I somehow made it through gym class at the end of each day. I still heard some occasional whispers and giggles from a few of the guys in the locker room, but after the Coach's warnings, they more or less left me alone. Late one Friday afternoon, somebody stole my towel off the hook from the shower. That meant I had no choice but to trudge over to Chuck, the assistant Phys. Ed. manager -- a huge, bloated 10th grader who looked even goofier than Ron, if you could believe it -- who rented towels to those who were wet and unfortunate, behind a little window in the office near the shower entrance. As I stood there naked, dripping wet, I thought his eyes were gonna bulge out of his head when he handed me a towel, staring obviously at my crotch.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," I muttered to him as I tossed a dime on the counter and walked away, wrapping the terrycloth around my waist.

Ronnie was just finishing getting dressed as I got back to my clothes locker. He looked up at me and grinned. "Oh, lost your towel, right? Watch out for Chuck -- I heard he's one o' them thar preverts." Ron laughed loudly at his own hillbilly impression, and slapped his knee for comic effect.

I smiled wanly. "Yeah. But he's not exactly my type."

Ron seemed oblivious to my joke. "Hey, listen, Wil," he said. "My brother and some of his 10th-grade friends are gonna have a little backyard barbecue at my place after school. My mom's got some kinda meeting tonight, so she won't be home until at least 11. You wanna come by?"

I sighed. Ron was such an annoying little twerp, and he looked goofy as hell, but since all Sky wanted to do was play football and spend time with his girlfriend, maybe…

"OK," I said, surprising even myself. "Yeah, what the hell. Your mom gonna pick you guys up from school today?"

Ron's freckled face immediately lit up. "Yeah! We're gonna have burgers and dogs and stuff. In fact," his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "I think Rick's got some beer." He shot me a glance and wiggled his eyebrows comically. We both laughed.

I never really liked the taste of beer, but this was as good an excuse as any for me to get a little wasted. I called my folks to tell them where I'd be, and promised I'd be home by 11. They said it was okay, since it wasn't a school night. I hung up the pay phone and jogged back to my friend, grinning. "You're on, Ronnie. Let's go."

An hour later, we were sitting around Ron's lush backyard, which was enormous compared to mine. His family had a large kidney-shaped pool, surrounded by trees and fancy shrubbery, and there was a built-in brick barbecue on the patio. Three older kids I hadn't met before were tossing a football back and forth, while I sat on a lounge chair next to Ronnie. Rick, Ron's brother, wore a big apron around his waist and had a chef's hat comically perched on his head. He slapped another patty on the grill.

It was a little cold for late October. Ron and I sat in adjoining lounge chairs, and chatted idly as the sun went down. I leaned back and smiled as a hazy cloud of blue smoke drifted towards us from the barbecue. I loved the smell of charcoal and grease. Mmmmmmm.

Rick turned to me. "Y-y-y-y-you want another b-b-b-b-b-b-b…" he stammered.

"BURGER, you mean," I said, annoyed. What was with this guy?

"Y-y-y-yeah, burger." He nodded and flipped it over, turning away from me, slightly embarrassed. Ron gave me a look.

"Listen, Wil," he said in a low voice. "Rick can't help it. He's stuttered real bad ever since my Dad died four years ago. Don't make fun of him, man."

"Shit, I'm sorry, Ron," I said quietly, glancing over at his older brother. "You mean he can't stop doing it?"

Ronnie shook his head. "Not even if he tried as hard as he could. He's been goin' to speech therapy twice a week, but it's still as bad as ever. Just don't razz him about it, OK?"

I nodded. Jeez. Maybe there were kids out there who actually had worse problems than I did.

Just after 6PM, Mrs. Lannigan stuck her head out to the patio. "OK, boys -- I'm late for my meeting! You've got all my phone numbers. I want no rough-housing, no messes, and that kitchen had better be spotless when I come back tonight. Richard!"

Ron's older brother froze in mid-flip and turned, his face reddening. "Y-y-y-yes, M-m-mom?"

"You're in charge for tonight. Now, Ronald -- you do whatever your brother tells you to do! If I find out about any funny business going on, you both will have old Mrs. Evans, the babysitter, to take care of you the next time."

Rick and Ron both gulped. "Forget about it, Mom. We'll be cool, we promise!" implored the younger brother. She nodded and closed the door.

The moment we heard her car's engine start and the garage door open, Ron raced across the backyard and looked over the fence. Seconds later, he yelled, "OK, my little pretties! The coast is clear! The wicked witch has flown the coop!" He cackled wildly, doing a decent impression of Margaret Hamilton from The Wizard of Oz. This guy was quite a character.

Rick laughed, and I grinned at him. I could see he had a good sense of humor, just like his younger brother -- speech impediment or no. He reached down to a small refrigerator next to the grill, and triumphantly brought out an ice-cold six-pack of Budweiser.

"Cool!" said one of the other guys, who ran up. "Toss me one, Rick!" We each grabbed a can and started yanking the pull-tabs. Ronnie popped his beer can open and splattered it down my back, and I let out a yelp. He grinned, and I gingerly opened mine and sipped it slowly. Bitter, but at least it was cold. I made a face.

Ronnie laughed. "Not much of a beer-drinker, eh, Wil?"

I shook my head and winced. "Naaaa, it sucks," said, smacking my lips at the taste. "Besides, Coach says it'll make us fat. I gotta stay real lean for the swim team."

He giggled. "I know one part of you that's real fat," he said, poking me in the stomach.

"Cut that out, asshole!" I hissed, punching him in the shoulder.

He looked hurt. "C'mon, man. I was just kiddin'! Drink your beer. You wanna go swimming?"

I looked at the water, which was already steaming. Even in the cold October weather we were having, their heater kept it fairly warm.

"I, uh, didn't bring my suit," I began. "It's back in my locker at school."

"Fuck that," said one of Rick's friends. "We're skinny-dipping!"

I looked up and was shocked to see him yank his pants off and dive in, naked! In minutes, all of them were all in the pool, splashing and horsing around.

"C'mon in, Wil!" called Ronnie as he did a flip off the diving board. "It feels great!"

Grimacing, I kicked off my sneakers and pulled my shirt over my head, then yanked down my pants. Luckily, the yard was fairly dark and the other boys were already occupied, playing tag on the other side of the pool. But Ron's eyes never left me, as I pulled off my underwear, lay my glasses on a chaise lounge, and dove into the water like a porpoise.

It felt really good. From force of habit, I touched the pool drain on the bottom for luck and rose slowly up, letting the bubbles rise above me to the surface. I glanced at the other naked boys underwater. The dim pool light showed at least one of them had a partial erection, and I felt a little surge of excitement. Down boy, I thought to myself, as I continued floating up to the ladder in the deep end.

Ronnie and I horsed around for the better part of an hour, until I started to cramp up. Between the beer and the burgers, I wasn't surprised. I stayed in the pool as much as I could, hoping nobody would notice my underwater submarine. Much to my relief, Rick's older friends seemed oblivious to me and Ron, as they played an intense game of "Marco Polo." I somehow managed to avoid getting tagged, and I relaxed with Ron in one corner of the deep end, letting the warm water soak into my tired muscles.

Eventually, the other guys got tired and decided to go inside. Rick and I were the last to get out, and Ron tossed me a towel as I pulled myself out of the shallow end, with Rick just ahead of me. I gave him a quick glance; despite the darkness, I could see he was also uncircumcised, just like his little brother.

As I toweled off on the deck, trying to avoid letting the others see me, I turned to Ron. "So, what's the deal with you and your brother's, uh… you know…"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh, you mean our dicks?"

I nodded, embarrassed, as I continued to towel off.

"Rick and I were actually born overseas, in Formosa," he explained. "My Dad was in the Air Force, and that's where we were stationed for a few years. I dunno. I guess it's just a local custom or somethin'. Once we got into school, and people started razzin' us about it, Mom said we should ignore 'em. She said, 'that's the way God created you, with a foreskin, and there's nothin' to be ashamed about it.' So I guess that's that."

I grinned at the two of them. "Well, if nothing else, it gives you something to talk about. You know -- a conversation piece."

The two brothers laughed. The other three boys had already gone into the house. "You wanna shoot some pool with us?" Ronnie asked, pulling up his pants.

"Sure," I replied, grinning. "But be warned -- I know a lot more about swimming in one than shooting one."

Ron laughed uproariously at my bad pun, and we trotted back into the house.

The six of us started playing 8-ball in the family den, which had expensive-looking walnut-covered walls and bookcases. A cool stained-glass Tiffany lamp hung over the table, and the table was big and solid, not one of those flimsy Sears & Roebuck specials. We each took turns trying trick shots, and Ron took great delight in creaming my ass. This red-headed twerp might be a goofball, I mused, but he did know his way around a billiards table -- just like a real pool shark.

"You should be glad we aren't playin' strip pool," he chortled. "You'd be totally butt-ass naked, for sure." Both brothers whooped with glee.

They were right -- I was a total klutz at pool. Once, I almost ripped the green cloth with my pool cue, until Rick showed me how to hold the stick properly. These two were like real hustlers; they won every round, much to our ongoing frustration. Well, I thought, maybe there's more to total geeks like these guys than most people knew.

By 9PM, Rick's friends had departed, leaving only me and the two Lannigan brothers. I gave up trying to beat them at their own game, and dropped my pool cue back in the rack. "That's it for me, guys," I said. "Maybe I should be heading home, too."

"No!" said Ron. "Not yet! You haven't seen my model kit collection!"

His older brother gave him a curious nod as he sank the last ball in the corner pocket, then hung up his cue and walked over to us. I noticed that even though Ronnie was a year younger, it looked like he seemed to call all the shots for the two brothers. They led me down to the end of a hallway to the back of their house, and opened a door. Inside was a fairly large bedroom, almost as big as my family's living room, with two bunk beds on one side. To the left were an incredible array of toys and models -- Frankenstein, Dracula, all the big movie monsters, plus dozens of cars, spaceships, and robots -- set up on a dozen shelves, each intricately arranged like a professional display.

"Wow!" I said, picking up a miniature Phantom of the Opera ghoul. "Gee, you painted it and everything! This looks really cool, guys -- just like the movie."

Rick and Ron beamed. "That's Rick!" said Ron, proudly. "He's a real artist. Check out the detail!"

I was impressed. Ron chattered on endlessly, while his older brother smiled and let him monopolize the conversation. I sat on the lower bunk and glanced around the room. Man, I thought. Some people really have the life. This place made my room look like a crackerbox. They even had their own color TV set and a fairly big stereo system! Shit, I didn't know any kid that had a TV in their room, especially in 1968.

"S-s-s-so, Ronnie says you're on the s-s-s-wim team," stammered Rick.

"Yeah, he's a real champ!" enthused Ron.

I shook my head, smiling wanly at the compliment. "Hardly. I'm still on second-string. I'm the third-slowest guy on the team, mainly 'cause I'm short. But Coach says if I work out, I can bulk up, get more muscle, and improve on my times."

"I think your body looks cool, Wil," said Ron. I couldn't swear it, but thought I saw a gleam in his eye.

My face reddened. My body wasn't nearly as good as Sky's, I thought. Sky. Shit, I had hadn't even thought about him for days.

Rick sat next to me on the bed. "Yeah. R-r-r-real cool." He smiled at me.

I gulped. Rick had a curious expression on his face, almost like he was… hungry.

"I told him about you, Wil," said Ron, shyly.

Great, I thought. More jokes at my expense. I stood up. "Look, it's getting late, guys," I said. "My folks want me to be home before 11, or I'm busted."

Ronnie leapt up and put his hand on my arm. "No, wait!" he implored. "We've still got more than ninety minutes. You wanna… I dunno, maybe look at some dirty magazines or somethin'?"

My heart fluttered. It'd been almost a month since the last time I'd spent the night with Sky, and I'd been too pissed-off and depressed to masturbate for the last three days.

Ron looked at me, expectantly.

"What kind of magazines?" I asked.

The two red-haired brothers eagerly pulled out a half-dozen dog-eared magazines from a top shelf. My mouth fell open with surprise. Shit, some of these things looked like they were from the 1950s, like nudist colony brochures or something! We sat down and ogled the photos, eagerly flipping through the pages. I could see they'd gotten a lot of use out of these mags; some of the pages were practically stuck together. We laughed over some of the dated hairstyles and pot-bellies, but a few of them looked really hot. In minutes, both brothers had little tent-poles growing from their shorts. I squirmed and had to adjust my pants, myself.

"Look at this one," said Ron. I looked down and stared at a picture of a muscular teen, who looked just a little older than we were. He was blond, like Sky, and was almost as good-looking. I looked below the teen's waist, and was surprised to see that his organ was just about as big as mine -- maybe even bigger. Maybe I wasn't such a freak after all. My groin throbbed.

Ronnie got off the bed, looked at his brother and gave him a knowing glance. "Rick, you wanna do it?"

His brother nodded and turned to me and grinned. I felt that familiar warmth in my gut, but I was scared. My mouth went dry.

"It's just us, Wil," Ronnie said, softly. "C'mon -- let's do it."

Ronnie pulled his shirt over his head, slid off his shorts, and yanked down his underwear. Up popped his bulging member, which was skinny, but had to be at least six inches long. Rick locked the door, then pulled off his shorts and let them drop to his ankles. I saw that even though he was a little taller than his younger brother, they appeared to be almost identically-equipped below the waist, even down to the freckles. Rick's had a good thatch of light reddish hair at the base; Ron's wasn't quite as hairy, but it was so stiff, it almost pointed straight up to the ceiling. Rick grinned at me, pulled his erection part-way down and let it slap back against his belly. Both boys giggled, then turned to me and waited, expectantly.

I sighed. "OK, but this was your idea," I said, defeated. I stood up, pulled off my shirt, unzipped my pants, and let them drop to the floor, revealing my teenage tool in all its glory. It was so hard, the tip glistened, and the shaft bounced with every move I made.

"Wow." Rick let out a low whistle. "Jesus, Ron, you weren't kidding. That's the biggest one I ever saw. It's a monster! Lookit the veins and stuff on it!" He was totally mesmerized.

I looked up at him, shocked. "Hey! What happened to your stutter?"

"It c-c-c-c-c-comes and goes," he laughed. "I guess you just… sur-sur-surprised me. It's not every day you s-s-see a foot-long wanger."

I smiled. "Actually, it's only nine inches."

"Closer to ten," chimed in Ron, who grinned from ear to ear. "Was I kiddin', Rickie? It's bigger than yours and mine combined!" His brother nodded, and licked his lips.

My organ twitched up and down with anticipation. I sat down on the bed and idly started playing with myself.

Ron put his lips close to my ear and said softly, "Wil… lemme show ya some stuff my brother and I do to each other."

With that, they began rubbing and sliding their hands over each other's bodies. Ron dropped to his knees and started groping his brother's groin and stroking his inner thighs. Rick moaned and sat down next to me on the bed, just as Ron completely engulfed his brother's penis in his mouth.

I gasped. Holy shit, I thought. What had I gotten myself into?

"Oh, Ronnie… that's s-so good," he groaned.

Ron reached back and grabbed his brother's lower back, pulling him closer with both hands. In seconds, Rick began thrusting forward, moaning feverishly. I looked down and saw that Ronnie was manipulating himself frantically. Shit, I thought, looking closely. I didn't know you could pull the foreskin up and down like that. Very cool.

Rick's eyes were closed and he moaned with delight. He put his right hand on the back of his brother's head, and gently pulled him forward. With his other hand, he began tweaking his left nipple, then made little grunting noises, like an animal. My own erection throbbed, and I started stroking faster, completely engrossed by the two brothers, who seemed oblivious to me.

Within a minute, the older boy let out a loud yell and redoubled his thrusts. Ron choked and sputtered, and Rick fell back on the bed beside me, panting and totally spent.

"Jesus," I exclaimed. "You swallowed it!"

Ronnie let go and sat up. "So what?" he said, grinning from ear to ear. "It's just between brothers."

Yeah, I thought. Maybe then it's not queer. I was feeling horny as hell, and continued to stroke myself, staring at the younger boy.

Ron put his hand on my fist. "Stop," he said. "Lemme show ya somethin' a lot better."

With that, he dropped to his knees in front of me and took me in his mouth. I almost cried out in surprise. My whole groin felt like it was on fire, and I curled my toes with delight. I was powerless to resist.

"D-d-don't forget to watch your teeth, Ronnie," said Rick, who leaned over to get a better look.

Ron looked like he was in a state of bliss. He took his mouth off me for a moment and gazed at my groin, which was covered with his saliva. "Get over here, Rick. I can't handle this thing by myself!"

Before I knew it, both brothers' tongues explored every inch of me. My erection had never felt bigger. One boy slurped hungrily on my balls, while the other kept a steady pace stroking me with his mouth. I was in such a daze, I didn't know or care which of them was doing what.

The two brothers kept up their assault with renewed fervor. Hands squeezed and stroked my chest, tweaked my nipples, and I sucked in my breath when I felt a straying finger poke me gently in the butt. I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my chest and into my armpit. This was a hundred times better than anything I'd ever experienced before, pleasure almost beyond my wildest imagination.

Seconds later, my pulse began to race. I gasped out, "I'm… I'm getting real close, guys."

Ron -- at least I think it was Ron -- plunged his mouth down even deeper, and I felt a new sensation as I popped past the back of his throat.

"Oh, fuck!" I yelled.

My hips thrust and bucked uncontrollably, and my hands squeezed the bedspread as hard as I could. My eyes rolled back in my head, then I whimpered with ecstasy as my groin convulsed a torrent that vanished down Ron's throat. At last, I lay back on the bed, exhausted and overcome with bliss, trembling with excitement. I felt like Old Faithful had just erupted the biggest geyser in recorded history.

"Shit," said Ron, quietly. "Look at this, Rickie! I came all over myself without even touching it!"

Rick and I started to laugh as I sat up. Sure enough, there was a little puddle of goo on the carpet by Ron's knee. I could smell that unmistakable smell known to all horny teenagers.

"That's… that's a pretty cool trick, Ron," I laughed, catching my breath. "You've gotta teach me that one someday." I sighed and grinned down at him.

He giggled his boyish laugh. I looked down, and immediately felt a jealous surge. Shit, it was true -- he really had more hair than I did. Adolescence really sucks.

"What's wrong?" he asked, giving me a quizzical look.

"I'm still almost as bald as a fucking baby," I muttered, embarrassed.

"N-n-no, you're not," said Rick. "Look!"

He kneeled down to me and pointed out a few new stray hairs at the base of my softening shaft. I leaned over to take a closer look. He was right! They must've grown in over the last few weeks. Finally, I was becoming a man.

"Wow," I exclaimed, relieved. "It's about goddamned time."

Ronnie looked closer. "Hey, you got peach fuzz all over here. Take a look in the light."

He gently grabbed my flaccid appendage and dragged me across the room, over to the desk lamp on the table. Sure enough, I could see a few more sprouts of hair above the base of my member, some almost light enough to be blond. I felt relieved. Maybe I was finally hitting my growth spurt.

"Well, at least that's one problem I don't have to worry about," I sighed with relief.

Rick and Ron grinned. "I dunno, Wil," giggled Ron, as he wiggled my rubbery appendage back and forth. "This thing's a pretty big problem, if you ask me."

"Oh, shut up!" I grinned, mussing up his hair.

After we cleaned up, we lay on the bed and listened to their stereo, which at the moment was playing The Righteous Brothers' "You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin." I quietly sang along with it; it was one of my favorite songs from a couple of years before. My voice was deep enough that I could match Bill Medley's with a little effort.

Ronnie sat next to me and leaned over. "Listen, Wil," he said quietly. "I kinda had to talk Rick into this for weeks before he'd let me do it." Rick glanced nervously at me, then looked down at the floor, and Ron continued, anxiously. "You can't ever tell…"

I held my hand up. "I'm 'way ahead of you. Nobody knows about this but us."

"Nobody," echoed Ron.

Rick nodded, relieved. "Th-th-thanks, Wil. We'd be glad to d-do it anytime with you."

"Just us brothers," giggled Ronnie.

I grinned. Well, even if I didn't have Sky as a friend anymore, maybe the Lannigans would be a reasonable substitute. For awhile, anyway.

* * * * *

As we walked the eight long blocks to my house, the two Lannigan brothers and I discussed the events of the last week, but they didn't seem anxious to talk about what we had just done back in their bedroom. Ron kept us laughing with his lame jokes, and I kept my eye on my watch. Still 10:45 -- more than enough time to make it back home before my folks killed me.

Halfway there, while we were waiting for a streetlight to change, I turned to Rick and said, "hey, by the way -- what's with this Scott Michaels guy, anyway? What's his goddamned problem?"

The two brothers looked like I'd hit them on the back of the head with a shovel. Rick was visibly shaken, and immediately pounced on Ron.

"You told him, d-d-didn't you!" he hissed. "This was all your fucking fault, Ronnie!"

Rick cocked his fist back like he was going to pound the life out of his little brother. Ronnie immediately cowered and covered his face.

"HEY!" I yelled. "Stop it!" I caught Rick's hand and dragged it down to his side.

They both turned to me, but kept their eyes averted.

"We… we gotta get back home, Wil," Ron said meekly, backing up. For once, the light went out of his eyes. Now, he looked absolutely terrified, almost on the verge of tears.

"No, wait!" I said, dumbfounded. "Really, I don't know anything! What's the deal?"

The two brothers started walking away, then broke out into a run, leaving me alone on the street. What had just happened here? I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone, like one of those doomed characters on TV.

I made my way home and back up to my room. It took me over an hour to get to sleep, and when I did, my head was filled with nothing but nightmares. When I fell out of bed Saturday morning, I couldn't remember anything I'd dreamed, except bizarre bits and pieces: smoky, out-of-focus images of Rick, Ron, and Scott Michaels, all of them naked. And Sky was in there too, but he was angry, fully clothed and yelling at me, like he hated me. I shook my head in an effort to make that mental picture go away, and spent the rest of the afternoon in my Dad's easy chair, watching bad sci-fi movies on TV.

Later that day, I stared at the phone, mentally willing it to ring. Sky… Ron… somebody had to call me, eventually. But nobody did. I gave up and buried myself in a book. Since I was a little kid, whenever I felt really down, I could always count on a book to help get my mind off my troubles. I picked up one of my favorites, Arthur Conan Doyle's Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. At least these were short stories; I found the longer ones a little tedious, like Hound of the Baskervilles.

Sunday morning, I reorganized my small collection of Famous Monsters magazines and re-read them for about the 18th time. Monsters were cool, but I felt a pang. I was still lonely. I lay back on my bed and listened to my little transistor radio for the rest of the day. By the time they played "Harper Valley P.T.A." for the third time, I couldn't take it anymore, and I angrily punched the off button.

By 3PM, I'd had enough solitude. I gathered up my courage, walked into the kitchen, took a deep breath, and dialed Sky's number. It rang twice. His mom answered, and though she sounded glad to hear from me, she told me that Sky had gone out with some friends that afternoon from the football team. Great, I thought. Left out again. I thanked her and hung up the phone. One down, and one to go.

There was only one "Lannigan" listed on Westshore Blvd., but it took me ten minutes to get the courage to dial the number. Finally, I did. A young voice answered.

"Hel-hel-hel-hello?"

I didn't have to be a mentalist to figure out which Lannigan that was. "Rick! Hi, it's me, Wil. What're you up to, man?" I tried to act as casual as I could.

A long pause. "N-n-nothin'."

Okay. This wasn't gonna be easy. "So," I continued, "you guys wanna come over and hang out or something?" Another long silence.

"No. I got homework." Hmmm -- no stutter this time.

"Yeah, me, too," I answered glumly. This was getting nowhere. "Uh, is Ronnie around?"

The phone clunked down and I heard a voice yell in the background. A few seconds later, Ron was on the line.

"Uh… hi, Wil."

Jeez -- no jokes, no funny voices, no nothing. It looked like the deep freeze wasn't going to thaw very soon.

"Hey, Ronnie, you feel like coming by my house?" I asked, trying to sound cheerful and enthusiastic. "My folks and my stupid sister are out all day, so we'd have the run of the place to ourselves. How's that sound?"

Ronnie covered the mouthpiece, and I heard some angry, muffled voices snarling in the background.

"Sorry, Wil. I got…"

"Oh, don't tell me, let me guess," I sighed. "Homework, right?"

"Yeah," he said in a small voice.

"Look, Ron," I said, imploringly. "You can trust me. Tell me what the hell's going on!"

"Later," he whispered. "I gotta go."

* * * * *

Monday morning at school, I spotted Ronnie walking down the hall, looking like his old self again. His face brightened when he saw me, and I waved across the courtyard and ran over.

"Hey, Ronnie. Hope you're OK," I started. "Listen, man, I'm sorry for pissing-off you and your brother the other day…"

"No," he whispered. "Not here." He looked around nervously. "In the bathroom. C'mon."

We trotted briskly over to the smallest of the boys' restrooms in the school, the one all the way down at the end of the fourth wing of classrooms. Ron cautiously checked under the stalls. The coast was clear.

Ron took a deep breath. "OK. So you wanna hear the whole story about Rick and Scott Michaels?"

I nodded. "What's the big deal?"

Ron looked down at the ground, embarrassed. "Well… you know, the stuff we did together Friday night?" he said.

"Yeah…?" I said, quizzically.

He took a deep breath. "That's not the first time we've done that before," he said, quietly.

Holy shit, I thought. "Wait a minute -- you mean that Rick and Scott were…"

Ronnie looked up at me nervously and nodded.

"It was in May, almost six months ago," he began. "I didn't know nothin' about sex or anything. I came home from school, late, and I heard some noises from our bedroom, so I walked in and they were… you know…" He looked down at his feet.

I let out a slow whistle. "So your brother did it with Scott?"

Ron got right up to my face and stared, grimly. "You can't tell anybody, Wil!" he whispered. "Not Sky, not the coach, not ANYBODY!"

I thought for a minute. "But why does Scott hate you?"

He sighed. "They'd been doin' it for awhile. I think he trusted Rick to keep his mouth shut, but not me."

"Hey," I chuckled, "if Rick had kept his mouth shut, he wouldn't be in this mess in the first place!"

"Shut up, Wil!" he growled, and grabbed my shirt. "You don't know Rick like I do! I'd do anything for him -- anything!" His eyes darkened.

Shit, I thought. For a goofy kid, Ronnie could sure be sensitive.

"Jesus, calm down, Ron," I said, gently peeling his fingers off my shirt. "OK, I swear, I won't ever tell anybody about this."

"And that means Scott, too," he continued. "If he finds out you know, he's gonna come after me, because I'm the only guy who coulda told you."

"But why is he always calling you 'faggot'?" I asked.

Ronnie winced. "He's… he's scared because I saw what he was doing with my brother."

I grinned at the thought. "Yeah, your brother's really talented," I chuckled.

Ron shook his head. "Scott was on his knees, Wil," he whispered.

I blinked. Jesus. The star football player of the Tampa Central Cheetahs was…

"So he's really the faggot." I said, in disbelief. "I mean, uh, he's… you know, a homo. Like you guys." Like me, I thought.

Ron's face blanched. "No we're not, Wil!" he insisted. "I really like girls, as much as you do! So does Rickie, I swear. But y' know, sometimes… guys gotta help each other out. Like brothers."

I nodded. "OK," I said. "Let's forget it ever happened." We shook on it.

A bell echoed down the hall. The walkways were deserted, and we slunk into our homeroom class and sat down at our desks, under the evil eye of Mrs. Swatts. She gave us an evil glare. "Thirty more seconds, and you two would've gone off to detention!" she snapped.

Ronnie and I kept our heads down and pretended to take a sudden deep interest in our social studies books, preparing for a test in the next period.

* * * * *

Report cards came out a week later in mid- October. I pulled two A's and four B's, but one lone 'C' in Algebra kept me off the Honor Roll. My parents were terribly disappointed. At this rate, they'd never let me go back to LaFontaine.

The weather turned cold and drizzly. October dissolved into November, and November dissolved into December. God finally gave me a break: at last, I was getting a respectable growth of hair on my groin. So did just about all the other kids in gym class, ranging from peach fuzz to downright hirsute. Their initial fascination with "donkey boy" seemed to have evaporated, though I still occasionally caught a few curious stares and glances in my direction in the locker room. Once, I thought I saw one kid start to get visibly excited while he showered next to me, but he quickly turned away before I knew for sure.

Despite being the youngest student at Tampa Central, I was beginning to get used to 9th grade. I managed to make a few more casual friends, thanks to being on the swim team. I spent more and more time each week in practice. Between that and homework, I hardly had time to do anything else. I was able to dramatically improve on my Freestyle times, and I inched my way up on the coach's list to finally qualify for first-string Backstroke and Breaststroke. Coach Byers encouraged me at every practice, giving me pointers. He occasionally showed us Olympic films highlighting some of the swimming techniques in slow-motion, with all kinds of animated arrows and graphics to show us how the champions did it. I watched the films with open-mouthed wonder. God, I thought. What I'd give to be able to swim that fast…

One day in early December, at the end of practice, Coach Byers took me aside. "You're coming along well, Larson, but I think you still need to do some work on your legs and arms. If you were just a little stronger, I think you'd have the body type that could really make it as a swimmer."

"You think so, Coach?" I asked, dripping on the tile floor.

He nodded. "You know, Wil, I almost made the Olympic team back in 1956," he said, wistfully. "Eight years before that, I was the spitting image of you at your age -- same speeds, same height, and just about the same weight. Maybe you could make it in another six or seven years. The 1976 games aren't all that far off, you know."

"Hey, why not try for '72?" I chuckled.

The couch laughed. "Son, you've gotta train for years for this," he explained, kindly. "You have no idea the amount of work and sacrifice it's going to take. Let's just go a step at a time."

I thought for a moment. "Have there ever been any 17 year-olds on an Olympic team?" I asked, wistfully.

He shook his head. "Not very often. Nowadays, it's mostly the 20 to 25 year-olds that dominate the sport. You're what -- 15, now?"

"I'll, uh, be 14 next summer," I confessed.

"You're just 13?" he exclaimed. "Aren't you a little young to be in high school already?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I guess. I skipped first and second grade, because I was too smart for my own good," I sighed. "I went to LaFontaine for 7th and 8th grade. Now I'm here."

"The LaFontaine Institute?" the coach asked in surprise. "So you're a gifted kid."

I laughed and shook my head. "Apparently, not gifted enough," I said. "I'm back in public school, now. My parents thought it'd do me some good." I sighed, remembering the look on their faces at my last report card. "I'd almost rather be back at the Institute. But at least you've got a great swim team here."

The coach gave me an understanding look. "It's tough when you're young, and the older kids tease you. They think you're an easy target, just because you're smaller than they are."

I had to stop myself from blurting out, "tell that to my dick," but I bit my tongue.

"Wil," he said, stepping back and giving me a grin. "You look to me like a young man who's gotta lot of intestinal fortitude. You know what I mean?"

I grinned. "You mean I've got 'guts,' right?"

Coach Byers nodded, thought for a moment, then started filling out a piece of paper. "I'll tell you what I'm gonna do," he said. "I'm going to set it up with Coach Lucas to have you work out once or twice a week in the other building, where the football players have their weight room set up. Have your parents sign this consent form, and we'll start you pumping some iron. And follow the recommended diet in this booklet," he said, as he handed me the papers.

"I thought that lifting weights would stunt my growth or something," I said, a note of concern in my voice.

"Naw -- that's just an old wives' tale, son," he explained. "We're not gonna dump 300 pound barbells on you. Just some light weights and machines, period. Stay away from the heavy stuff," he cautioned. "You can really get hurt with those, especially without the right training and a good spotter. You'll be ready for that in another year or two."

"And then on to the Olympics!" I grinned.

"We'll see about that," he laughed, swatting my wet fanny as I trotted to the locker room. "Get going! And don't forget to bring the form back in to me tomorrow!"

 Chapter 6

Friday the 13th, as I trudged down the hall to sixth-period English, I had to fend off Rick and Ron -- "the geek brothers" as I'd started to call them. We'd had a few more sessions in their bedroom over the last few weeks, but I began to realize I really didn't like the guys all that much. Heck, they spent more time screwing around with each other than they did with me. I almost felt like I was intruding on their little games. Even worse, I felt like I was still the freak on display, which made me really self-conscious. And even though I felt kind of embarrassed to admit it, Rick and Ron just weren't… well, all that attractive. Hell, they were downright goofy-looking! Every time I did it with them, once it was over with, I felt kind of ashamed.

As I trudged through the halls, I thought of Sky, and the two or three times we had fooled around together. I never felt embarrassed with him. When I was with Sky, it all seemed… I dunno -- exciting, yet at the same time, like it was the most natural thing in the world. I mean, I had known the guy for what, six years? And I liked him as a person long before I ever even thought about him… well, as more than a friend. I began to feel that familiar pain in my chest again, then I shook my head. I'm not a homo, I thought. I'm just going through a phase. That's what all the books said.

Sky was right: maybe I should try to date some girls. Fat chance I had at actually getting laid, but at least maybe I could go out and have some fun. Shit, I was a jock, right? Well, almost a jock. Even if I was the lowest guy in the line-up, and I'd yet to even compete in a single swim meet, I still technically had a monogrammed team letter. Just like Sky.

When I finally got to class, Sky was already laughing with a couple of the football jocks at the front of the room. We sat down almost at the same time, and just as I turned to bring my notebook up from under my desk, someone on my left playfully punched my arm.

"Hey, stud! Look at the new letter-man!"

I looked over to see Sky grinning at me, with the same carefree smile I'd known practically all my life. It'd been awhile since I'd seen him do that. God. Does this guy have perfect teeth, or what? I mentally slapped myself awake and looked down at my new sweater, which I'd gotten the day before.

"Yeah. We all just got them on the swim team. Pretty cool, eh?" I said, trying to be as macho as I could.

"Still, it's not as cool as a varsity football letter," he said, smugly, "…but it's not bad."

I looked closer at the insignia on his jacket. "Shit, Sky!" I whispered. "You made it to varsity!"

He beamed ear-to-ear and nodded proudly. "Yeah. Bobby Carlson broke his leg over the weekend, so they bumped me up to varsity from JV. There's only three 9th graders on the whole team, and I'm one of 'em."

"Congratulations, man!" I said, sincerely. "Man, I hope those guys don't kick your ass too hard."

He grinned. "I'm only the center, so I just have to be hand the ball off and do a little blocking. It's the quarterback that does most of the work. As soon as I get rid of the football, I'm out of danger."

I thought for a second. "Wait a minute -- isn't Scott Michaels the new quarterback?" I asked, making a face.

Sky nodded. "Yeah. I know, he can be an asshole, sometimes, but he's really a great player. With Carlson out, I think Coach is gonna make Scott team captain, too."

I shook my head and grimaced. You'd better watch your balls during the game when Scott reaches behind you, I thought.

"Oh, I forgot," he said, seeing the look on my face. "You got a thing against Michaels, from that bullshit that happened in gym. Look, Wil, just stay out of his way. I'll tell him you're cool."

Yeah, I thought. Cool like Scott's friends Rick and Ronnie.

"Don't go out of your way, man," I said. "I can take care of myself."

He punched me in the shoulder again. "Anything you say, Mr. Jock-man!" he said, laughing.

I grinned back at him. It was almost like being with the old Sky again. God, I'd almost forgotten what it was like.

The class went by quickly, and so did Phys Ed. I felt sure it was going to rain -- typical December weather for Florida -- but all it did instead was look gray and overcast. After we'd run around the track for about the 18th time, Coach Lucas finally blew his whistle. My group half-walked, half-stumbled the last quarter-mile back to the boys' locker room building, puffing and wheezing most of the way. Ronnie caught up with me just as we entered the doorway.

"Hey, Wil," he wheezed. "My mom has to go to some stupid office party tonight. You wanna come by for… you know, a barbecue or pool or somethin'?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

I sighed. "Not tonight, Ronnie," I said. "I finally convinced my folks to let me use the weights in the varsity workout room. I won't get out of here until at least 5:00 or 5:30."

His face fell, like somebody had just cancelled Christmas or something. "Gee, Wil. You haven't come by to see me and Rick in like two weeks," he said, shyly.

I looked in both directions, then brought my voice down to a whisper. "Look, Ron, you know I like you and Rick and all…"

He nodded, but had a disappointed look in his eyes.

"…but I got all these responsibilities and stuff, being on the swim team," I continued. "Coach says I've gotta… you know, bulk up. I really need to get bigger muscles, you know?"

"I think you've already got a lotta muscles, Wil," he said, admiringly.

"But not enough to win, Ronnie," I said, exasperated. "You don't understand -- I'm like the shrimpiest guy on the team! I've gotta get bigger so I can beat these guys. Coach says I can do it -- I've just got to get stronger!"

The red-haired geek nodded. Actually, in this light, Ron almost looked kind of cute in a strange way. What was I saying? I shook my head to try to lose the mental image of him and his brother naked.

"OK," he said, finally accepting defeat. "Just don't turn into one of those giant muscle-bound guys, Wil. You know, like Willie Armitage on the IM Force." Ron looked at me forlornly with his piercing green eyes. Why had I never noticed those before?

"Who?" I asked, as he walked down the hall to the locker room.

"You know, dummy!" he yelled from a distance, exasperated. "Peter Lupus on 'Mission: Impossible,'" he said, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.

I rolled my eyes and laughed. "Not a chance, Ronnie," I grinned, as I walked over to the weight-room door and pushed it open. "I'll be lucky if I can just add 10 pounds of muscle!" I yelled.

Or turn into a Greek god like Sky. There he was on the bench in front of me, stripped to the waist, with four of the other football jocks. I felt a twinge as I saw his tanned chest sweat and strain under the weight.

"…eight… nine… ten! " counted off one of the players. "Incredible, Jones! That's ten reps of 155! Un-fuckin'-believable!"

Sky let the huge bar fall with a clang on the top of the bench posts. He sat up and panted, while half the gym applauded. Sky stood up and took several victory bows.

I stopped dead in my tracks and stared. Holy shit! Sky had really put on some muscle over the last few months. My friend had always been athletic, but now he looked like he was turning into Superboy or something! His arms bulged with all kinds of little veins and ripples I'd never seen before. His chest looked totally pumped up, and he had a deep vertical ridge that went all the way from the top of his chest down to his muscular stomach. His nipples had a light dusting of hairs, and a little inverted V-shaped tuft of blond curls trailed down tantalizingly from his belly-button into his shorts. When he saw me gawking in front of him, he grinned.

"Shit!" he said, laughing. "They'll let anybody in this place!"

"Who's the shrimp?" said one jock, a Cuban guy who'd been assisting Sky with the weights.

"Lay off, man," Sky said, defensively, as he got up and put his arm around my shoulder. "This 'shrimp' just so happens to be a good friend of mine. Gentlemen, let me introduce to you Tampa Central's premiere Backstroke king, Mr. William Larson. He's on the varsity swim team."

"Call me Wil," I grinned. "With one 'L.'"

I shook hands with three of the players, but the big Hispanic guy just stared at me.

"Hey -- wait a minute!," he said, as a wave of recognition hit his face. "You're that kid… Donkey Boy, right? Man, this guy's got a cock on him… madre de dios!" He held his hands about a foot apart and whooped like a hyena. Several other onlookers turned to see what he was laughing about.

"Can it, Rodriquez!" snapped Sky, angrily. "I bet he fucks your mother with that big dick!"

"I doubt it," said one of the others. "Enrique has a baby dick! No way this guy over here could be the father!" he said, pointing in my direction. We all laughed, except for Rodriquez, who turned bright red.

"Hey, shut up, you guys!" he yelled. "That ain't funny!"

I grinned at him and shook my head. "I swear, Enrique," I said, as evenly as I could, "I've never even met your mother." I held my hand out as a gesture of peace.

The brown-skinned teen made a half-hearted attempt to smile, but the other guys just hooted again and slapped Sky on the back.

"No disrespect, man," I said to him, sincerely. He nodded, finally giving me a firm handshake.

Sky's teammates started walking towards the door. "We'll catch ya later, man. We're gonna hit the showers."

"OK. Later, guys! Thanks for helpin' me," called Sky, as they left the room. "So," he said to me, eying my small frame, "I hear you wanna learn how to build strong bodies 12 ways."

"I'll settle for just one," I replied, grinning. I looked around the room at the rows of gleaming chrome steel bars, racks of huge black weights stacked against the far wall, and a dozen dangerous-looking exercise machines arranged in the center of the room. Full-length mirrors surrounded the room on three sides, making the place look twice as big as it really was.

"Jesus!" I said, amazed. "I had no idea the school had such a huge workout room!"

"The best in the state," said Sky, proudly. "Doug Wheeler's dad is the regional rep for the Universal Fitness Company, and he got 'em to donate most of this gear for free. I bet there's some colleges that don't have this much equipment!"

The workout gear looked cool, but also very intimidating. "How do you work all this stuff, Sky?" I asked, with some trepidation. "It looks real complicated. And dangerous," I added.

"Naw, it's easy," he said, reassuringly. "Just follow the rules, and you can't hurt yourself. Look at these charts up here." He walked me over to one wall, and I saw a bunch of colored diagrams and outlines of the human body. "These'll show you how to warm-up, how to stretch, and how to hold the weights for proper form."

"Will you… would you mind showing me?" I asked.

Sky thought for a moment. "Well, I sorta promised Melissa I'd walk her home from school."

My face must've reacted, because he gave me a curious look.

"Or… oh, fuck it," he said, finally. "I could just see her later on tonight. Lemme get a message to her, and I'll come back and show ya the ropes."

I grinned. "Thanks, Sky. I'd really appreciate it."

"Hey, man, what're best friends for?" he replied, giving me his million-dollar smile.

* * * * *

Sky's workout routine was intense. He started me on biceps, which hurt like hell. The weights I was using were little puny 10-pounders, but he reassured me that everybody always started out small. Next up was shoulders, then triceps, then chest.

"Chest is my favorite," said Sky, moving me into position on the bench. "Officially, this is the 'Pectoral Muscle Group,'" he said, putting his hands on my chest. "We call 'em 'Pecs' for short."

I felt my heart flutter momentarily at the touch of his hands, but tried to concentrate on his instructions.

"You'll need good pecs for swimming, for sure," he continued.

"Wouldn't this be safer on the machines?" I asked, timidly. The weights on the bench were about the size of trashcan lids.

"Machines are for pussies, Wil," he said, confidently. "You ever see any of those really huge guys in the magazines?"

I nodded.

"Trust me," he said, replacing the big plates with smaller ones. "None of those guys got big pullin' cables or pushin' levers," he explained. "Those guys pump iron -- the real deal, none of this candy-ass stuff."

I lay back on the bench and looked up at him. Sky's gold chain still dangled around his neck, nestled in the deep groove between his pecs.

"Don't worry," he reassured me. "I'll start you off real light, then you can work your way up over the next few weeks. I bet by next summer, you'll be able to do 155, like I just did today for the first time!"

I gulped. "But Sky," I protested, "I'm not trying to turn into some kind of monster! I just want to get bigger. Not huge, y' know?"

Sky grinned and got close to my ear. "I say you're already huge," he whispered, tugging playfully at my shorts.

I laughed. From him, it sounded like a compliment, not an insult.

* * * * *

By 5:30, we were both totally exhausted. I hurt in places I didn't even know I had. If actual muscles existed there, I thought, they definitely weren't there yesterday.

"You look like shit, Wil!" Sky laughed.

I winced, rubbing my sore left tricep. "Man, I thought swim practice was rough!" I moaned. "But this is a whole new level of pain."

"Yes, but it's a good kinda pain," he laughed. "Look, man, if you're really hurtin', we can use the whirlpool bath down the hall."

"What's that?"

"It's like a real hot bath," he explained, "only with a buncha bubbles and crap. It's a shitload better than a hot shower. Coach lets us use it when we pull a muscle in our legs or somethin'."

"Oh, you mean like a little swimming pool?" I asked, trying to visualize it.

He nodded. "Not exactly, but sorta. It's only big enough for maybe ten guys. Since it's Friday, and we don't have a game tonight, the place is totally deserted. It'll just be you and me."

Well, maybe a hot bath with my best friend wouldn't be so bad, I thought. I felt that familiar twinge again. Shit, don't get hard, don't get hard! I desperately tried to remember the capitals of Europe, which were going to be on our Geography test this coming Monday.

I nodded and we headed back down the hall, and I pulled off my T-shirt, which was damp with sweat. The locker room was deserted. Sky ran down the hall to use the pay phone to call his girlfriend at home, to apologize again for not seeing her after school. Just as I had yanked off my jockstrap, I heard a voice behind me and almost jumped up in the air with fright.

"Hey! Locker room's closed! No one's allowed in here but the football team!"

I turned to see Chuck, the gym manager. He looked at me oddly, but then I realized why he was staring.

I already had a partial hard-on, just at the thought of being in the whirlpool bath with Sky. I glanced down, and was mortified to see it was already at least seven inches, and throbbing closer to eight with every second.

"Oh, hi, Chuck. You scared the shit outta me," I said, nonchalantly trying to turn away from him. "I… ah… got permission from Coach Byers to use the weight room. Sky Jones just took me through my first workout, and we're gonna use the whirlpool. We'll be out in fifteen minutes, I promise."

Chuck continued to stare intensely below my waist, then waddled a few steps towards me. I felt a shiver. This guy definitely gave me the creeps. Jesus, maybe he really was a pervert, like Ronnie said. I grabbed my towel and clumsily covered myself up.

"Look, Chuck, give me a break, willya?" I snapped. "I'm just gonna jump in the whirlpool and be out before you know it. Is that okay?"

As he got closer, I took a good look at him. Chuck was one of the weirdest-looking kids I'd ever seen at school. He was huge, even for a 16 year-old, and his eyes were real close together. I mentally guessed he was at least 200 pounds -- probably all fat -- and I bet he had at least a hundred thousand pimples on his face. Chuck was definitely not an athlete, but I figured him being the assistant manager was probably as close as he'd ever get to actually being on a team.

"You're… you're real big, y' know?" he said, softly, walking closer to get a better look at me.

I pretended to misunderstand him. "Yeah, and Coach says I'm gonna get even bigger if I can work out more," I replied. "Sky's helping me with the weights."

The other boy shook his head. "No. Your dick. It's really… amazing."

I felt a twinge, and felt my face redden when I glanced down to see my towel was beginning to tent up below my waist. There was no mistaking the outline.

"Yeah, well, I was born this way, and I can't change it," I said, irritated. "It's really not a big deal."

Chuck took another step closer and looked me right in the eye. I could smell a strange odor about him, kind of an odd mixture of salt and rotten eggs. Despite the locker room's cool temperature, he was sweating profusely, and he had a troubled expression on his face, as if he was struggling to decide whether or not to do something horrible.

"It's… it's a big deal to me," he said, quietly. "I'd do anything to have a big one like that. Even to… touch it, or anything…"

I started feeling terrified. Chuck probably outweighed me by almost a hundred pounds. If he really attacked me, all he'd have to do to totally subdue me would be just to sit on my chest and crush me to death.

"Look, Chuck, I really don't w-want any trouble…" I stammered.

He was close enough to touch me now. "I can… make you feel a lot better, Wil," he whispered, his face moist with perspiration. "Just let me try. Please." The obese teenager slowly reached his pudgy hand out to touch my towel, and I took a step back.

"Hey, Wil! Let's go, man, the whirlpool's all hot n' ready to go!"

Both Chuck and I jumped with a start as Sky ran back into the room, already half-naked.

"Hi, Chuck," he said, acknowledging our visitor. "Listen, Coach said I could close up, so you can split now. Thanks for hangin' out, man. The team really appreciates it!"

Chuck nodded meekly, and said, "Okay, Sky. You know to kill the lights and let the door lock behind you when you leave."

"Rightio, Chuck," said Sky, yanking off his shorts and jock and grabbing his towel. "Thanks, man!"

The fat boy waddled out of the locker room, and Sky walked over to me and tossed his jockstrap in the empty clothes locker next to mine.

I let out a sigh of relief. "Jesus Christ, Sky! That guy gives me the creeps!" I shuddered, pulling off my glasses and laying them down in my locker.

Sky turned and gave me an incredulous look. "Ol' Chuckles? That fat fuck? Just ignore him, man," he said. "Chuck just likes lookin' at guys. I see him lookin' at me all the time, when the team's in the showers. He's harmless! He's just a fag."

I nodded. "Yeah -- just a fag. Okay."

We grabbed our towels and walked down the hall past the shower and around the corner to a smaller room. A strange chemical odor filled the air, and I heard a distant bubbling noise, like the beakers in Dr. Frankenstein's laboratory.

"Here it is, the official Tampa Central High whirlpool!" Sky said, reaching in and turning on the light switch, which cast a dim glow around a small pool surrounded by a concrete deck. "Hop on in… the water's fine."

Sky peeled off his towel and stepped down into the bubbling water, which had a layer of white foam floating on the top. I turned to watch him move down the steps. Jesus, even his back has muscles, I thought, as I hung my towel on a nearby hook. A deeply-etched line ran down his spine, leading to his very round, muscular butt -- excuse me, the 'gluteus maximus.' By any name, it still made my heart pound. His posterior was very white, in stark contrast with the deep brown tan of the rest of his body. I averted my eyes and gingerly dipped my toe into the pool, which was boiling.

"Fuck!" I yelled. "This thing is gonna scald my ass!"

Sky laughed, his wonderful laugh again. "Naaaa! It feels great! I already checked the thermostat, and it's only 105 degrees. C'mon, just get in and go with the flow, man!"

Gingerly, I moved down the steps, wincing as the bubbling bath hit my dangling family jewels, and finally sat down in the water, right next to my friend.

"Aaaaaaaaah," he sighed, stretching out his legs under water. "Isn't this the greatest?"

I had never felt anything like it. Hidden water jets in the walls blasted thousands of bubbles all over my body, giving my back a vigorous massage. While the chemical smell was pretty intense -- it was noticeably worse than any of the pools I'd ever swam in -- I had to admit, it felt great. I closed my eyes and drank in the sheer physical pleasure of the experience.

"Sky, this is… this is really great, man," I sighed. "I wish my dad would buy one of these for our house!"

Sky laughed. "Fat chance, Wil. You guys still have a 21" black and white TV!"

"Hey," I protested. "That's 'cause my Dad says color TV isn't perfected yet!"

"No, it's 'cause he's a cheap bastard!" he taunted.

"He is not!"

"Is so!"

I started to open up my mouth up to continue the argument, but Sky picked that exact moment to send a big splash of bubbling water right up my nose.

I choked and wheezed. "You asshole!" I yelled, coughing. "There's dangerous chemicals and shit in here! Now, I'll probably turn into the Incredible Hulk or something!"

Sky laughed uproariously, his voice echoing off the tile walls. "That's the only time I ever got you first in a pool, Wil! C'mon, how many times have you nailed me with a killer splash before?"

I sputtered and spit, but was hell-bent for revenge. "You mean like THIS?" I yelled, leaping off the wall and dragging his head under water. We spent the next few minutes wrestling back and forth, laughing and yelping as each of us pinched, splashed, and grabbed the other in the whirlpool.

We'd done this a thousand times before in swimming pools and at the beach, but somehow, it was different this time. For one, we were both completely naked. For another, we were totally by ourselves. After a few minutes of horseplay, we finally wound up pinned against the wall with our arms wrapped around each other, my face right on top of Sky's muscular chest. We laughed hysterically, but I felt a strong surge in my loins, and my heart pounded.

We were both breathing faster, and our laughter slowly stopped as we caught our breath and looked up at each other. Shit, I thought. If I made any kind of move, I just knew what Sky would say. Suddenly, something grabbed me firmly but gently down below.

"Ah, what do we have down here," Sky said, playfully tugging on my manhood. "Did you smuggle a baseball bat into the pool, young man?"

I grinned and reached down underwater. He was hard, too. "No sir," I said, "but you seem to have an abnormal growth over here that I think needs to be diagnosed." I started stroking him.

"Wha… what are you doing, Wil?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

"Look, man," I whispered. "There's nobody else around. Let's… you know, go for it!"

"Here? Is that sanitary?" he asked, quietly.

I sniffed the air. "Shit, Sky. There's so many chemicals in here, it's probably killed all the germs for 100 yards."

He nodded, and we sloshed back over to the underwater concrete steps.

"Okay," he whispered. "You do me, and I'll do you."

My heart raced as I sat up on the pool's top step. "I'm almost there now, Sky," I whispered back. "Just jerk me first so I can get rid of this thing, or else I won't be able to walk out of here."

He started stroking me slowly, using the foamy water as a lubricant. It felt incredible. I reached over and gently caressed his chest with my left hand, and he let out a moan.

"You look really great, Sky," I muttered.

He kept silent and continued moving his right hand back and forth, while his other hand groped his own groin.

"Use both hands," I begged. "You know… like you did before."

"I remember," he said, quietly. Sky reached over and began vigorously stroking me with both hands. It took less than a minute for me to start bucking and thrusting. An involuntary guttural moan started deep in my throat, and before I knew it, a half-dozen spurts shot through the air and landed somewhere in the middle of the bubbly water.

"Jesus, Wil," he whispered. "You just squirted like six feet away!"

"I guess I was… a little worked-up," I gasped.

He nodded, then pulled himself up next to me on the top step, his long legs still in the water. He looked at me hungrily.

"Please. Can you… do it for me?" he pleaded. "I can't even get Melissa to let me go to second base."

I grinned wickedly and gently stroked his rock-hard erection with my right hand. "Lemme try something different," I said. I dropped down between his legs, opened my mouth, and swallowed him up completely in one gulp.

"Oh, GOD!" he moaned.

"Shhhhh!" I mumbled, my mouth half-full. "Somebody'll hear us!"

"Fuck, Wil," he whispered. "That feels incredible!"

I gripped him tightly and began moving back and forth, exploring every inch of his groin with my tongue, slurping hungrily as I went. I used my right hand to tenderly squeeze his balls, while I stroked his chest and tweaked his nipples with my left. Sky moaned with sheer delight.

"Jesus, shit, man!" he cried. "Where did you learn that from? Christ, this is unbelievable!"

I stopped for a minute and pulled my mouth off. "I read a lotta books," I grinned, smacking my lips.

"Please don't stop!" he begged.

"Okay, okay!" I said, and diligently went back to the job at hand. I plunged my face all the way down until my nose poked the blond tufts at the base and I felt a little pressure at the back of my throat. Suppressing the urge to gag, I worked him over as thoroughly as I could, remembering everything Rick and Ronnie had done for me over the past couple of months. I playfully probed my tongue in his belly-button, tracing the light trail of blond hairs all the way down. He moaned again with approval. Less than a minute later, I felt his balls tighten, and I knew he was getting close.

"Wil… I'm… gonna blast off, man!" he whispered.

I patted his chest to assure him it was OK. I squeezed his balls a little tighter, then lightly fingered him a little lower, pushing my finger in to the first knuckle without encountering any resistance. I wiggled around and he began groaning and thrusting uncontrollably.

"Oh, fuck," he moaned, "this is it! Ohhhhhhhhhhh!" He practically lifted his hips out of the water as he lurched forward, humping my mouth like a total madman, completely out of control. I felt several hot spurts hit the back of my throat, and I swallowed it all as he sank back into the hot, bubbling water. Curiously, I couldn't taste anything; with all the weird chemicals I'd already swallowed, I figured, one more weird taste wouldn't kill me.

Sky looked like he was unconscious. I let him slip out of my mouth, then I stepped up and sat down next to him on the steps.

"So, how was that, Sky?" I asked, quietly, wiping off my mouth. I grinned and casually laid my right arm on the step behind him.

He opened his eyes, looked at me, and smiled weakly. "Christ, Wil. That was… well, I just wasn't expecting that." He caught his breath. "You were… you were really great."

"Thanks," I chuckled, leaning back against the tub wall. "I've never actually done it to anybody else before," I said, truthfully. Rick and Ron had always insisted on doing all the work in our occasional get-togethers.

Sky sighed. "Fuck, I'd hate to see how good you could get with more practice!"

I grinned. "Well, I had a couple of good teachers," I said.

"Who?" he asked, warily.

"Oh -- nobody," I said, nonchalantly. "Just a couple of friends. Nobody you'd know."

He was quiet for a moment, then turned to look me in the eye.

"Melissa won't do any of that shit for me," he said, wistfully.

"Well, don't ask me to give her lessons, okay?" I laughed, wiggling my boner, which had sprung back to life and was sticking out of the water like a periscope.

But Sky didn't even smile. He sat silent, and looked away from me. I leaned up, reached over and put my hand on his shoulder, and he turned his face back to mine. We were just inches apart.

"I'm… I'm really glad you liked it, Sky," I whispered. Before I could even think what I was doing, I leaned forward and kissed him. At first, he kissed back, gently pushing into me. I could smell his face, feel his warmth. Oh, god, I thought, I can't believe this is happening. He moaned softly and caressed his hand on the back of my head, and I felt his tongue start to touch my lips. I reached to pull him even closer, but suddenly he wrenched away with a cry, and punched me in the face as hard as he could.

For an instant, I saw stars. Then I fell backwards into the hot bubbling water.

I was momentarily stunned, but the sharp sting of the chemicals in my eyes brought me back to life. I stood up, sputtering and spitting out blood and pieces of teeth.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" I screamed.

"GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU FAGGOT!" he yelled back.

I was in shock. Sky leapt out of the water, almost slipping on the tile floor as he ran to the wall and angrily ripped his towel off from a hook.

I stood there as my eyes filled with tears, half from the pain, half from the shock.

"Sky, I'm… I'm sorry, man," I stammered. "I just thought… I thought this was what you wanted…"

"SHUT UP!" he hissed. "I told you, I don't want any of that faggot crap!" He was literally shaking with rage.

I began to sob, quietly. I hadn't cried in more than five years, since my great-grandmother had died in '63.

"Sky, I swear," I choked. "It's not a big deal! It's just between us -- just us guys. Nobody has to know, I promise!" Like brothers, I thought.

"BUT I'LL KNOW" he bellowed. "You just want me to be a fag, like you! I'm no fuckin' homo, goddammit!"

"I never said you were," I wailed. "Sky, I swear to god, I'm not a homo, either! I still like girls! I'd love to fuck one right now, as a matter of fact. But I just thought…"

He angrily waved both fists at me. "You thought wrong! Just get away from me!" he screamed. "Go with your fuckin' queer friends. Go suck your own dick, for all I care! Just stay the fuck away from me, Wil!"

With that, my best friend in the world turned and stormed out of the room, leaving me alone with the bubbles, the water, and the stinky chemicals. I sat down on the steps and cried.

In the six years I'd known Sky, I'd never seen him so incredibly angry. He was right. I was totally fucked-up. I had seduced my best friend into doing something he never wanted to do, something he hated. I'd crossed some invisible line, gone too far, and destroyed our friendship. Fuck, fuck, FUCK! How could I be so stupid?

I lay my head down on the concrete edge of the pool and quietly wept. The sounds of my sobs echoed on the tile walls, while the bubbles behind me continued to percolate. I felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest.

Slowly, I pulled myself out of the water, grabbed my towel, shut off the switch and staggered down the hallway. I got to a mirror above one of the sinks in the bathroom, and took a good close look at my face. I winced. Yep, definitely a chipped tooth on the bottom, and my lower lip was cut pretty badly. I could still taste the blood in my mouth. Looked like a big bruise on my chin, too. Shit.

I wiped off my mouth with a paper towel, and grimaced with the pain. I'd have to tell the folks I fell off a diving board or something.

I pulled on my clothes, zipped up my jacket, and headed out into the cold Florida night.

 Chapter 7

When I got home that night, my parents took one look at me and completely freaked out. I told them it was nothing, that I had slipped on a diving board during practice, but I didn't think they bought it. They demanded that I go to the hospital immediately, but I adamantly refused, insisting I was fine. My mother was practically in tears.

Dad took a good look at my jaw, then shook his head. "Well," he said, "I don't think it's broken, but that tooth looks pretty bad. We're going to call the dentist right now and ask him if he'll see you in the morning for an emergency exam." I started to protest, but he cut me short.

"No, William. You only get one set of teeth to last your whole lifetime," he said. Then, lowering his voice, he added, "please -- just do this for your mother."

I turned to her and saw the horrified look on her face, and nodded. Even my stupid sister kept her mouth shut for a change.

"Just let me go up to bed, okay?" I said, starting for the stairs.

"Aren't you even going to tell us what happened?" cried my mother.

"NO!" I yelled. "I told you -- I slipped and fell on the high board!"

"Maybe we should call the coach," said my mother, reaching for the phone.

"DON'T… DO… ANYTHING!" I wailed, and ran upstairs and slammed my door. I fell into bed and sobbed for what felt like an hour.

Not long afterwards, I heard a knock.

"Go away!" I mumbled into my pillow. "I said I'd see the dentist in the morning."

The door opened, and a shaft of light momentarily blinded me. My mom entered, carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and sandwiches. Cream of tomato soup and grilled cheese… she knew those were my favorites.

Mom lay the tray on a side-table and sat down on my bed. "Wil, you really need to eat something," she said soothingly.

"Can't," I said, tersely. "Mouth hurts too much."

She put her hand on my forehead, and I opened my eyes and looked up at her. She smiled back.

"Remember when the boys used to try to beat you up in elementary school?" she said, gently. "Your friend Sky always helped you stay out of trouble."

I felt like someone plunged a knife in my heart.

"Go away, Mom," I choked, rolling over so she couldn't see my tears.

"Sky called a few minutes ago, you know," she continued. "He said somebody told him you were in a fight. He just wanted to see if you were okay."

"Tell him to go FUCK HIMSELF!" I screamed, immediately regretting my outburst.

My mom was aghast. "William Gerald Larson! Don't you ever use language like that in this house!"

I rolled over, immediately apologetic. "Gosh, I'm sorry mom, really! I'm just… I'm in a lotta pain and stuff."

She nodded, regaining her composure. "I have some aspirin and water here, if you need it."

I weakly attempted to smile. "Thanks, Mom," I said. "Yeah, I think I could use some." I sat up and rubbed my eyes.

She handed me the pills and a small cup of water, and I swigged them down in one gulp.

"Call me if you need anything," she said, as she started for the door. "Dr. Morton's agreed to see you at 10AM tomorrow."

I felt around the inside of my mouth with my tongue. Shit, one of my lower front teeth really was loose, I thought. Fuck! It hurt like hell, and I still could taste a little blood.

I didn't argue this time. "Okay, Mom," I said, falling back to my pillow. "Just let me sleep 'till then."

She closed the door and left me surrounded by blackness. I stared at the ceiling and desperately tried to make sense of everything that had happened. Sky was my best friend. Then he seems to hate me and tells me I'm 'weird.' Finally, we patch things up, and we start fooling around. I give him what he practically admitted was the best orgasm of his entire life, and then he tries to knock my fucking teeth down my throat.

And now he calls my house to see how I'm feeling? Incredible, I thought, shaking my head. I sat up, reached over, and started nibbling on the sandwich, taking care to chew only on the right side of my mouth. I sipped the soup -- CHRIST, it was hot! My lip was still bleeding, dammit.

I finished the meal in silence, then turned on the radio, lay back and stared out the window. New moon out, I thought. Hardly any light out tonight. I began to drift away with the music.

The WLCY deejay talked up Marvin Gaye's "I Heard It Through the Grapevine," which he said just hit #1 on the charts. God, that was a great song. It had a weird arrangement -- almost mysterious and angry. I let the music wash over me like a soothing blanket. Before the song ended, I drifted away to unconsciousness.

* * * * *

The following morning, Dr. Morton poked a wicked-looking stainless-steel pick around in my mouth and shook his head. It was unusual for me to see him on a Saturday. In lieu of his standard-issue white lab coat, the dentist was dressed in a goofy-looking golf outfit, with a plaid jacket, short pants, and weird shoes. My dad stood by the exam door, with his arms crossed across his chest, and an expression of concern on his face.

The doctor tch-tch'd me, and turned to my father. "Well, Mr. Larson, it's a good thing you didn't let your son's tooth go another 24 hours," he said. "If infection had set in, we could've lost it for sure." The kindly white-haired man turned back to me. "You know, William, you only get one set…"

"I know, I know," I said, irritated. "One set of teeth to last a lifetime. Yeah, I know all about that." I looked over to my dad. "Can we just get this over with?"

"Not so fast," the dentist explained. "Now, your lip is already healing fine, so you won't need any stitches, and I've packed that bottom left lateral incisor with a temporary crown. You should put an ice pack on that bruise on your jaw." He put down his dental mirror on a tray and looked at me reassuringly. "This is probably a good time for me to tell you, you're a good candidate for orthodonture, William."

I rolled my eyes. "That's WIL," I muttered.

"Sorry -- Wil," he said, apologetically. The doctor turned to my dad. "Wil's got some fairly crowded teeth on the bottom, Mr. Larson, and with this injury, we can probably get your insurance to pay for some of the expense. I'd strongly suggest you consider it."

My dad nodded. "Son, you should listen to what Dr. Morton says."

I blanched. Now, on top of everything else, they want to turn me into a metal-mouth? "Jeeez, Dad," I whined. "I look stupid enough as it is! I don't wanna get braces!"

The doctor smiled and shook his head. "Not braces, Wil. Just a retainer. You'll only have to wear it at night, when you sleep. In 12 to 18 months, you'll have the best-looking mouth in school."

Tell that to Sky, I thought.

"Would the retainer give him any pain, doctor?" asked my father.

"Well, there is some minor discomfort," he nodded. "But no, it's not really painful." The doctor reached over and showed me some pictures from a color brochure. "This is what the retainer would look like, Wil. Your upper teeth are fine. This would just open up your lowers and give them a little more breathing room. I believe they'll grow in a lot straighter, without all that pressure."

At this point, I'd have agreed to anything just to get out of there. They made an appointment for me to come back after New Year's to get the permanent crown and start the measurements for the retainer. He also gave me a prescription for a bunch of pills -- yellow ones for the pain, and white antibiotics to kill any infection. After we picked up the prescription at the drug store, Dad and I rode home in an uncomfortable silence.

"I take it you still don't want to talk about it?" he asked, gently.

I stared out the windshield. "No. It's not a big deal, Dad."

"I understand," he sighed. "Is this… did this have to do with your friend Schuyler?"

"No," I lied. "He wasn't even there. It was somebody else."

Dad chuckled. "You mean, at the diving board?"

I winced. "Just drop it, okay?," I pleaded. "It's all over with now. I'm not really hurt."

Dad brought the car to a stop at the light, then turned to me.

"Wil," he began, "remember, no matter what, I'll always be your father. If you ever have a problem, you can always tell me about it."

I ached to tell him how I really felt. Tears began to well up in my eyes. No, stop it! I mentally commanded my tears to turn to ice.

"Not now," I choked, my voice cracking. I turned and pretended to look out the window to avoid letting him see my face. "Maybe… maybe another time, Dad. Lemme just go home for now."

I spent the rest of the day hold up in my room, listening to the radio and doing my homework. The mid-terms were coming up in just a few days, and everybody at school was already totally paranoid about them. I heard the phone ring down the hall, and my sister bounded down the stairs.

"I'll get it!" she yelled.

Seconds later, she called up to me from the kitchen. "WIIIIIIIIL! It's Sky! He says he wants to talk to you."

Tell him to go fuck himself, I thought. My lower lip still hurt like hell, even though I'd just taken a yellow pill an hour ago.

Sharon cracked my door open and timidly poked her head in my room. "I said it's Sky, Wil! On the phone!"

"Just tell him to go f-…" I caught myself. "Uh… just tell him I'm asleep."

She gave me a quizzical look. "But you're awake!" she said, with the pure logic only a 9 year-old could have.

"Make-BELIEVE I'm asleep," I said, exasperated.

"Okay!" she said, brightly, and ran down the stairs, leaving my door wide open. I tried not to listen, but she was too loud to ignore. From a distance, I dimly heard her say, "he says you have to make-believe he's asleep, Sky!" she said, laughing, then hung up the phone.

I winced and put my head down on my desk. Well, maybe that would get the message across, I thought.

An hour later, I saw Sharon again in the kitchen as I grabbed a swig of Pepsi out of the refrigerator. "Uh, Sharon," I said casually. "When you talked to Sky on the phone, did he… did he say anything?"

"No," she said, thoughtfully.

"Oh," I said, disappointed. I put the bottle back on the shelf and turned to leave.

"No, wait!" she said. "I remember now. He asked me if you were hurt, and I said you were gonna have to get braces or all your teeth would fall out!" She giggled.

I rolled my eyes. "You stupid little…" I said, taking a menacing step towards her.

She backed away and stared up at my face, taken aback at my sudden flash of anger. "I'm sorry, Wil," she said quickly. "I made that part up. I just said you had to get braces, and the doctor gave you some pain pills. That's all I said. Honest!"

I nodded and walked through the dining room. Just as I got to the stairway, she called out to me.

"Oh, and Sky said he was really sorry. He said it was all his fault. Why did he say that, Wil?"

I froze and turned around, slowly walking back to her. "Sharon," I said, leaning over to her. "Please -- make me a promise," I said, gently.

She nodded, her eyes wide. We usually fought so much, it was kind of a shock when we were actually civil to each other for a change.

"Promise me you won't tell mom and dad what Sky said," I begged. "Please?"

She hesitated.

"You GOTTA promise, Sherrie!" I hadn't called her that in years, since the 4 Seasons' hit was on the radio.

She looked up at me and smiled. "I promise, Wil," she said, quietly.

I kissed her on the forehead. "Thanks, Sherrie. And I'm really sorry for yelling at you the other day. I'll try to make it up to you."

I wracked my brain for something I could give her. "I know -- you can bring your stupid friends over to watch 'The Monkees' tomorrow night."

Her eyes widened. We had fought about this for months. "Oh, thanks, Wil!" she squealed. "Isn't Davy Jones cute?"

Yeah, he's cute alright, I thought. "Just don't tell anybody about… you know," I said as seriously as I could.

Sharon nodded and ran back to her doll collection. I sighed. Maybe my stupid little sister was finally wising up as time went on.

* * * * *

Late Sunday afternoon, I tossed the last of my school books in a pile on my desk. If nothing else, I now felt totally prepared for all the mid-term exams this week. In fact, I thought I had a fighting chance of acing at least half of them. That'd be enough to pull my grade average up one whole point. If I could make the Honor Roll, I bet my Dad would shit a brick, I thought, laughing at the mental image.

Just then, the phone rang again. Oh, shit, I thought. Sky again.

"Wil!" my mom called from downstairs. "It's that Lannigan boy."

"RICK OR RON?" I yelled through my door.

"Who knows?" she replied, exasperated. "Just get the phone, will you, please?"

I sighed and stuck my head out my door. "Do I have to?"

My mother was all dressed up. She really looked great, even though the mink coat was starting to look a little ragged. "Yes, Wil! Your father and I have to go out," she said. "Stay here and take care of your little sister until we get back. I've left your dinner on the stove, and it'll be ready in five minutes. We'll be back at ten."

I ran downstairs, slid all the way across the dining room floor in my socks, stumbled over to the kitchen phone, flipped the receiver up in the air with one hand and caught it with the other, and still managed to avoid falling on my ass. I grinned at my mom, who stared at me open-mouthed, then laughed at my gymnastic theatrics, shook her head, and walked out the back door.

"Hello?" I said.

"Wil! It's me, Ron," he said excitedly. "Jesus, we heard about what happened, man! Are you okay?"

Shit. Bad news travels fast, I thought. "How'd you find out about my fight with Sky, Ron?" I whispered.

Ron laughed, his goofy laugh. "I heard it from Mr. Waverly on Channel D."

I rolled my eyes. Ronnie was nuts about that TV show, The Man from U.N.C.L.E., and for the last two weeks, he had settled on a career as an agent for a top secret world-wide spy organization.

"Can it, Ron!" I hissed. "Tell me who told you, asshole! And don't say The National Enquirer!"

Ron immediately backtracked. "Shit -- I'm sorry, Wil," he said. "A friend of Rick's just told us he saw you comin' out of the drugstore with your Dad yesterday. He said you had a black eye and your mouth looked all puffy. I figured you had an accident or somethin'."

Or something, I thought. "It's nothing. Forget about it," I said, wearily.

"Sky did this to you?" he asked, incredulously.

"Shut up, Ron. I don't want to talk about it."

"Wil… I…" Ron sounded like he was on the verge of tears. "Wil, do you want me to come over or something?"

"No, just leave me alone, Ronnie," I sighed. "Maybe we can get together over the Christmas break. At least I won't have to go to swim practice for the next couple of weeks. They're repainting the swimming pool for the winter."

"I should come over now," he said, insistently.

I shook my head. On the other hand, my parents were going to be out for another three hours, and…

"I can be there in five minutes," he whispered.

"You don't have to whisper, Ron."

"You can never tell," he giggled. "There are spies from THRUSH everywhere!" he said, in Maxwell Smart's voice.

I laughed. "You mean KAOS, don't you?"

"Aaaaa, THRUSH, KAOS, SPECTRE…" he said, giggling. "You seen one evil secret spy organization, you seen 'em all!" We both laughed.

"Alright, Ronnie," I said, finally playing along. "But don't get caught or killed on your way over, or the secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions."

"Your telephone will self-destruct in five seconds! Good luck, Wil!" he said, slamming down the receiver.

* * * * *

Ten minutes later, me, Ronnie and Sharon sat around our kitchen table, eating leftover meatloaf. For a little shrimpy guy, Ron could sure cram a lot down, I thought.

"You guys have a neat house," he said, stuffing his mouth with a second helping of instant mashed potatoes.

"Not as cool as your house, Ron," I pointed out. "You've got a pool, and a huge bedroom, and all that stuff."

He looked up at me, surprised. "No, really, Wil," he said, without a trace of sarcasm. "Your house is really cool. It just feels… I dunno, real friendly. And you guys have a lotta neat books, too."

I nodded and glanced over at the dozens of bookshelves that lined the wall in the adjoining room. "Yeah, Mom and Dad have tons of this stuff," I said, sticking the serving fork into another slice of meatloaf. "My mom was an English major in college, so she still has a bunch of books on literature and stuff. Plus, we inherited some stuff from my great aunt, who was a teacher, so we wound up with three sets of encyclopedias. I read 'em a lot when I was little, and so I sort of memorized them."

"Ah, yes -- another mystery solved, Watson!" he exclaimed, in a fair impression of Basil Rathbone. "So that's why you're such a brain!" Ronnie's eyes sparkled with admiration.

"Wil's a genius!" interrupted Sharon from across the table. "A su-per gen-i-us!" My little sister giggled with glee at her own joke.

I shot her a glance. "Just eat your dinner, Sharon!" I grumbled.

"Well, that's what mommy and daddy say," she muttered, playing with her food.

Ronnie nodded approvingly. "Are you like Albert Einstein?" he asked.

I rolled my eyes and sighed. "No way. I still hate math. I'm definitely no scientist," I said. "I'm better with History and English for some reason. It's weird. Some stuff just comes easily to me in school, like I don't even have to think -- like it's just there in my head already. But I have to admit, I learn a lot of stuff from books."

Ron leaned towards me and whispered quietly. "I know some stuff that you can't learn from books." He shot me a knowing glance and grinned.

Sharon looked up. "What are you boys talking about?" she asked, suspiciously.

"Nothing, Sharon! Eat your damned food," I snapped.

She pouted and started idly poking a meatloaf patty on her plate.

"I'm sorry, Sharon," I said, apologetically. "Look, it's just dumb 'boy stuff,' OK? Ronnie and I'll come down in awhile and wash the dishes. Just finish your food, and then you can watch TV."

She nodded and took a bite. Ron looked expectantly at me and I nodded up towards the stairs. We dumped our plates by the sink, then ran up to my room and closed the door.

"Wow," he said, bouncing up and down on my bed. "This is a really neat room, Wil! Where'd you get all those cool monster movie posters on the wall?" he asked.

"You need the proper atmosphere for horror. And zees is a horrible place, especially for young boys!" I said, in my best Bela Lugosi. "Cheeldren of the night… vot muzik dey make!"

He laughed uproariously and laid back on the bed. "So, Wil, do you wanna… you know… do some stuff?" he said, shyly.

"NO!" I yelled.

Ron recoiled and shrank back from me. He looked like a dog that had just been swatted by a newspaper, hard.

"Shit, Ronnie. I'm sorry," I said, sitting on the bed. Tears came to my eyes, and I looked down, embarrassed. "I'm just kind of freaked out about what happened."

He sat closer and looked me right in the eye. "Tell me the whole story," he said, in a small voice.

I gave him all the gory details, including my workout at the gym, fat Chuckie trying to molest me, and then finally what happened with me and Sky in the whirlpool.

Ron was dumbstruck. "He hit you… for doing THAT to him?"

I nodded, as I felt a tear slide down the right side of my face. "I totally fucked everything up, Ronnie." I was trembling now. "I never should've done it. I was just so horny!" I sobbed, shaking my head. "Sky wanted it, I swear, and then he didn't want it! He acted like I was a fucking leper!"

Ron sat there, silent. "Sky's a total jerk, you know," he said, quietly.

"He is NOT!" I hissed.

He looked at me with an expression that shocked me. Ron's face burned red with anger, with an intensity that I didn't think he could possibly have.

"They all are -- Sky, Scott Michaels… they're all stupid fuckin' jocks, Wil!" He spat out the words. "They're not like us. They're assholes, Wil," he said, angrily.

I shook my head. "You don't know Sky," I said, wiping my tears away.

"No," he insisted. "YOU don't know him. Not anymore. He's one of them." Ronnie pointed over to the wall.

I glanced over at my Invasion of the Body Snatchers poster. I smiled sadly. "You mean he's turned into a pod person?"

Ronnie nodded and slid closer to me, then gently put his arm around my shoulder. I began to cry, and he turned to hug me. I couldn't hold it back any longer. My body heaved with sobs, and he squeezed me tighter. Tears fell from my face and rolled down to his neck and shoulders. I put my arms around him and wept as if my heart was breaking. I cried for me, I cried for Sky, and I cried for anybody who knew what it was like to be in love with somebody who could never love them back. We stayed locked in an embrace for almost a minute, until my sobs finally grew quieter.

"I guess now's not a good time to ask if I could blow you, right?" he whispered.

I laughed, wiping the tears from my face. "I'm out of commission, Ronnie," I said, my voice cracking. "No way that periscope's ever going to come up tonight. I'm too out of it."

Ron grinned. "Lemme take a voyage to see what's on the bottom," he laughed. He got up and turned off the overhead light, leaving only my dim desk lamp on. Then, he slowly walked back over, imitating the 'ping' of an underwater SONAR beacon until he got back to the bed.

I giggled and weakly tried to stop him as he leaned towards me. "No, really, forget it, Ronnie," I protested, as he pulled my shirt off my head. He threw the shirt on the floor, then unzipped me and gently pulled my pants down. Suddenly, I felt something warm nuzzling my groin. I tried vainly to sit up.

"Oh, god, Ronnie…" I moaned. I needed it so bad.

"Shut up," he ordered, and gently but firmly pushed me back down on the bed. I looked up, but all I could see was the silhouette of his red-haired head bobbing up and down in the darkness. I knew he had me just where he wanted me. I felt him take all of me, right down to the hilt; how a kid as small as Ron managed to do this so effortlessly, I'll never know. I closed my eyes and surrendered completely.

I couldn't tell you how much time passed. It might have been three minutes, or even three hours. Time just didn't matter. I dazedly looked down to the side of the bed, and saw that Ronnie was as stiff as an iron rod, stroking himself back and forth in time with the pleasure he gave to me. I gently put my hand on the back of his head and stroked his red curls. Ronnie tenderly reached out and ran his finger tips across my underarms, which were moist with sweat, then massaged my chest, lightly squeezing my nipples. He picked up the pace, then slipped his hands under my buttocks, gripped tightly, and pulled me closer. That did it. I felt my balls tighten and I began bucking my hips, completely out of control.

"GOD, Ronnie!" I yelled. "Oh, shit!"

I exploded, over and over again, and I finally sank back down in a heap on the bed. It was easily the most exhilarating orgasm of my young life, at least up to then.

Ron leaned over, his face shiny with saliva and goo, as he licked his lips and grinned wickedly at me.

"You actually like the taste of that stuff?" I asked, woozily.

"Well," he said, as he smacked his lips and thought for a moment. "But it's not as good as the mashed potatoes."

We both laughed hysterically. Then he leaned over and got very close to me. "I… I really like you, Wil. A lot."

I nodded and put my left arm around his back. He leaned closer, and we tilted our heads together and closed our eyes. Our lips met, and I felt warm all over. A split-second later, the door flew open with a loud crash.

"WIL!" Sharon yelled, as a stream of light suddenly flooded in from the hallway. "It's Sky again, for you on the phone!"

"GODDAMIT, SHARON!" I screamed. "I TOLD YOU TO KNOCK OR ELSE I'D FUCKING KILL YOU!"

Ron literally looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

Sharon stared at the two of us, then slammed the door and ran down the hall. I heard the door to her room slam in the distance.

Fuck, I thought. Had she seen us? Had she seen me?

"Oh god, oh Jesus, oh god, oh GOD, Wil, I swear, I'm so sorry, I'm so fuckin' sorry!" Ron babbled endlessly, as he jumped off the bed and yanked up his pants in the darkness.

Great, I thought. Now, I'd have to kill myself for sure. I looked over at the little bottle of yellow pain pills on my night stand. 'Not to be taken with alcohol,' I read off the label. Hmmm, I figured the 15 that were left, plus a half a bottle of vodka would probably do it.

Ron's babbling snapped me out of my suicide rehearsal and back to reality. I quickly pulled up my underwear and short pants, zipped up my fly, then jumped off the bed and tried to console Ronnie, who was in near-hysterics in my chair, his head in his hands.

"Oh, SHIT, Wil! I've ruined your fuckin' life!" he wailed. "I swear, I'll never do it again! I'm so fucking sorry! What've I done?"

I tried to think as calmly as I could. "Ronnie! Listen to me! Don't panic," I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. "First, just shut up and let me get the phone. The less we make of this, the less it'll affect Sharon. Let me handle it."

He nodded but continued to sob quietly as I ran out the door and took the stairs three at a time.

I took a deep breath and picked up the phone.

"Sky?" I said.

"Fuck! Wil, oh, shit, I'm so glad it's you!" he cried. "Listen, about Friday, I swear to god…"

"Forget it happened," I said, icily. "It's forgotten."

He paused. "I'm sorry for everything, man -- really. Is your mouth okay?"

I felt my lip. At least the swelling had gone down. "Well, I no longer look like Rondo Hatton," I quipped, referring to the real-life horror actor.

"Rondo who?" he asked, perplexed.

"Don't worry about it," I said. "I'm okay. My teeth are fine. In fact, they'll be better than fine. They're going to make me wear a retainer."

"That's great," he replied, sounding relieved.

We were both silent for a moment.

"Is that it?" I asked, exasperated.

"Yes. No, wait -- there's one more thing," he said, hesitatingly.

Here it comes, I thought. "Sky, I told you, it's forgotten," I said. "I swear, it won't happen again. Nobody will ever find out about it."

"Mid-term exams are all next week," he blurted, a touch of desperation in his voice.

What the fuck was he talking about? "Yeah, so?" I snapped.

"Can you… you know, help me out in English?" he begged.

I started, "well, if you want a copy of my notes and stuff, I can tell you what topics are gonna be covered on Tuesday."

"That's not what I meant," Sky said, nervously. "I mean… with the test."

I felt like I was slowly turning to stone. "You mean you want to cheat off me," I said, as coldly and angrily as I could.

"Please, Wil?" he begged, a touch of desperation in his voice. "I just gotta get my grades up, or I might lose my slot on the team. This means everything to me." His voice softened. "Please. I'll do anything you want, Wil," he said. "Anything," he whispered, emphasizing the word.

My heart stopped. Did he mean…? It finally sunk in.

"I get it, Sky," I hissed. "So I'm a fag, and now you're a whore. Is that it?"

"Shut up, you asshole," he spat. "That's not what I said, and you know it."

"But that's what you meant, right?" God, I hated him so much.

"No… wait…" he cried. "I don't know what the fuck I want, Wil! Look, can't we, you know, be friends? Like before?" His tone was pleading, now. I almost heard him choke back some tears.

"Yeah. Friends to the end," I muttered.

"Great!" he said, trying desperately to sound cheerful. "So, I guess I'll see you in class tomorrow."

"Yeah." I hung up the phone and trudged back upstairs.

* * * * *

As it turned out, Ronnie and I had managed to dodge the bullet. Sharon hadn't seen a thing. I guess Ron's spontaneous idea of keeping the lights low in my room was smarter than I thought. I apologized to her again -- three times in one day, that was a record for me -- after she swore that all she'd seen was me crying and Ronnie putting his arm around my shoulder. At least, that's what she thought she saw.

"Ronnie's a really good friend to you," she said, wisely.

I nodded and grinned. "Yeah. I know, Sherrie. Just please do me a favor and knock on my door from now on?"

She smiled and put an imaginary 'X' across her chest. "Cross my heart and hope to die," she said, as sincerely as she could.

I gave her a hug and went back to my room. Ron was immensely relieved to find out that our little liaison was still a secret. This was a job even the 'Impossible Missions Force' couldn't have pulled off, I thought. Now, all I had to do was deal with Sky… or not deal with him, as the case may be.

I walked Ron out to the front porch and said goodnight to him.

"I meant what I said back there, Wil," he said, still sniffling.

I nodded. "I know, Ronnie. Look," I said, "maybe we should, you know, kinda cut back except for real special occasions, y' know?"

"Yeah." He looked down at his feet. "You still wanna hang out?"

I grinned. "Sure! As long as you promise to convince the infamous Ernst Stavro Blofeld to have SPECTRE terminate Scott Michaels, and then implicate Sky Jones!" I said, laughing.

"Consider it done, comrade," he said grimly. "Both of ze traitors vil be shot at dawn, mit out a blindfold or a last cigarette."

"No -- leave Sky alone, Ronnie," I said, seriously.

Ron stared at me. "You still like him, after all this?"

I thought for a moment. "I don't know how I feel about anything," I replied wearily. "Just go home, and avoid all enemy agents."

"Javolt, mein herr!" Ron clicked his heels together and gave me the Nazi salute, then ran off, taking a shortcut over our hedge and down the sidewalk. God, that kid was wacky, I thought, as I shut the door, shaking my head.

 Chapter 8

There was a disturbing feeling of barely-controlled panic around the school on Monday, since this was the last week before Christmas vacation and "exam fever" was in the air. Jesus, I desperately needed two weeks off, I thought. Between swim practice and trying to keep my grades up, I felt like I never had any goof-off time to myself at all anymore.

Tuesday was the start of exams. I aced 2nd period Geography, because 90% of that test was just memorization, filling in a bunch of empty maps of the world. Piece of cake. I didn't have to worry about Algebra until tomorrow, which was a lucky break; that one was probably going to kill me. I missed seeing Sky at lunch, which was just as well. I still hadn't totally forgiven him for what happened last week.

Ronnie seemed quieter than usual as we walked to American History after lunch. "You're covered on the War of 1812, right, Ron?" I asked. He looked totally lost in thought. "Hey, doofus!" I said, waving my fingers in front of his face, "I said, are you cool on the War of 1812?"

He nodded. "Yeah, yeah -- France, Louisiana Purchase… I know the whole deal. I saw the movie," he said. "Bob Hope was in charge."

I shook my head. This kid was a total media addict. I blew through the history exam in about half an hour, including the five essay questions, then I sat there, nervously glancing around the classroom. Every set of eyes but mine was still glued to their test papers. Shit, I thought. I hated being the brain. Why did I always have to be the first idiot to turn in my test to the teacher?

I took another five minutes to re-check my answers, then idly watched the second hand slowly inch its way around the clock. Finally, I'd had enough. I stood to my feet and accidentally knocked my notebook to the floor with a loud crash.

Every eye suddenly snapped over to me, and the teacher, Mr. Harnett, looked up from his desk and said, "Quietly!"

I nodded meekly and walked the paper up to the front of the room. He nodded towards an empty tray on the left of his desk. Just as I turned to leave, five more kids were already out of their chairs and tossing their loose-leaf pages on top of the pile.

I rolled my eyes. "It never fails," I grumbled, as I returned to my seat.

Finally, English rolled around. I had to find a way to let Sky cheat off my paper, while at the same time not making it too obvious to anybody else. I didn't even want to tell Ronnie, because I know he'd crack a joke or otherwise give away our little scheme.

When we got to the classroom, Sky was already at his desk, watching me cautiously.

"Hey," I said, as I took my seat.

"Hey," he said, with a nod. He stared at me, giving me a look.

I sighed and nodded back. Sky looked relieved.

The teacher passed out the exam forms. Ah, nothing like the unforgettable aroma of ditto paper, I thought, sniffing the stapled booklet. At least this one was readable, unlike the world maps from 2nd period. Even though there were nearly 150 questions on the test, most of them had to do with picking out obvious spelling and grammatical errors. Even better, the whole thing was multiple choice. Just circle the right answer, and move on. Piece of cake.

I shook my head and grinned. How could this be any easier? I glanced to my left, and Sky was looking at me anxiously, his pencil already in hand. I whipped through the first page in less than five minutes, then held my breath to see if the coast was clear. Mrs. Kester seemed to be preoccupied, grading papers from the previous class, using a cardboard template to check the multiple-choice answers.

I idly lifted the right side of my paper up and angled it slightly towards Sky, trying to make it look like I was having trouble deciding the right answer for question 26, the last one on the page. Without even looking, I heard Sky go down the list, furiously circling all the correct answers down his page.

One down, five pages to go, I thought. I shot him a glance, and he nodded, expectantly. The rest of the period crept by. I glanced up at the clock, which seemed to move almost glacially. Mrs. Kester even got up at one point and left the room, leaving us on 'the honor system,' but the class remained as quiet as a mouse while she was gone. Sky got all my answers without a problem.

We were in the home stretch. I was just about to lift up the last page when I heard a familiar voice at the back of the room.

"Hold it! Mr. Jones and Mr. Larson! Put down your pencils and come with me."

We froze in our seats and slowly turned around. It was Coach Lucas, who was also the Dean of Boys.

Sky and I looked at each other with a look of total panic in our eyes. We nervously stood up.

"Bring your test papers with you," he barked. Ronnie shot me a stunned look, as I walked down the row of desks and out into the hallway.

We walked down the last mile to the school administration building in total silence until we reached Lucas' office door. He opened it and pointed towards two empty chairs in front of his desk. I looked around to see if his legendary paddle was visible, infamous for scores of school spankings. There it was, hanging by a hook on the wall, just to the left of a ancient 1940s-style filing cabinet. Great, I thought. The one day I'd probably need my pain pills, and I'd left them at home.

"I'm very disappointed in you two," he said, leaning against his desk and crossing his arms. "Two Tampa Central athletes, caught cheating on a mid-term exam! You know this could cost both of you your positions on your teams?"

I started to protest our innocence, but Sky interrupted me.

"It was all me, Coach," he insisted. "Wil had nothing to do with it. Leave him out of this."

The Coach laughed. It was a kindly laugh, but one that made it clear: he'd already seen it all and heard it all in this office. "Son, don't try to B.S. me," he quipped. "You can't B.S. a B.S.'er, Schuyler."

"No, really," Sky insisted. "Wil didn't know I was copying from him."

Lucas eyed me warily. "Is that your story, too, son?" he asked, gently.

I glanced over at Sky, who gave me a little nod. I knew what Sky wanted me to say. I turned back to Mr. Lucas.

"Yeah, Coach," I said, nervously. "I just… I was almost finished with the exam, and I was just checking my answers."

The Coach unfolded his arms and stared intently at both us. After an uncomfortable pause, he finally said, "okay. Let's just compare your test papers."

He sat down at his desk and scribbled some notes as he went down each page. Sky sat in silence five feet away, but refused to even look at me. My heart was in my throat. Shit, I thought. I'd almost made peace with the guy, and now this. I'd be lucky if Sky ever even spoke to me again for the rest of my life.

At last, the Coach put down his pencil. "Boys, I'm sorry. Both papers are about 90% identical. You," he said, pointing to me, "you had almost a perfect score. Sky, you were on your way to a B, at least. But your teacher said you usually made D's, if that."

"But Coach…" I started.

"No buts, William," he said, raising his hand. "I'm going to have to suspend you both. Even though you technically weren't cheating, Wil, it takes two to tango. You're in this as deep as Sky is."

Suddenly, his office door opened, and a mousy secretary stuck her head in. "Mr. Lucas, I have Schuyler Jones' father on the line."

Lucas frowned, and said, "I'll take that in just a minute." The secretary closed the door, and he turned back to us. This is looking real bad, I thought -- but then I had a brainstorm.

"Coach… what if I could prove we didn't cheat?" I asked.

Sky looked like he was going to fall out of his chair.

The Coach smiled. "Well, now, son -- I'd say that'd be a pretty good trick if you could convince me of that," he replied.

"Let us take a make-up test," I said, picking up some steam as my idea came together. "We'll sit on opposite sides of the room. Give us different tests if you want. I swear, Sky really knows the material! He can pass, I know it."

Mr. Lucas thought for a moment. Finally, he nodded. "Okay," he said. "I think Mrs. Kester would agree to that. Alright -- Thursday, you two come in after school, and take the test right here in my office. If you both pass, then you can both stay on your teams. However, you'll still be on probation, doing clean-up duty for an hour every day after school, for the first ten days of January."

"Oh, man," started Sky, but I kicked him in the foot.

"That'd be fair, Coach," I said, quickly.

Sky nodded. We got up from our chairs.

"Schuyler," said the Coach, "I'll tell your father what happened. Wil, take this disciplinary form home to your parents to sign. I'll expect to see you both back in my office at 3:45 sharp on Thursday."

We both stammered out our thanks, and Lucas took the call, briefly explained the situation to Sky's father, then walked us back down the hall to class.

"I tried to keep you out of this, asshole!" Sky angrily whispered, as we turned the corner.

"Shut up!" I shot back. "This is gonna work. Leave it to me."

We reached the class and entered through the back door. Ron shot me a glance as I got to my seat and sat down. He poked me in the back and silently mouthed, "what happened?" I just shook my head and stared straight ahead at the front of the classroom. Coach Lucas took Mrs. Kester aside at the front doorway, said a few words I couldn't overhear, and she looked at us and nodded. Well, I thought. At least they hadn't had us shot. On second thought, maybe that would've been preferable.

A couple of minutes later, the bell sounded. Sky jumped out of his seat and sprinted towards the door. I caught him before he could get away and said, "hey, asshole! C'mere!" I dragged him over to the side by a bookcase.

"Wil, I gotta go," he began. "Melissa is in my next class, and I gotta…"

"You have to shut UP!" I said, angrily. "Listen to me, Sky. I'm going to make you pass this test, even if it fucking kills me! We're both up shit creek if either of us screws up on this one."

Sky looked exasperated. "I'm gonna fail anyway, Wil! What's the point?"

I felt like slugging him. "Because I'M not going to fail, you douche! You're gonna come over to my place tonight and tomorrow night, and I'm gonna pound your head full of English, whether you like it or not."

Sky sighed and threw up his hands in defeat. "Awright, awright -- anything you say, professor. But I'm tellin' ya, it won't work."

I looked him right in the eye. "Trust me," I said, testily. "I get what I want."

Sky gave me a curious look, then said, "Okay, okay. I'll go home with you today after school. See ya." He took off through the door, not even giving me a second glance.

Why did life have to be this fucked up, I thought, shaking my head.

"I still say he's an asshole," whispered Ron to my left, almost making me jump.

"Where did YOU come from?" I cried.

"Waitin' for you two to finish," he said, quietly.

"Well, we are now," I snapped. "C'mon, let's go to Phys Ed. At least there, we don't have a written exam," I said, breaking into a trot.

"He's an asshole!" Ron muttered, running alongside me in the crowded hallway.

"Is not!"

"Is so!"

Will this pest ever give up, I thought.

"So what happened back there in English?" he asked, panting as he tried to keep up with me in the halls.

I shook my head. "I don't even want to talk about it."

Ronnie kept after me as we ran into the locker room, which was crowded as usual. I dressed in stony silence, and did my best to ignore him -- never an easy job, even under the best of circumstances.

"Will you tell me after it's published in the National Enquirer?" he asked, angrily.

I'd had about enough. "Just shut the fuck up, Ronnie!" I snapped.

"Fine!" he yelled back, and slammed his locker door. I finished tying up my sneakers, and looked up to see that Ron had already run outside. I guess I'd really pissed him off this time, I thought. Well, good. The guy was so fucking goofy, anyway. Such a pest. Even if he did lov…

NO, I thought. I'm not a homo. Neither was Ron. I cleared my head and ran outside to join the others.

* * * * *

When the final bell rang, I was surprised to see Sky waiting for me back in the locker room. He sat silently on the bench as I got dressed. Ron completely ignored both of us as he pulled on his street clothes, grabbed his gym bag, and scurried away. Sky and I trotted through the hall, and barely made it to the bus in time. We made idle conversation on the way to my house, never quite making eye contact.

I didn't like this. For the first time since I had known Sky, I felt totally uncomfortable just sitting next to him on the bus. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, and I felt butterflies in my stomach again. If anything, Sky was looking even better as he was getting older, while I felt more like a geek than ever. The light caught his face in just the right way as we turned down my street corner, and I could see the beginnings of a blond moustache on his upper lip.

"Hey," I said, pounding him on the arm. "Are you shaving yet?"

He grinned and idly rubbed his upper lip with his index finger. "Yeah, every couple of days or so," he nodded. "My brother gave me his old safety razor last year, and said I could use it. I almost cut the shit out of myself over the weekend."

I felt a pang. I guess Sky was becoming a man, I thought. Before I knew it, the driver sounded the buzzer and hit the brakes. The pneumatic doors hissed open, and we scampered down the steps and high-tailed it to my house. After raiding the refrigerator for goodies, we camped out on the floor of my bedroom, and I pulled out all my notes on English 101 for the past four months.

Surprisingly, Sky was a pretty fast learner. We covered punctuation, conjugation, and had almost worked our way up to tenses when he glanced at the alarm clock by my bed. "Holy shit," he cried, standing up. "Listen, I gotta go, man. I promised Melissa I would see her today at 6. I told her what happened to you and me today, and she's totally pissed."

She's totally pissed, I thought to myself. "Sky -- this is a serious deal, man," I pleaded. "We got at least another three or four more hours to go!"

He nodded. "I swear, I'll be back later. How late will your folks let you stay up?"

I still had two more exams to study for, I thought. "Not past 11, for sure."

"I'll be back by 9 -- 9:30, tops!" he yelled, running out the door and down the staircase.

"You'd better, asshole!" I yelled, and heard our front door slam in the distance.

Mom made me and Sharon TV dinners. Sharon was in a better-than-normal mood, because Mom had actually let her do all the cooking -- like shoving a tin-foil box into an oven for 20 minutes was an award-winning achievement. I wolfed down the food and did my best to just tune them both out.

After dinner, I took Mom aside and gave her the disciplinary form Dean Lucas had given me. She looked a little upset, but took it better than I expected. I was lucky that Dad wouldn't be home until much later. I promised her I'd ace the make-up exam on Thursday, and that I still stood a good chance of making the Honor Roll for the first time.

I spent the next hour trying to study in my room, but all I could do was think about Sky. We were drifting apart, we were both changing, and I didn't know how to stop it. I sighed, slammed the door shut, then sat back in my chair and idly started playing with myself. God, I thought, it felt great. I hadn't done it in at least two days, and I couldn't concentrate on anything. Only one way to clear my head.

I pulled down my pants and began stroking in earnest. In seconds, it sprang up to its full length, hard as a rock and ready for action. I leaned back in the chair and let my speed increase. It felt good, but… something wasn't right. I slowed down my strokes and looked down. My pride and joy looked bigger than ever; it was so hard, it looked like it was ready to burst. I ached with desire. What could be wrong?

I was still too distracted, I thought -- still thinking about the make-up exam. I looked around for one of my Dad's old Playboys, but then I had a better idea. I'd only tried this once before, but I sure felt horny enough to try it again. I removed my shirt and pants and sat down on the bed. I took a deep breath, leaned all the way back, and let my knees roll back over my head. Almost without any effort, my mouth reached the target, and I slurped it hungrily. Oh, god, YES, I thought. That's what I needed.

I pulled my hips down closer to my face, and felt a moan starting in the back of my throat. The bedsprings squeaked noisily as I pounded my groin deeper and deeper against my face. I tried to ignore the dull pain in my lower back, as I felt the warning bells of an impending orgasm. My groans got louder, my thrusts more insistent, until finally -- yes, yes, I was almost there… here it comes…

"Hey, Wil, I'm back!" yelled Sky, who burst through my door and into my room. I let out a loud yell, fell right off the bed and hit the floor with a loud thud. Sky laughed hysterically, and quickly slammed the door.

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!" I screamed. I sputtered, got back to my feet and cried, "Sky, you could at least knock on the door, asshole!"

He was practically crying with laughter. "You shoulda seen the look on your FACE!" he guffawed, sinking to his knees and pounding his fist on the ground.

"Oh, shut UP!" I hissed, grabbing my T-shirt to clean up the gooey mess. It was all over my chest, on the bedspread, and in a long straight puddle on the carpet. Ignoring his hysterical laughter, I grabbed my shorts and pulled them back up to my waist. "Cut it out, Sky," I muttered. "We gotta get back to studying for the test, goddammit!" My face burned with embarrassment.

"You looked like you were studying your DICK to me, Wil!" he laughed, and started pounding the floor again.

I was ready to knock his head off, even if he was almost half a foot than me. "Sky, listen to me!" I snapped, angrily. "We're both in big trouble here, man. We've gotta get you totally up to speed in English, or we'll both get suspended."

He nodded and finally got up off the floor and sat down in my chair, his laughter turning to little gasps and wheezes. "You know," he said, admiringly, "if I could do that to myself, I'd probably never leave the house."

The whole situation was too stupid for us to fight about. I finally gave up trying to keep a straight face, and grinned.

"Yeah," I said. "Maybe having this thing does have its advantages." I chuckled and squeezed my shorts, revealing an large, obscene outline against the fabric.

Sky giggled.

"C'mon, man," I said, letting go of my pants and reaching for a textbook. "We still have a lot of material to cover."

"Okay, okay," he said, putting his hands up in mock surrender. "I'll learn English if you'll learn to start lockin' your door."

I finally started laughing, sat down on the bed, and grabbed the handbook. "Okay, you ready?" I asked, trying to stifle my own giggling. "'Intro to Tenses,'" I read.

"You still look a little 'tense' to me, Wil," he teased.

"I was, but not anymore," I said, and we both dissolved into more laughter. We stopped when my mom knocked loudly on the door.

"Boys!" she yelled.

"Yeah, Mom?" I replied, guiltily.

"I'd like to hear more studying and less goofing off in there, please! And Wil, tell Schuyler he's only got an hour before he has to leave. Both of you have an 11PM curfew on weeknights!"

"Yes, Mrs. Larson," he said, meekly.

* * * * *

Our studying continued without incident. Much to my surprise, Sky came back the following afternoon, just after 5:00, and we finished early, at 10PM. After I closed the last workbook, he lay on his back on my bed, with his arms folded behind his head, and he flashed me one of his million-dollar grins.

"Shit, Wil," he said. "If they'd just explained English in school the way you did, I could've learned this shit a long time ago."

I grinned. "Conjugate the verb 'to shit,'" I commanded.

Sky giggled. "'I shit, you shit, we shit, they all shit.'"

He ran down the entire list -- Present Perfect, Past Perfect, Future Progressive, the works. I laughed and sat down on the bed. "Well, that's a shitty way to pass, but if I were you, I'd take anything at this point," I said, grinning.

"You really think this'll work, Wil?" he said, getting serious for a moment.

I nodded. "I swear, Sky, I think you know the material about as well as I do now."

Sky sat up and looked at me thoughtfully. "You didn't have to do this, you know," he said, quietly. "You still could've gotten out of this."

I shook my head glumly. "No, I couldn't," I said. "This was the best deal we could've gotten from Mr. Lucas. Shit, I was amazed he didn't just suspend us and send us home on the spot!"

Sky's nodded, sat next to me, and looked at me right in the eye. Jesus, I never noticed how intensely blue his eyes were. They practically radiated in this light, I thought. Piercingly blue.

"Listen," he said. "I'm… I'm really sorry for punchin' you the other day."

I closed my eyes at the memory and turned away. "I told you, it's already forgotten."

Sky put his arm around my shoulder. "No, it's not. It was my fault, too. I could've told you to stop, but I didn't." His eyes softened. "Part of me must've really wanted it," he said, softly.

I nodded, and I felt my eyes well up with tears.

"But part of me doesn't want it, Wil!" he continued. "We should… we should be goin' out with girls and stuff."

I winced. "Girls think I'm an idiot," I sighed. "I look like a dork."

"No, you don't!" he said. "Look over here."

He dragged me over to the mirror over my dresser drawers. I stared at the two boys reflected back to me. One had white-blond hair, blond eyebrows, blue eyes, a strong jaw, perfect teeth, and a dazzling face. The other was half a foot shorter, had light brown hair, goofball glasses, and looked like a total geek.

I shook my head. "I look like shit," I moaned.

"Not to me," he said. "You've got a good body, with wide shoulders. You're not fat. Your face isn't that bad. Look again," he said, pulling off my horn-rimmed glasses.

I leaned closer to get the image in focus, and took a good look. Maybe I wasn't so bad, I mused. I dunno if I'd use the word 'cute,' but I definitely wasn't ugly.

"You could start by losin' the glasses," he said. "My brother wears contacts, and I guarantee you, he's a total doofus when he wears glasses."

Hmmm. I hadn't considered that. "Aren't contact lenses expensive?" I asked.

"Hey, my Dad's an eye doctor," he reminded me. "I bet he could get you a deal."

"How much would that be?" I asked.

"I think $100 -- $150 tops," he said.

Well, my folks did say they'd reward me if I could make the honor roll. What the hell. "Alright," I said, punching him in the arm. "You've sold me. I take it you get a commission on this stuff?"

"Fat chance." Sky checked his wristwatch. "Holy shit, it's almost 10:30!" he said, reaching for the door. "I'll ask my dad about it the moment I get home." Sky tore off downstairs, and I went after him like a rocket, bounding down two steps at a time.

I caught up with him before he reached the porch, just as he opened the front door. My parents were sitting in the living room, engrossed in some bad Western on TV. They couldn't see us standing on the other side of the door. I stood close to him and whispered.

"Thanks, Sky," I said quietly. Our eyes were just inches apart.

"It's me who should be thanking you," he whispered. "I was such an asshole."

I felt his warm breath against my face. He smelled of peppermints, and spices, and some other sweet unidentifiable odor. He put his right hand on my shoulder and gave me a light squeeze.

A tear rolled down my right cheek. He leaned forward, and I closed my eyes and braced myself. For a moment, I felt his warm breath on my face.

"I… I gotta go, man," he said.

I looked up just as he pulled himself away and jogged down the front porch steps.

"3:45, tomorrow, in Lucas' office!" he yelled, running down the sidewalk and off in the distance.

I wiped away my tears, went back into the house, and slowly trudged up the stairs.

"I'm glad you and Schuyler were able to settle your differences," called my Dad from the living room.

"Yeah, right," I mumbled, as I turned down the hallway. I never felt more different in my life, I thought. I slammed my door and fell down on my bed and into exhausted sleep.

* * * * *

The make-up exam after school on Thursday afternoon started out pretty brutal. Coach Lucas made us sit on opposite sides of his office, a good 12 feet apart, and kept his eyes on both of us like a hawk. Me and Sky would have to use a radio transmitter or sign language to beat this one, I thought.

Just as on the first exam, I made it through all 150 questions in a little more than twenty minutes. I looked up, and Sky was still chewing on his pencil and staring at the first page. A cold chill shot down my spine. I went back and double-checked all my answers, and tried to mentally concentrate on each one as hard as I could.

C'mon, Sky, I thought, desperately trying to focus whatever mental energy I had. Imagine you're back in my room, going over the topics with me just like we did yesterday. Lucas coughed suddenly, and Sky stifled a nervous chuckle. I looked up and he grinned at me, then went back to the page and began marking down some answers.

After another agonizing half-hour, Sky finally put down his pencil. Lucas took both of our test papers and disappeared into the other room. When the coast was clear, my friend shot me a glance. "Pssst!" he whispered. "If I pass this, I'll owe you, big-time!"

I grinned, wiggled my eyebrows, and pointed down to my groin. He rolled his eyes and pantomimed a blow-job, making a fist in front of his mouth, then poked his tongue inside and made his cheek bulge out. I felt a little tingle of excitement down below, and I giggled nervously.

Five agonizingly long minutes passed. Lucas came back into the room with a file folder, leaned against his desk, and gave us a grim look. Sky and I sat up at attention.

"Boys…" the coach said, finally grinning, "you both passed. In fact, you did better than pass. Wil, you missed just one question out of 150. You get an A+." The coach smiled broadly and gave me a nod.

I let out a sigh of relief.

"Schuyler," Lucas said, turning to my friend, who had a huge, shit-eating grin on his face. "I'm afraid you didn't do quite as well."

Sky's face fell.

"You only made a B+," the coach said, trying not to smile. "But, according to Mrs. Kester, that's the best you've done all year. That raises your quarterly grade average up to a C. You both stay on your teams."

Sky and I leapt out of our chairs and let out a whoop of victory.

"Not so fast!" Lucas yelled. "There's still the little matter of detention. I want you to meet me here in my office, every day at 3:45PM, when the second semester begins on Monday the 6th. There's more than enough work to keep you two busy around the school, cleaning up the grounds and the litter around the building. You'll be on detention detail for two weeks. You miss a single day, and I'll kick your fannies all the way back here to the principal's office."

We nodded meekly, and muttered our "Yes, sirs."

The coach grinned, then his tone grew more serious. "Boys, listen to me," he said. "There's just one day of school left until Christmas vacation, and you two had better not screw up one bit. I've got my eye on both of you!"

Lucas looked like he meant business.

"Now, get out of here! Scram!" he yelled. "I've got better things to do than hang around with you two troublemakers." He grinned and shook his head.

We grabbed our notebooks and ran out of his office to the hallway. It was already 4:30, so the entire school was deserted. A janitor swept up the hallway just ahead of us.

"Jesus, Wil," said Sky, who almost seemed to be in a state of shock. "I was so scared I'd blown the whole test."

That's not all you could blow, I thought. "I knew you could do it, man," I said, grinning. "You're not as much of a dumb jock as you look!" I punched him playfully in the arm.

"No, I mean it, man," he said, stopping while I grabbed a sip from the water fountain. "You totally saved my ass."

"Sky," I said, wiping off my mouth on my sleeve, "you did it yourself. I just gave you the basic information, and you figured the rest of it out on your own. It's not a big deal."

He grabbed a sip from the fountain, and we continued walking out to the sidewalk. "It is to me," he argued. "I owe you big-time for this, and I know just how to pay you back. It's what I think you really need."

My heart fluttered for a moment. What was he saying? I felt a twinge between my legs.

"Melissa's got this friend," he continued. "She's really cute. Her name's Cynthia -- I think she's in your 5th period American History class," he explained.

Shit. I tried to search my memory bank for her face. Was that the Chinese girl who sat to my right? No, it must be the one with the glasses two rows behind me.

I shook my head. "Girls don't dig me," I said. I'm not even sure I dig girls, I thought.

"No, she really does!" he insisted. "She told Melissa she thought you were really cool, that you were the smartest kid in the whole class."

"I'm just a little know-it-all twerp," I muttered, as we strolled past the front of the school.

Sky stopped and wiggled his eyebrows. "She knows you're not that 'little,'" he laughed.

I shook my head in disbelief. "You didn't tell her about my…" I sighed.

He laughed, his wonderful infectious laugh. I sighed. Jesus, it was great to see Sky so happy again.

"Fuck, Wil. I think the whole school knows about you and 'little Wil,'" he said, playfully poking my crotch. "You can't keep something that big a secret for long."

I sighed. "So what do you have in mind?" I asked, nervously.

"The Freshman/Sophomore Christmas dance is next Tuesday, Christmas Eve," he said. "I'll set it all up. Me and my Dad'll pick you up in his car at 7PM, sharp, and we'll have Melissa and Cynthia with us."

I blanched. "I… I can't dance worth a shit, Sky," I stammered.

"Trust me," he laughed. "If I can learn English 101, you can fake it at the dance. C'mon, you already know all the music, Wil! Just move to the beat!" he said, snapping his fingers several times and taking a few steps.

I'd rather beat-off, I thought.

He leaned forward and put his hand on my shoulder, affectionately. "I guarantee you'll really like Cynthia, Wil," he said. "She's really neat. Actually, I think she might be outta your league." He giggled.

I shot him a withering glance.

"I'm kidding! KIDDING!" he said, putting up his hands in mock protest.

It took him another five blocks' worth of arguing and cajoling, but Sky eventually calmed me down and got me to agree to go to the dance. We stopped off at his place to grab a Coke, and I ran the rest of the way home.

Once back in the peace and quiet of my room, I clicked on the radio and fell back on my bed. A jingle pealed out of the speaker, and the fast-talking WLCY deejay said, "and now, with the first of seven in a row, here's the biggest dance hit of the year! Tommy James and The Shondelles with… 'Mony Mony'!"

The opening drum beats pounded out of the speaker. Almost involuntarily, I started tapping my foot. After a few seconds, I started singing along with the melody, and I began to smile. Finally, I jumped off the bed, and did a pantomime of the way I thought Tommy would perform the song, watching every move of my performance in my mirror.

"I said yeah…

YEAH!

Yeah…

YEAH!

yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah, yeah-YEAH…

She makes me feel… (Mony-Mony)

so… (Mony-Mony)

good! (Mony-Mony)…"

After I bumped and grinded around the room for a couple of minutes, the song finally ended and I fell back on the bed and laughed -- really laughed -- for the first time in days. Maybe this wasn't going to be a total disaster, after all.

 Chapter 9

Friday morning was crisp, cold, and just a hair above freezing -- unseasonably cold for central Florida. It was still five days before Christmas, but it already felt like a holiday at school. After checking the posted exam scores on the front doors of the classrooms and re-reading my report card for the eighth time, I felt like I was walking on the clouds: Five A's, an A-minus, and a B. (And that one B was Algebra, which as far as I was concerned, counted as an "A" by default.)

At last, I'd cracked the Honor Roll. Most of the students were buzzing about the mid-term exams, but I felt like I was glowing. I had my friend back, I was on my way to getting the best grades of my life, and things were finally looking up. LaFontaine Institute, here I come, I thought.

For the rest of the day, the teachers spent the time answering questions about the mid-term tests we'd just taken, and handed out essay assignments for the 14-day holiday break that would start over the weekend. When the homework assignments were announced, most of my classmates broke out in groans, but I still couldn't wipe the stupid grin off my face.

At lunch, Sky waved me over to one of the jock tables, and I sat next to him and Melissa. I had to admit, she really was a knock-out, practically with movie-star good looks. She was the co-leader of the junior varsity cheerleading squad, and had what were undoubtedly the biggest tits of any girl in 9th grade. After five minutes of conversation, it was clear to me that Melissa was no airhead; she was smart, witty, and had a great sense of humor. It was awfully hard for me to be jealous of her, I thought. Heck, under the right circumstances, maybe she and I could… No. I sighed and let that daydream float back out of my head, and tried to pay closer attention to what she was saying.

Melissa spent several minutes telling me how much I was going to like Cynthia. I could barely get a word in edgewise, and let her do most of the talking. At one point, I shot Sky a glance; he looked at me from over her shoulder and mouthed, "great tits, eh?", and wiggled his eyebrows. I had to bite my lower lip, which was still a little sore, just to stop myself from laughing out loud.

Midway into our meal, Melissa gave me a poke and stood up. "Hey, Cyn! Cynthia! We're over here!"

A really cute girl about my height walked over. She had a great tan, green eyes, and long, straight brown hair that hung past her shoulders, and no acne, which was a definite plus in high school. I couldn't tell much about her body, because she wore a loose-fitting wool coat. Melissa pulled me out of my chair and said, "Hi, Cyn. This is Wil. Wil, say hello to Cynthia Anderson."

"Hi," I said, nervously.

"Hi," she chirped. "You're in Mr. Harnett's 5th period American History class, right? I've never seen anybody argue with a teacher so much," she said, laughing.

Do I really do that, I thought? "Gee, I don't mean to," I said.

"You corrected him on mistakes three times in one day, last week!" she laughed. "I thought he was going to smack you with an eraser or something."

I winced as I caught Sky stifling a laugh out of the corner of my eye. Okay, so maybe I was a little snot-faced know-it-all. Cynthia leaned closer to me.

"I think you're pretty neat to stand up to him," she said. "In fact," she said, getting even closer, "I think you're real cool." For a winter day, it suddenly felt uncomfortably warm in the cafeteria.

"Th-thanks, Cynthia," I stammered.

"Call me Cyn," she said brightly. "I can't wait to go with you to the dance Tuesday night. Sky's told me all about you."

Did he tell you I could blow myself?, I thought. I smiled as attractive a smile as I could muster and nodded. "Thanks, Cyn. Looking forward to it."

She laughed a wonderful bell-like laugh, and ran off to her next class, waving us goodbye.

Sky grinned at me. "Did I tell you she was cool, or what?" he asked.

I nodded, then sighed. "Definitely out of my league," I replied.

"Shut up, doofus!" he said, playfully punching me in the arm. "You're on the Honor Roll, you've officially made the swim team, and you saved my ass! I say you're the school hero, dip-shit!"

We both laughed. As Sky and I traded fake insults back and forth, I looked up and saw Ronnie Lannigan and his brother Rick walk by our lunch table. Ron gave me a hurt look, and then turned away. I called out his name, but he completely ignored me. That's not like Ron, I thought.

"Forget those geeks," said Sky, shaking his head. "You're with us, now. Those guys are totally un-cool."

I nodded. Maybe he was right. Maybe I should try to make new friends. Maybe Cynthia was the right girl for me. Just as that thought went through my head, the opening notes to The Temptations' "My Girl" came out of the cafeteria speakers. I snapped my fingers in time with the beat, then I stood up and started singing along with the song, in my best impression of David Ruffin.

"I've got sunshine…

on a cloudy day…

when it's cold outside…

I got the month of May…"

Sky whooped with laughter and pounded on the table. Suddenly, Melissa stood up beside me and started doing the backup vocals. I grinned at her and got so carried away, I jumped up on the table and continued singing as loud as I could, using a spoon as an imaginary microphone.

"Well…

I guess you'll say

what can make me feel this way

My girl…

Talkin' 'bout my girl…"

Melissa leapt up on the table with me, and dragged up Sky along with her. They took the part of the backup group.

"I got so… much honey

the bees envy me.

I've got… a sweeter song…

Than the birds in the trees…

"Well… I guess

you'll say

what can make me feel this way?

My girl…

Talkin' 'bout my girl…"

When the song finally ended, about fifty people in the cafeteria hooted and applauded, and the three of us took our bows. Sky and I laughed until we almost cried, jumped down off the table, and slapped each other on the back. Melissa wrapped her arms around me and gave me a huge kiss. I grinned and looked up, and saw Ronnie's face in the back of the crowd staring at me.

"Asshole," he silently mouthed, then turned and walked away.

* * * * *

Since exams were over, Mr. Harnett in American History gave us a study period, along with an assignment for a 1000-word report on the Civil War due on Monday the 6th, when school resumed with the second semester. I tried to talk to Ron, who sat behind me in class, but he wouldn't even give me the time of day. All he would say was, "The secretary has disavowed any knowledge of your actions." Great. I guess now he was back on the IM Force.

"I thought you working for U.N.C.L.E. this week," I said, playfully.

He turned away from me and stared out the window.

"Ronnie, don't be like this, man," I said, quietly. "Look, I'm really sorry if I pissed you off."

He still wouldn't look me in the eye.

"Hey," I said, trying to change the subject. "I'm going out on a date with Cynthia to the Christmas Dance."

Ron turned back and gave me a look of utter surprise. "You? And Cynthia Anderson?" He rolled his eyes and muttered, "you're fuckin' crazy!"

"You don't believe me?" I snapped. "Okay -- watch this." I turned to my right and said, loudly, "Psst! Hey, Cyn! 7:00 Tuesday night, right?"

She looked up from a conversation with the girl next to her, and smiled at me. "Hi, Wil. I'm really looking forward to the dance," she said. Jesus, she really was pretty.

"Cool!" I said. I smiled and nodded, and turned back to Ron, who stared at me with his mouth wide open.

"Close your mouth before you catch a fly, dumbass!" I laughed.

"You really… like her?" he said, incredulous.

"What's not to like?" I shrugged. "She's cute, she's smart -- she even told me I was cool."

Ronnie frowned. "You're not cool," he muttered. Then, dropping his voice, he whispered, "I bet she just wants your big dick."

I leaned forward, glowering. "What if she does, asshole?" I hissed. "I bet there're a lot worse things I could do with my dick."

He shrank away from me and sat back in his seat. "If that's what you want," he said, in a small voice. Jesus, Ronnie could be such a doofus sometimes.

The bell rang and I went off to Phys Ed. I turned to look for Ronnie, but he'd vanished into thin air. Shit, I thought. If he skipped this class, he could really be in for it.

* * * * *

After Phys Ed, I saw Couch Lucas turning off the light in his office. "Hey, Coach," I yelled. He looked up and grinned.

"Well, if it isn't the brain of Tampa Central," he laughed. "I saw where you made the Honor Roll -- congratulations, son."

I smiled. "Sky didn't do too badly, either," I said.

Lucas nodded. "He has you to thank for that, Wil," he said, giving me a knowing look.

I started to protest, but he cut me short. "Son, let's face it. You and I both know, there's two kinds of people in this world -- guys with brains, and guys with muscles. I think you're in the former category, and Schuyler's in the latter."

I frowned. Where's the law that says you can't have a little of both, I thought. "Speaking of that," I said, "is it OK if I work out today? I missed going to the weight room every day this week, because of exams."

The coach furrowed his brow. "Actually," he said, "I was gonna lock up early and send Chuck home. Nobody's scheduled to use the room at all today, because of the Christmas break."

"Please, coach!" I begged. "Coach Byers says I've gotta put on more muscle to improve my Butterfly times!"

"Can't you just pick this up again two weeks from now?" he asked, wearily.

I shook my head. "The pool is closed until mid-January! Please, Coach!" I begged. "I'm preparing for the Olympics! I can't be a 95-pound weakling forever," I cried.

"Awright, awright," he chuckled, nodding his head. "Just be careful. We don't want any accidents in there. You won't have a spotter, so just stick to the machines. You're doing -- what, legs?"

I nodded. "Legs and chest, and maybe triceps."

"Okay. When you finish, be sure to turn all the lights out, and go out this side exit," he said, pointing to the metal fire door on the left. "It'll automatically lock behind you. All the other doors are already locked."

"Thanks, Coach!" I yelled, running back to my locker to grab a towel.

"Don't drop a weight on your head in there!" he called from the hallway.

"I won't!" I yelled back.

* * * * *

After a little less than 45 minutes, my legs ached like hell. This was the second-to-last exercise for my lower-body workout -- glutes. The bigger jocks called it the "butt blaster" machine, because it was supposed to just work out your posterior and lower back muscles. You had to lie down in a weird position, and then kick back and outwards. It looked like a total Rube Goldberg deal to me, but all I know is, it made my ass muscles really hurt like hell. I figured it had to be good for swimming.

Despite the cold outside, it was sweltering inside the workout room -- at least 74, maybe 75 degrees, I thought, as I wiped off my face with my towel. That idiot Chuck must've cranked up the furnace. After my last set of 10 reps on the calves machine, I was really beat. I glanced up at the clock. Shit, I thought. Almost 5:00. I could see the sun getting low in the one lone window of the workout room. The gym seemed lonelier than it normally did, since I was the only person there. Even empty, the place still smelled of perspiration and steel. I wish there was a radio in here to listen to, I thought.

I ran down the little chart that Coach Byers had made for me with my workout routine. I crossed 'legs' off today's list, since I'd finished the last set, and moved over to chest. I could do the machines, but then I remembered how great Sky had looked doing bench press the other day. I felt a twinge at the memory of his tanned pecs and muscular arms. I sighed and put my hand against my own chest, which felt damp and puny through my T-shirt. If I really wanted to get bigger, I was gonna have to take Sky's advice and use the real workout stuff.

According to the chart, I only did 65 pounds the last time I tried a chest workout with Sky. I added two ten-pound plates to the 45-pound barbell, lay back, and tried ten reps. Hmmm, I thought, letting the heavy bar clang to the posts. That wasn't too bad. I'll go up to 85. That was definitely heavier, I thought, straining at the weight. I struggled to push it back up for 8, then counted to 9, then just barely made it to 10. "Whew," I said to nobody in particular. "I really felt that one."

Could I lift 100? I looked at the black metal plates in the rack. They didn't look all that bad. Sky was able to do 150 the other day, but he was a lot bigger than I was. I decided to compromise at 95, which was still more than I had ever lifted before. I added two more five-pounders to the bar, took a few deep breaths, and leaned back.

"It's now or never," I said out loud, to the empty room.

Ooof. Now this was definitely heavy. I could feel my chest expand from the exertion, and my arms trembled. My heart began racing as I remembered how great Sky's body looked, pumped-up and naked. As I squeezed out the reps, I closed my eyes and thought of how we would look, each of us with identically-muscular bodies, taking a shower together. God. I felt a twinge and a throb between my legs.

Just two more reps to go. "Nine!" I said, out loud. I lowered the weight all the way down to my chest, and started to push it up. Christ, it was impossible. I couldn't even move it an inch! I began to panic.

"Heavy, isn't it?" whispered a voice close to my ear.

The barbell wobbled unsteadily in my hands, and I opened my eyes wide. Scott Michaels' face was just inches away from my own, and his hand was on the middle of the barbell. In all the times I'd ever seen him, he'd never looked angrier, or more evil.

"What… what the fuck do you want?" I gasped, as the bar finally dropped with a small thud onto my chest, pinning me to the bench.

"So, Donkey Boy wants to be a real he-man!" he said, laughing sadistically, as he walked around the bench to my feet.

"Just leave me alone, Michaels, willya?" I said, trying desperately to keep the whine out of my voice. I was having trouble breathing.

Scott yanked off his football jersey and threw it to the ground, then ripped off his pants and his jock-strap, allowing his enormous erection to spring free. He pulled my legs apart and sat down on the bench. I struggled to keep the bar balanced on my chest, and prayed for the strength to lift it up a few inches and onto the bottom safety notch.

"Let's see just how big it really is," he said, putting his hands on my shorts.

"GOD! Scott, no, please, just get away from me!" I pleaded. "I swear I won't tell anybody!" My ribcage felt like it was cracking. I could barely even lift my head up.

Suddenly, I felt a draft of cold air on my crotch as my shorts and jockstrap were roughly yanked down my legs and off my feet.

Scott sat back down and let out a low whistle, as he methodically compared our endowments.

"My, my," he said, holding them together, side by side. He leaned down close to my face, which was turning red -- partly with embarrassment, and partially with the exertion of being crushed to death.

"That is a big one," he said, flicking my organ back and forth between his thumb and index finger. "Eight inches, right?"

I was getting dizzy. "It's… closer to ten," I gasped. My arousal twitched, and I felt it quickly swell to full attention. Shit, shit, shit! I thought. Now's not the time!

Scott laughed. Without warning, he suddenly grabbed my entire package and squeezed it, hard. I groaned in agony.

"You really think yours is bigger than mine?" he said, evenly. "I don't think so. Do you?"

I didn't answer. Suddenly, I felt a tremendous pain in my groin, and I screamed and doubled up. He'd punched me with his fist, right in my balls.

"I said, you don't think yours is bigger than mine, do you, DONKEY BOY?" he screamed.

I was in too much agony to speak. The heavy barbell slipped out of my grip, as I lost my balance. The metal plates on the left slid off and crashed to the floor in a thunderous clang, and the bar immediately tipped over to the right, pulling me off the bench and onto the rubber mat on the floor. My glasses flew off and I fell on my stomach, then instinctively reached for my tender groin, which was still throbbing with pain.

Before I knew what was happening, Scott was on top of me. I felt his hot breath on the back of my neck, and a little stubble from his chin scraped my shoulder.

"You want my dick, don't you, Donkey Boy?" he whispered in my ear.

"Scott, PLEASE, don't hurt me!" I begged. "Coach'll hear you! He'll kick us both out of school if he sees us." I prayed he didn't know we were both alone.

As if to answer me, he leaned forward and playfully bit my ear. "I saw Lucas drive away half an hour ago," he said, quietly. "It's just you and me, Donkey Boy. We're gonna have some fun together. Don't you move an inch."

I felt something hot and sweaty slip between my thighs. Jesus, not that… I tried to stand up, but Scott punched me in my back, as hard as he could.

"I TOLD YOU… <wham!> NOT… <wham!> TO… <wham!> MOVE!" he screamed.

My body was wracked with agony, and my penis instantly shriveled up with fear and nausea.

He rolled me over on my back and socked me again in the stomach, hard. I groaned and doubled-up on the floor. He pulled my legs back down, spread them apart, and laughed.

"That dick of yours sure don't look all that big now, Donkey Boy. In fact," he said, sitting forward on my chest, "I'd say mine's a lot bigger now, wouldn't you?"

I opened my eyes and saw a blurry fleshy object inches from my face. I began to sob. "No, please, Scott, don't do this, I won't tell anybody, I swear to fucking God, Scott! I never did anything to you!"

He brushed the head against my lips. "No, but you're gonna do somethin' for me, right now," he murmured. "Aren't you, Donkey Boy?"

I shook my head and kept my mouth closed, but he suddenly punched me again, hard, in the abdomen. I thought I was going to vomit any second. I groaned and started crying harder.

"You know you want to suck it! Don't you, Donkey Boy? Suck it!" he ordered.

I shook my head again, but he grabbed me by the hair and forced my mouth open, then abruptly shoved in his erection all the way to the back of my throat. I choked and gagged, then partially threw up, forcing his arousal out of my throat. Scott cried out with rage, and back-handed me across the face. I stopped crying and wiped the bile off my mouth.

"DON'T EVER DO THAT!" he screamed. "When I tell you to suck it, you suck it! And no teeth! If you bite me, I'll beat you so bad, you'll walk with a limp for the rest of your fuckin' life!"

I nodded meekly, and he leaned forward again. I closed my eyes and felt the large, sweaty object move back into my mouth, a little more gently this time. Reluctantly, I started sucking and moved my tongue back and forth. Scott immediately moaned with pleasure.

"That's more like it, Donkey Boy," he moaned, gently stroking my hair with his right hand. "Suck my big dick. Suck it!"

Despite my terror, I felt the blood surging between my legs. Scott reached behind his back and grabbed me, and laughed.

"Hey, you like this, don't you, Donkey Boy! Let me make you feel better." He began stroking me up and down, and I began to moan and suck him, hungrily. I reached forward and started to fondle his balls. He began slowly thrusting back and forth in my mouth.

"Oh, that's good," he moaned. He stroked me a few more times, then leaned forward. "I really love your cock, Wil," he whispered, using my real name for the first time. "Oh, you're good at this, man," he said, speeding up his thrusts. I tried to mentally stop myself from gagging. His dick might be a little smaller than mine, I thought, but not by much.

Suddenly, he plunged forward, and it slipped all the way back into my throat. I started to gag, but he grabbed my head and held it firmly. "Just a few more seconds, Wil," he begged. "I'm really close, man! Please?"

I opened my eyes and saw that Scott was in a state of total bliss, thrusting like some kind of animal. His muscular chest glistened with sweat; I could see a small sprinkling of dark hairs between his two enormous pecs. I continued to cough, and finally started to black out from lack of air. I tried to pull back, but he held my head firmly with both hands and sped up his thrusts to a blur. Finally, as a last-ditch act of total desperation, I summoned all my courage, took my right fist and smacked him as hard as I could in the face.

Scott tumbled backwards, screaming as his erection ripped from my mouth, and he hit the floor with a loud thud.

"YOU FUCKIN' ASSHOLE!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. "I TOLD YOU NOT TO USE YOUR TEETH! LOOKIT WHAT YOU'VE DONE!"

I sat up, still choking and gagging. The stocky 15 year-old staggered up to his feet and began waving around his huge erection, which had an angry red scrape along the top side. A tear of blood slid down the shaft and onto his bright purple head.

"YOU FUCKING FAGGOT!" he screamed. "I'LL KILL YOU FOR THIS!"

I shook my head and crawled over to the bench. "You're gonna have to kill more than just me, Scott," I said, shaking as I pulled myself up. "If anything happens to me, Rick and Ronnie Lannigan are gonna know you did it."

He stopped and started at me, all the blood drained from his face. "Wha… what did those faggots tell you?"

I took a step forward, my half-hard organ swinging between my legs, and took a deep breath. "I know enough to know you're as much of a fag as they are. Or I am. Or anybody here is."

Scott had an expression of total panic on his face. "You can't tell anybody," he whispered. "I'll… I'll kill you first."

"Scott, listen to me," I said, as bravely as I could, making every effort to keep the quiver out of my voice. "Forget about this. You know I won't tell anybody. What good would it do me? You know about me, and I know about you. We're even."

He mulled that over. "But you know about Rick and Ron," he said, trying to sort it out through his ape-like brain, while he idly stroked himself. His eyes had a wild expression and stared at me, unblinking.

Jesus, I have a big mouth, I thought, still trying to come up with a good explanation. I thought of trying to make a break past him, but he was directly between me and the room's only exit.

"I don't know about anything, Scott," I lied. "I just guessed. I knew you hated Ronnie, and he can never take his eyes off my dick in the locker room, so I just put two and two together. So what?" I said, inching towards the door. "Maybe Ron's a fag, maybe he's not. Who cares?" I said. "We're just guys, helpin' each other get off once in awhile. It's no big deal."

He looked at me blankly, then slowly nodded his head, reflecting on everything I'd said. Before I could even think what I was doing, I made a mad dash for the door. With lightning speed, Scott charged forward and wrapped his large, muscular arm around my throat from behind and started to squeeze.

"You fuckin' faggot," he hissed in my ear. "You're just like those other guys. You just wanna drag me down with ya. I know just how to handle stupid fuckin' pansy boys like you."

With a cry of rage, he pushed me headfirst into a nearby weight stand, and I collided with a rack of 20-pound dumbbells, which rolled away in every direction. I hit the floor with a thud, and tried desperately to crawl away. Scott fell on me and punched me repeatedly in the lower back. He grabbed me again around the throat and started to squeeze. I tried to scream, but not a sound came out of my mouth. I started feeling light-headed as he dragged me back to a padded bench. He slammed me down hard on my stomach, and I felt him probe me from behind. I heard him spit, and he abruptly shoved a finger all the way up inside me.

"Noooooo," I gurgled.

As if to answer me, he savagely kneed me in my balls, which dangled underneath me, to the side of the bench. It hurt beyond anything I'd ever felt in my life. I began to black out from the pain.

"Those big nuts are wasted on you, faggot!" he cried.

Suddenly, he grunted like an animal, and a new kind of pain hit me. A searing pressure ripped through my anal wall, sending a stabbing wave all the way up my spine. I screamed, and Scott punched me again in the back and fell on top of me, then wrapped his hands tightly around my shoulders.

"This is what all you pussy boys really want, isn't it, Wil?" he whispered in my ear. "You want my hot cock up your ass, don't you?"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" I screamed.

"It can't hurt that much, can it, Wil?" he said. "After all, it's a lot smaller than yours, right?"

He bit my earlobe lightly and stuck his tongue inside. I shuddered, and he began to grunt and thrust his hips on top of me. I felt the hot sweat between us start to trickle out on my back. After a minute, the excruciating pain began to subside and turn into a dull throbbing. I felt something warm and moist dripping from my thighs onto the bench. Oh, great, I thought. Now I'm bleeding to death.

Scott's rhythmic thrusts became faster and more insistent. "Oh, Wil," he murmured. "I've wanted to do this all year. Don't tell me you don't like this."

I hated him. Even worse, I started to feel a new sensation, some kind of throbbing pleasure deep inside me. To my disgust, I felt my groin throbbing back to life again. I moaned with the sheer misery and horror of the situation, and tears sprang to my eyes.

Scott laughed and whispered, "I told you you'd like it, Donkey Boy."

Suddenly, there was a noise behind us. Scott cried out, and I heard a loud metallic clang, followed behind by a tremendous crash. I turned my head just as his body tumbled off me and hit the floor with a dull thud. The next thing I knew, someone grabbed my arm and tried to help me up, and I rolled over on the bench and groaned with pain.

"Wil! Wil, it's me, Chuck!"

I opened my eyes, and the fat, bloated assistant gym manager was holding me up under my arms. There was a look of sheer fright in his eyes, and he panted, as if he'd just been running.

"Are you alright?" he asked, catching his breath. "Can you walk?"

I nodded. Using Chuck's shoulder and the bench for support, I pulled myself up to my feet, then looked down. Scott Michaels lay on the floor, unmoving, with a 45-pound weight plate lying next to his head. I let out a gasp when I saw a trickle of blood oozing down his right forehead. Scott's left arm was bent backwards at an odd angle.

"Shit, Chuck! You killed him!" I whispered.

Chuck kneeled beside him, still panting and sweating. "No," he said, shaking his head. "He's still breathing. Scott's just knocked out. I'll call an ambulance."

I felt dizzy. "But what's the coach gonna say?"

"Coach isn't here," he replied, calmly. "I'm in charge now."

He handed me my glasses, which were a little bent. I nodded and put them back on, then half-walked, half-staggered to the workout room door. I looked back. Chuck was pulling the unconscious football star up onto the bench.

"What about Scott?" I asked, wearily.

Chuck quickly walked over to me. I could see a thin film of sweat soaking his enormous T-shirt.

"I told you," he said. "I'll call an ambulance. In 15 or 20 minutes." His huge chest rose and fell as he panted -- whether from the excitement or the exertion, I'm not sure.

I was puzzled. "Why not call right now?" I asked.

Chuck grinned at me. "When I'm finished with him. What he don't know, won't hurt him."

I stared at him for a moment, then realization set in. "No, Chuck -- don't get in trouble, man," I protested.

"Get outta here," he said, quietly. "You got five minutes to take a shower and go home. I'll clean up here. If anybody asks, I'll say you left an hour ago."

I stared at Chuck as he walked back to the gym bench and rolled over the unconscious athlete on his back. Jesus, I thought, eying my attacker's nude groin. After all that, Scott was still as hard as a rock! A low moan escaped from his lips.

Chuck looked back at me. "Go on, Wil."

I nodded, then limped over to the door. "Thanks, Chuck," I said. "For what you did for me."

The fat boy looked down at Scott, then looked back at me. "This isn't the first time this has happened, Wil," he said, sadly.

I shook my head, retrieved my gym clothes and towel, and limped down the hall, turned to the corner and went into the shower. The hot water felt soothing. I let the warm cloud of steam rise up, and I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall for support.

After a minute or two, I looked down and saw a several drops of red running down my right leg. The blood pooled up on the floor, and circled down into the drain. Gingerly, I reached down and checked the damage. FUCK, that hurt! I winced. I'm not gonna be able to poop for a month, I thought. I looked down at my body and shuddered at the scratches and bruises on my chest and stomach. I probably looked even worse on my back.

I thought about what Chuck had said to me. Did he mean Scott had done this before to other guys? Or did he mean that Chuck had knocked some of the players on the head and… I shuddered with the mental image of the fat boy's huge, sweaty body, and immediately tried to push it out of my head.

I shut off the water and grabbed my towel, then limped back to my locker and pulled on my clothes. Shit, I thought. I'm gonna leave blood all over my pants. I couldn't let my parents see me the way I am. What am I gonna do? Where could I go?

Ronnie.

I limped down the hall and grabbed the pay phone. Thank God, I still had one dime on me. I dropped the coin in the slot and quickly dialed his number.

C'mon, Ronnie! Answer… answer! At last, there was a click.

"Hello?"

"Ronnie!" I yelled into the phone. "God, I'm glad you're home! It's me, Wil. I've got an emergency."

Silence. "I don't wanna talk to you, Wil," he said, coldly. "U.N.C.L.E. agents are forbidden to fraternize with enemies from THRUSH."

I rolled my eyes. "Shut up, Ronnie, and listen for once! Scott Michaels just beat the shit out of me at school, and then tried to rape me!"

Ron gasped. "He did WHAT?" he cried. Another voice yelled "hold it down" in the background on the phone.

"Ronnie, don't tell anybody about this!" I pleaded.

"That was just Rickie. I've gotta tell him!" he said, in a hoarse whisper.

"Okay," I said, wearily. "Just your brother, but nobody else. Listen, I'm out of money for the phone." I glanced over at the clock, which had just hit 5:30. "Call my mom and tell her you'd like me to spend the night tonight at your place. If she gives you any shit, tell her I made the Honor Roll."

"Hey, that's great, Wil!" he started.

"Shut UP!" I hissed. "I'm bleeding, and I hurt like hell!"

I thought I heard him choke back a sob.

"Shit, I'm sorry, man!" he said in a small voice. "What're we gonna do?"

I thought for a minute. "We'll figure that out when I get there," I said. "If my mom asks any questions, just stall and tell her I went to the store with Rick or something. I'll call her back in a half hour, when I get to your place."

"Okay, Wil," he said. He paused for a second, then angrily muttered, "I told you Scott Michaels was an asshole."

I nodded, even though I knew Ronnie couldn't see me. Down the hall from the locker room, I heard a voice in the distance moan loudly, then scream. Sounds like somebody just got to the root of Scott's problem.

"I'll see you in ten minutes, Ronnie. Listen, I'm sorry for what I said before."

"I'm sorry, too," he said, meekly. "Wil, I… I gotta tell you something. I… really…" His voice cracked.

Shit, I don't want to hear this now, I thought.

"Ron, I gotta go," I snapped.

"No," he said. "I gotta tell you." He took a deep breath. "I love you, Wil. I'm sorry, but I do."

I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the wall.

"Ronnie. I'm all fucked-up. Don't say anything," I begged. "Just let me come over and crash for awhile… please."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he said, blubbering.

"And stop apologizing!" I yelled.

"Okay. Wil?" he asked.

"What now, Ronnie?"

"Hurry up!"

I cursed and hung up the phone. I grabbed my notebook and textbooks and crammed them in my gym bag. I went over to a dispenser over the trash can and grabbed a handful of paper towels, and gingerly shoved them down the back of my pants. It still hurt, but not quite as badly as it did ten minutes ago.

With my heavy gym bag in hand, I trotted back down the hall, then slowed to a fast walk as I went down the corner by the workout room door. The room lights were out now, and I thought for a moment about opening the door. Again, I heard a loud moan from inside, but I could've sworn it was two different voices this time. I backed up from the door, and silently tip-toed past it. I hit the fire door release, stumbled and ran out into the cold night. I started running faster after I heard it slam shut in the distance.

 Chapter 10

I didn't stop running until I made it to the sanctity of Rick and Ron's bedroom. From their phone, I called home and left a message with Sharon, and made my excuses. The two brothers locked their door, pushed me down on the lower bunk bed, and gently pulled off my clothing. After a quick examination, they told me I didn't seem to have broken anything -- except maybe my ass.

I hurt all over. I was pretty well covered with scratches and purple bruises all over my back, chest, and stomach, even a little on my neck. Luckily, my face still looked fine, so chances were good that my mom and dad would never be able to see any damage, if I was lucky.

Ronnie took a good look at my backside and shook his head. "You're definitely still bleedin' a little back there," he said, wincing.

I felt a lot better after a long hot bath. An hour later, we checked again and the bleeding had definitely stopped. I felt exhausted, but it was good to be back with my friends -- even if they were The Geek Brothers.

Ronnie brought in a tray of soup and burgers from the kitchen, and we ate dinner while lying on the floor and watching The Wild Wild West on TV. Jesus, I thought. The star of the show sure had tight pants. I felt a little twinge and adjusted my crotch. Rick looked down and laughed. I looked down and saw my stiffening organ clearly outlined through my underwear.

"You're one hor-hor-horny guy," he said, laughing and pointing. "I guess you like Agent West as much as we do."

I grinned and nodded. Even after all I've been through, I still hadn't gotten any satisfaction myself, tonight. The two brothers turned and sat in front of me and smiled.

"You wanna… you know?" said Ronnie, shyly.

I grinned, but shook my head weakly. "Maybe later, Ron," I said.

"There's no rush," he said, smiling. "I can wait."

Jesus, maybe the little dork really did love me. "Let me sleep, Ronnie," I said, as I wearily got into the lower bunk bed. "I really feel like crap."

He nodded, and both brothers turned off the light and left the room. The fresh, cool sheets felt good on my bruised back. In minutes, I was fast asleep. A few hours later, I was awakened when somebody (or somebodies) climbed up the ladder into the top bunk. Soon afterward, the bed frame began gently shaking back and forth, and two voices moaned little squeaks of pleasure.

I rolled my eyes. "Can you guys, ah, hold it down a little?" I whispered loudly.

Ronnie's bright red face appeared to my right, upside-down, looking down from the top bunk. "Shit! I'm sorry, Wil," he whispered.

"Sorry, Wil!" whispered Rick, out of sight.

I closed my eyes and drifted back to sleep, as the bed quietly rocked back and forth.

* * * * *

Hours later, I awoke to find Ronnie asleep in my bunk, with his arm across my chest and his head tucked under my arm. The clock said it was 4:10 in the morning.

"Pssst!" I whispered. "What're you doing down here! I'm trying to sleep, man."

He opened his eyes and looked sleepily at me, then smiled. "I didn't think you'd mind," he yawned, and snuggled closer to me.

"Cut it out, Ron," I snapped, pushing him away. He looked hurt.

"You hate me, don't you," he said in a small voice, sitting up.

I sighed. "No, I don't hate you, Ronnie. I just got a lot of stuff on my mind, that's all."'

He lay beside me and turned on his side. "You never did give us all the details what happened with you and Scott," he whispered.

I felt a chill at the memory. "I don't wanna talk about it, Ron," I snapped. "Just shut up."

Ronnie put his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Wil," he said, seriously. "I'll kill him for hurting you." He said it matter-of-fact, as if it'd be the easiest thing in the world for him to do.

I grinned. "I think Scott has his own problems to worry about," I said.

"Scott's father f-f-f-ucks him," said Rick, loudly.

I looked up and was shocked to see the other Lannigan brother staring at us, upside down, from the top bunk.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, momentarily taken aback.

"It's true," he said, climbing down the little ladder and sitting beside the two of us on the lower bunk. "Sc-Sc-Scott told me. I did it with him all last sum-sum-summer. He always wanted to… you know… d-do it that way. He said he didn't mind his Dad doin' it to him. He called it c-c-c-cornholin'."

I nodded. 'Cornholing' was an old Southern tradition I had heard about before, but never actually seen or experienced. Well, until a few hours ago, anyway.

"But you wouldn't let him do it to you," I said.

He shook his head. Ron blurted out, "I think Scott wanted Rickie to corn-hole him."

"Shut up, Ronnie!" hissed Rick. "T-tell us everything that happened, Wil," he said, looking at me intently.

Reluctantly, I gave them the whole story, as best I could. Ronnie nodded when I got to the part about Scott comparing our equipment.

"I told you Wil's was bigger," he said to Rick, who punched him in the arm and told him to shut up.

"So how-how-how did you get away from him, Wil?" Rick asked.

"Chuck saved me," I replied.

"You mean Chuckles, the pervert?" squealed Ronnie. "The fat kid in the locker room who stares at everybody when they're taking a shower?" He fell back on the bed with laughter. "He's gross!"

"Hey," I said with a sigh. "I owe him a favor. He clobbered the shit out of Scott. I never would've gotten away if it wasn't for Chuck."

"Why d-did Scott do this to you?" Rick asked quietly.

Shit. Now it was my turn to apologize. "Guys," I said, looking at both brothers as sincerely as I could, "I'm really sorry. I… I accidentally told him that I knew about…"

Their eyes widened.

"You didn't!" whispered Ronnie.

I nodded. "I told him I knew what he'd been doing with you two."

Rick's face went white. "You m-m-mean with me," he said, angrily.

"Yeah," I said. "I was scared! I just… I dunno, I blurted out the first thing I could think of to make him stop. Jesus, I'm really sorry, Rick," I said, embarrassedly.

"We're dead now, for sure," Ronnie whispered. Rick nodded and glared at me.

"I'm not so sure," I said. "Chuck was in the locker room with Scott for a long time, after he bashed his head in," I mused.

"You think he… did stuff with him?" asked Ronnie, bewildered.

I grinned. "Let's just say that I think Scott is now in a lot worse shape than I am," I said.

"Holy shit," said both brothers. They turned and looked at each other, and the three of us burst out laughing.

As our laughter subsided, I yawned. I glanced at the illuminated clock by their bed: it was nearly 4:30AM.

"Guys, I'm still tired, and I hurt like shit. Can we just sleep and have breakfast in the morning," I yawned.

Ronnie grinned at me and ran his hand across my stomach. "I know somethin' that'll make you sleep better," he said.

I rolled my eyes. "Do you guys ever stop thinking about sex?" I whined.

"Nope," said Rick, who turned and helped Ronnie gently pull down my underwear.

I mumbled some weak protests, and then lay back on the bed and felt something warm, wet, and wonderful nuzzle my belly and then work its way downwards.

These two are absolutely insatiable, I thought, as I laid my arms over my head in surrender, closed my eyes, and felt my groin throb with pleasure.

* * * * *

I awoke at 7:30 to find the room flooded with sunlight. Ronnie was still in bed with me, his hand under the covers cradling my groin, which was still a little sore from the fight I'd had the night before with Scott. Rick was on the floor beside us, covered with a sheet, and snoring softly.

Well, at least he doesn't stutter in his sleep, I thought. I gingerly slid past Ron and stepped over his older brother, then padded across the room on the plush white carpet and entered their bathroom. My mouth fell open. Their bathroom was even bigger than my parents' -- fancy sink and toilet fixtures, too. This stuff really looked cool -- and expensive.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror by the shower, and winced at the reflection. My limp member hung down half a foot in front of me, like it always did, but I could see my right testicle was definitely a little swollen and bruised.

"I guess this what you call 'blue balls for real,'" I whispered to myself.

My chest and stomach were bruised as well, but not as badly as I feared. My upper chest was still a little red and sore from where the barbell hit me. I poked around gingerly and winced as I encountered a few tender spots, but I was certain nothing was broken.

"Shit, Wil!"

I jumped to find Ronnie standing behind me, still naked. "Your back's got a shitload of cuts and bruises on it, man."

I nodded. "Yeah. That was a parting gift from Scott last night."

He walked up beside me, then put his hand on my back, then reached down lower. I flinched, but he rubbed me cautiously and tenderly.

"I meant what I said, Wil," he whispered. "I'll kill him for what he did to you."

"Forget it, Ron," I replied, shaking my head. "Chuck really gave it to him last night. I'm sure Scott won't sit down for a week."

Ronnie shivered at the thought of Chuck and Scott, together in the weight room. He looked up at me with tears in his eyes. "Then I hope Chuck makes Scott wish he was dead," he said, coldly. Sometimes, Ron really scared the hell out of me, and this was definitely one of those times.

"Hey, g-g-guys!"

We both gave a start as his brother Rick stuck his head through the bathroom door.

"Willie Mae's got breakfast all ready," he said. "Get dressed and come d-d-down to the dining room, okay?"

"Who's Willie Mae?" I quipped.

"She's our maid," replied Ronnie. "She cooks and cleans the house and takes care of us when Mom's not here."

Jesus, I thought. This must be like living in a hotel! Rick and Ron left me in the bathroom to take care of business. It hurt a little, but not nearly as badly as I feared. After I finished, I decided to take another shower. I dried myself thoroughly, then checked my still-sore ass in the mirror, just to check its progress. At least it looked normal from the outside. I walked back into the brothers' bedroom, and Ron tossed me a large T-shirt.

"It's one of Rick's," he said. "You can wear his stuff for now. You two are about the same size."

I nodded. "What about my clothes?" I said, holding up my jeans, which I could now see were stained with a small blotch of dried blood in the back.

"I'll throw all your stuff in the washing machine right now," he said. "I'll tell Mom you slipped and got dirt on 'em, and we'll just clean 'em up. Nobody'll ever know."

"Thanks, Ronnie," I said.

He looked up at me and flashed me a huge smile. "It's part of ze secret meession," he quipped, in a perfect German accent. "Ve must get rid of all ze evidenze, and make zure ze guilty parties are caught oont killt."

I grinned and shook my head. "You know you're totally nuts, right?" I said.

Ron just laughed and ran out of the room, taking my dirty clothes with him.

* * * * *

When I entered the Lannigan's palatial dining room, I couldn't believe the spread laid out on the table before us. Every variety of breakfast meat was there -- bacon, ham, link sausage and patties -- along with hash browns, a silver serving tray of scrambled eggs, a huge stack of pancakes, and a neat row of glass pitchers with freshly-squeezed orange juice, grapefruit juice, milk, and ice water. Rick was already digging into the pancakes, and Ron pulled a chair out for me next to him and started scooping out a big helping of scrambled eggs for himself.

"Lots of protein in these, Wil," he said, piling them on the plate. "You muscle-bound jocks need this stuff, right?"

I grinned, grabbed my fork and took a bite. "Aren't you gonna have any?" I asked, my mouth half-full. Man, this stuff tasted good.

"Oh," he said, laughing and patting his stomach, "I already had my share of protein last night."

Both brothers practically fell out of their chairs laughing. I rolled my eyes and laughed along with them, then playfully socked Ronnie in the shoulder.

"Boys," called their mother, who walked into the dining room. "Oh, hello, William! I'm so glad you could spend the night with the boys."

"Hi, Mrs. Lannigan," I said, in-between mouthfuls. "Thanks for letting me sleep over. This food is fantastic!" I said, taking a bite of pancakes.

She smiled. "That's our Willie Mae! Isn't she wonderful? Anyway, boys, I've got to meet your Uncle Bob at the airport. I'll be back later this afternoon. Willie Mae will stay and make you lunch. Don't drive her crazy, will you?" she said, grabbing her purse.

"Yes, mom," chorused the two brothers, as she left the room.

"By the way," she called from the hallway. "Did you hear what happened at your school last night? It was just terrible."

I almost dropped my fork on my plate. Rick and Ron looked up from their meals and their faces paled.

"N-n-n-n-n…" stammered Rick.

"NO, Mom, we didn't!" finished Ronnie.

Rick kicked him under the table.

"A boy was badly hurt and had to be taken to the hospital," she called, walking back into the dining room. "Here it is, on the front page of the metro section of today's paper."

She laid the Saturday morning edition of the Tampa Tribune on the table. In the lower right corner was a blurry picture of Scott Michaels in his football jersey. A small headline read, "Local Athlete Injured in Freak Accident."

I blanched and started to reach for the paper, but Ronnie snatched it out of my hand.

"A near-tragedy was narrowly averted last night," he read aloud, "after a Tampa Central High School football quarterback was injured in the school gymnasium and had to be rushed to the emergency room on Friday night at 7:30PM."

7:30, I gasped! Jesus! I left just before 6. That meant that Chuck and Scott were in the weight room for more than…

"'The student, Scott Henry Michaels,'" continued Ron as he read the news item, "'was the second Tampa Central quarterback to be sidelined this season. Team quarterback Robert Carlson, a junior, had previously broken his leg in a motorcycle accident last month. Michaels, age 16, was rescued after he was reportedly crushed by a barbell in the school gymnasium. Dr. Simon McAdams, a physician at St. Joseph's Hospital, says that Michaels could have bled to death had he not been found in time. Assistant school gym manager, Charles Blossom, is being hailed as a hero after rescuing him.'"

I burst out laughing. "Some hero!" I said.

"Keep reading, R-R-Ronnie," muttered Rick, shooting me a glance.

"'Michaels suffered a mild concussion and a badly broken arm, which reportedly occurred during unauthorized use of school exercise equipment. Tampa Central High Dean of Boys Steven P. Lucas refused to provide any specific details regarding the accident, pending an investigation. Lucas did indicate that the student was expected to be released sometime Sunday morning, and that his injuries weren't life-threatening but would probably prevent him from returning to the team for the rest of the season.'"

The three of us crowded around the paper. I stared at the photo of Michaels. He looked almost handsome, smiling at the camera. That wasn't the smile I saw last night, I thought, shivering at the memory.

"Richard, you knew this Scott Michaels, didn't you?" called his mother as she walked towards the front door.

"N-n-n-not all that well, M-m-mom!" he answered, nervously. He and Ronnie glanced at each other.

She stopped and thought for a moment. "Didn't he used to come by the house over the summer?" she asked, as she opened the front door.

Rick nodded, then turned back to me, his eyes flashing with anger.

"Oh, well," she said. "At least he'll be alright. Now, you boys be good, and don't make a mess in the house! Merry Christmas, Wil!"

She left and closed the door.

"Shit, a broken arm!" I said, quietly.

Ron giggled. "They mean a broken ASS!"

I winced. Mine was still a little sore.

"Shut up, Ronnie," snapped his older brother. "Well, I guess you t-t-told us the truth," he said, staring at me, then the paper.

I rolled my eyes. "Whaddya think, Rick?" I cried. "I beat myself up and then ripped the shit out of my own butthole?"

"I'm s-s-s-orry, Wil," he said, looking down at his plate.

Ron put his hand on my shoulder. "I told him you were tellin' the truth," he said, in a quiet voice. "I think he still likes Scott."

"Shut UP, Ronnie!" snarled Rick, as he stormed out of the room.

Ronnie and I finished our breakfast in silence. I even had a second helping. Ron giggled when I accidentally let out a loud fart as we left the table.

"Please pass on my compliments to the cook for today's cuisine," I said, as Ronnie dissolved into laughter.

* * * * *

By mid-afternoon, my jeans were clean enough that I could wear them again. At least there weren't any more tell-tale signs of bloodstains. My underwear were a lost cause, however, so we opted to just throw them away, and Ronnie loaned me some replacements. Right before 4PM, Mrs. Lannigan dropped me off at my place, and Ron ran up to the door with me.

"Can you come back again tonight, Wil?" he asked, plaintively.

I shook my head. "I want to take it easy for a few days, Ronnie. I still hurt like hell, and I've also got some Christmas shopping to do."

He nodded and walked back to the car and got in. "Call me tomorrow, willya Wil?" he yelled out the window, as they backed out of the driveway.

"I will, Ronnie!" I yelled back, and walked into our living room. I took a good look around. Jesus, why have I never noticed how this place is a dump, I thought. It looked like shit compared to the Lannigan's house, I mused, as I tore up the stairs, two steps at a time.

"Wil!" called my mother from the kitchen. "Sky called this morning. He asked me to tell you that one of the boys from school got hurt last night."

I winced. "I know all about it, Mom!" I yelled down the hallway.

She walked out in the living room and looked up at me suspiciously. "How do you already know?" she asked.

"I read it in the paper this morning," I replied casually. "Can I use the phone in your bedroom up here?"

"Alright," she said. "You know, I'm just going to have to ask your father to get another upstairs phone. You and your sister use the family phone far too much."

My face brightened. "Hey! Could we get our own line?"

She laughed. "Let me talk it over with Santa later on."

"Thanks Mom!" I yelled, running down the hall.

I shut their bedroom door, grabbed the phone by their bed, and quickly dialed Sky's number. He answered, but I cut him off before he could blurt out the news about Scott.

"I was there, Sky," I said, and told him the details of what happened, omitting what I suspected Chuck did afterward, and about Scott's extra-curricular activities.

"Holy shit," he murmured. "I knew Scott had some problem with you, but I didn't understand why," he said.

"Yeah, some macho athlete he turned out to be," I said, grimly.

Sky was silent. "Jesus, Wil. I'm really sorry that happened. Does it still hurt?"

I laughed, then winced as I felt one of the bruises on my chest. "Only when I laugh," I said. "Or sit down. Or do anything."

"Fuck. I guess this means you'll wanna skip the dance on Tuesday," he said, a tone of disappointment creeping into his voice.

I mulled it over. I wasn't feeling all that bad, I thought. In three days I should feel OK. And I'd hate to piss-off Cynthia even before she really got to know me.

"No," I said, surprising myself. "I'll go."

"That's great!" he said, sounding relieved. "We'll pick you up at 7, sharp."

"I'll be ready," I replied. I hung up the receiver. "Shit, I'll be glad if I survive the night," I said out loud, to nobody in particular.

* * * * *

Over the next few days, I took it easy and tried to recover from my injuries suffered in the workout room. Despite Scott's assault, my 'internal plumbing' seemed to have recovered pretty well. Every time I went to the bathroom, I hoped Michaels was having a much worse time with his injuries, inflicted at the hands of Chuck.

I only had about $50 holiday spending money, but I still managed to find some fairly decent gifts. I got Sky a little framed photo of the two of us from last summer, a blowup of a snapshot that his sister Carol had taken of us at the beach. We had our arms around each other and were making a goofy face at the camera. I thought the photo showed him the way he really was. I crossed my fingers that he wouldn't think it was too corny.

I got Rick and Ronnie some cool toys -- an Invaders flying saucer model kit for Rick, and a Lost in Space robot for Ronnie. What Ronnie would probably rather have was a life-size plastic replica of 'little Wil.' I could just imagine him unwrapping that under the Lannigan Christmas tree. At least if he had a spare, maybe I could get a moment's rest from those two.

Finally, the big day arrived: Tuesday, Christmas Eve. All afternoon, my sister and I helped my mom and dad rearrange the living room furniture and put up the tree, which had been a family tradition for several years. Our Christmas tree wasn't gigantic, but the lights would probably look pretty cool at night from outside the front window.

I ran upstairs, took a shower, and put on my best suit -- my only suit, actually. It was getting close to 7. I spent over 20 minutes standing in front of the mirror, fussing with my shirt and trying to get everything just right. It was hopeless. How was it that people like Sky always looked good, no matter what they wore? As if to answer my question, I heard a car horn honk in our driveway.

"That's Schuyler!" yelled my dad from the living room. "Get a move on, Wil!"

"I heard it, already!" I yelled, tearing down the stairs.

My mom met me at the door and checked my tie. I protested, but she tugged the knot a little tighter, practically choking me. I prayed she wouldn't notice the slight scratch on my throat and the small bruise on the left side of my face.

"I'd rather wear a clip-on," I muttered.

"You're too old for that, son," said my dad, who smiled at me and turned to my mother. "Honey, our little boy's growing up. Can you believe it? It's his first date."

My parents both beamed at me and put their arms around each other. I rolled my eyes.

"What is this -- 'Donna Reed'?" I whined.

"Go on," prodded my Dad, opening the door. "Just have a good time. And don't forget to be back by 11PM."

"Jeez, the whole thing is chaperoned, Dad! I'm not in junior high anymore!" I complained.

"Alright -- then midnight at the latest. Schuyler's father is driving all of you home, right?"

I nodded.

"Have a good time, Wil," said my mom, as she kissed my forehead.

"Mom!" I said, praying desperately that none of my friends saw her. "They're waiting for me!"

I ran to the car and almost slipped on the wet grass. I wasn't used to these leather dress shoes, since I wore sneakers about 90% of the time. Sky jumped out of the car and opened the back door for me. Cynthia and Melissa looked up from inside and smiled at me.

"You look great, Wil," said Cyn, shyly.

"You'd look even better if you took off your stupid glasses, dumbass!" whispered Sky, who plucked my glasses off my face and shoved them into my right pocket.

Maybe I'd get through the night better if the world was slightly blurry, I thought. I nodded and got in the car, and Sky slammed the door.

"You know, you've got really nice eyes," whispered Cyn, as I sat next to her.

I gulped. "Thanks, Cynthia."

"Call me Cyn," she corrected.

"Right… Cyn."

She took my left arm out of my lap and put it over her shoulder, then smiled sweetly at me. My heart beat a little faster as Sky's dad revved the engine and started off down the street. I looked up and saw Sky looking back at me, grinning ear to ear.

"Told ya," he mouthed, silently.

I grinned back at him and nodded.

 Chapter 11

The Palma Ceia Golf & Country Club was a huge, sprawling white mansion, reminiscent of one of those quaint old Southern plantations they used to have in the 1800's. But instead of rows of cotton fields out back, they had several hundred acres of the finest golf course in all of Central Florida. Our car pulled up under a large, ornate archway, and an elderly black gentleman in a uniform stood stiffly and opened up the car doors for us.

"Welcome to the dance, ladies and gen'men," he said, in a southern drawl.

Jesus, I thought. The slaves are still here, 100 years later, only now they do this instead of picking cotton. I shook my head, feeling sorry for the guy. Another black man opened the huge mahogany door of the club entrance.

"I thought Lincoln freed these guys awhile back," I whispered to Sky as we walked down the ornate corridor. Cyn giggled, but Sky shot me a look.

"Shut up, man. This is a high-class outfit!" he hissed at me. "My old man pays a fortune for us to belong here!"

The grand ballroom had a huge white and gold banner over its doorway, proclaiming "The 11th Annual Tampa Central High Christmas Dance - 1968." It was jam-packed with nearly a thousand teenagers, and a local rock group tried valiantly to perform cover versions of current hit songs at the small stage in front. What they lacked in talent, they sure made up in volume, I thought.

"You guys want a couple of drinks?" shouted Sky, trying to be heard over the din.

"Yeah," I shouted back. "I'll take a Scotch on the rocks!"

Sky cracked up, but shook his head. "Coke, 7-Up, or water is about it!" he laughed.

"Coke," I replied. "Cyn, you want anything?"

Sky took our drink orders, then returned with four glasses. We toasted each other, then looked around for a place to sit down. Cynthia pointed to the glass doors to our right, on the other side of the room, and we squeezed through the crowded dance floor, out to a huge open terrace that overlooked the 18th hole.

It was a beautiful winter evening -- not too cold, and not raining, like it often did in Florida in December. Just cold enough to be "nippy," as my Mom would say, probably 50 degrees. Several other couples were already sitting on the ledge and gazing at the stars, while a few others hid in the corner, sneaking guilty puffs on cigarettes. Cyn grabbed my hand and walked me over to the side.

"Wow," she said. "This is a really neat place. Have you ever been here before?" she asked.

I shook my head. "No. Sky's dad has a membership here. I think Rick and Ronnie Lannigan's family, do, too."

Her brow furrowed. "Those dweebs?"

"Hey, they're my friends!" I said, angrily.

She looked at me, surprised. "I'm sorry, Wil," she apologized. "I thought they were… you know, just a couple of dorks. You're much cooler than they are," she said, squeezing my hand.

I laughed and nodded. "I'm sorry," I said. "You're right… they are dorks. But they're also my friends."

Cynthia laughed, and her eyes twinkled. God, she really was cute.

"You wanna dance?" she said, looking back towards the noisy hall behind us.

My face blanched. "I'm… I'm not all that great a dancer," I said, nervously. "I'm a pretty good swimmer, but I'm not so hot on the dance floor."

She smiled and leaned closer to me. "Melissa told me you were pretty cool dancing in the cafeteria the other day," she said.

I laughed. "I learned all my best moves from The Temptations," I said, smiling.

"I bet you did," she said, then giggled.

I looked around for Sky and Melissa, who were nowhere to be found. "Where could they be?" I mused.

"Don't worry about them," she asked, putting down her glass. "Let's dance!"

She grabbed me by the hand and pulled me back inside to the dance floor. I meekly tried to protest, but then the band perked up and started playing a half-decent version of The Beach Boys' "Wouldn't It Be Nice." I grinned and started singing along with the music, and Cyn lifted her arms in the air and moving her feet.

"Wouldn't it be nice if we were older

then we wouldn't have to wait so long

and wouldn't it be nice to live together

in the kind of world where we belong…"

Cyn laughed as I started singing Mike Love's "bah ba-ba-bah" harmony backup vocals, which was my favorite part. When the song got to the slow part, she pulled me closer to her and wrapped her arms around me. She looked into my eyes and sang with me:

"You know it seems

the more we talk about it…

it only makes it worse to live without it.

But let's talk about it…

Oh, wouldn't it be nice."

I grinned, and she leaned forward, wrapped her arms around me, and tenderly kissed me. God. It felt wonderful. At last, the song ended, and all of us applauded.

Sky walked over and clapped me on the shoulder. "Hey," he said. "You two look like you're having fun."

"Yeah," I said, grinning.

Sky leaned forward and whispered in my ear. "Good goin', stud," he whispered, then laughed. He and Melissa waved as they walked off to the dining room.

"What'd he say?" asked Cyn.

Try as I might, I couldn't wipe the stupid grin off my face. "Sky kinda had to drag me to this thing, kicking and screaming," I confessed.

Cynthia frowned. "I thought you wanted to be here, Wil," she said, quietly.

"Oh, I did," I said, quickly. "I… I really like you, Cyn."

She brightened. "Let's grab some food, okay, Wil?"

I nodded, and we joined the rest of the teenagers in the banquet room next door.

* * * * *

Three hours later, I was pretty much danced out. Cyn taught me two or three new steps, and I pretty much faked the rest. After glancing at the other couples dancing, I figured I was probably not much better or worse than half the ones I could see. Of course, I couldn't see all that many of them, because I was half-blind without my glasses, but that was beside the point.

The band took a break, so the four of us decided to go back outside and look at the stars from the terrace. Florida was usually pretty cloudy in December, but this was one of those unusually clear nights. Sky and Melissa headed down to the golf course.

"I know a little place by the side-road," he said, putting his arm around Melissa.

"Give us 20 minutes, then call the police!" she quipped, then grabbed Sky by the hand and dragged him down the steps.

Cyn and I laughed, and walked down the ornate stone steps in the other direction.

"I think we could see the stars better from over here," she said, pointing out a small white bench next to a tree in the distance.

"You think we should?" I asked, nervously looking around. "I mean, maybe they'll arrest us for trespassing or something."

"C'mon," she said, grabbing my hand. "Just for a little while."

I stumbled after her, and we followed a little gravel path down a neatly manicured grass hill, which led to a white wrought-iron bench. It was next to a little babbling brook, a water hazard next to the 17th hole in front of us. We sat down on the bench, and I nervously adjusted my tie.

"I had a great time tonight, Wil," she said, quietly.

I looked back at her. She smiled, and I felt a warm throbbing between my legs. Oh, shit, I thought. Not now! There's no way I could walk around if that happened, even in pants this baggy.

I cleared my throat and looked up. "I think that's the North Star," I pointed. "The bright one to the right is Venus."

"That's the goddess of love, right?" she whispered, leaning closer to me.

"Uh, yeah… well, it's actually the planet," I stammered. "I think the ones over there are part of the Big Dipper."

"Umm-hmmmm," she said. She leaned forward, closed her eyes, and kissed me, gently.

I was a little bit in shock, but she pulled me closer to her. I put my hand on the back of her head and kissed her deeply. At last, we parted, and I caught my breath.

"So that's the Big Dipper," she said, looking at me.

I nodded.

"I hear you've got a big one, too," she murmured, putting her hand to my chest.

Oh, fuck. "Uh, Cyn, I've… we've… isn't it getting close to 11?" I said, looking desperately around for Sky.

"We don't have to be home until midnight," she said, sliding her hand down from my chest towards my pants.

My heart froze as she squeezed my inside thigh, and I immediately felt my groin throb in response. "Cyn, no, please…"

"God," she sighed. "It really is huge, isn't it?"

I nodded nervously, ready to bolt back inside at any moment.

"I've never seen one like yours before," she said, reaching for my zipper.

"Please, Cynthia, I like you and everything, but…"

She put her hand on my mouth, then giggled. "I thought it was the girl who was supposed to resist the guy," she said, smiling.

Oh, god. Sky, this is your fucking fault, I thought.

Before I could stop her, she'd zipped down my pants and reached inside my underwear. "God," she purred, "you're so big! Please, I've got to see, it Wil!"

I took a quick look in both directions. I thought I'd heard a footstep on the gravel path to our left, but the coast seemed to be clear. I nodded and pulled my pants and underwear down slightly, and my erection sprang up, as hard as I've ever seen it.

"Oh, my God, Wil!" she whispered, awe-struck. "It's beautiful. It's even more amazing than they said it was."

I could just imagine the headlines in the school newspaper. Does everybody know about my dick, I thought? I gulped, and she gently examined me, first with a finger, then her whole hand.

"And your balls are huge, too," she said, admiringly, as she reached out to grasp one.

"OOOOOF!" I yelled, still wincing from Friday night's bruises.

She quickly pulled her hand back. "Oh, Wil, I'm so sorry!"

"I'm just… a little sensitive down there," I said, sucking in my breath. "Had a little accident at gym class."

"I'll be gentle, I promise." She began to rub me gently. "I know what to do."

I'm sure you do, I thought. Suddenly, she leaned over and began licking me all over, then slipped her mouth gently over the head. I moaned so loudly, I heard a squirrel to our left stop and run off in panic.

"Shhhh," she said, looking up. "This won't take long."

I nodded, and she went back to work. Oh, god. I caressed her hair, as her head bobbed up and down in my lap. My loins burned, and I felt my heart pounding until I thought it would burst right through my chest. She'd definitely done this before, I thought. She was good, but not as good as Ronnie.

Ronnie. Oh, Christ. I tried to keep his image out of my head. I could feel the pressure building, and I began to moan softly.

"Cyn!" I whispered. "I'm going to…"

She took her mouth off and began stroking me frantically. I groaned loudly and spurted five, six, seven times, all over the 17th hole green. Thankfully, none of it got on Cynthia or my suit.

I fell back on the bench, totally spent. She turned to me, and I grabbed her and kissed her, brusquely. I felt her tongue slip through my mouth, and I moaned.

"Oh, god, Cyn. That was great," I whispered.

She smiled. "I've had some experience, you know," she said, quietly. "I did it with Sky's brother Bill last year before he went to college."

My face blanched. "But he's 18!" I said, shocked.

She nodded. "I know. Don't tell Sky. He just thinks we hung out together a couple of times."

I sighed, and she kissed me on the neck.

"You're much bigger than Bill," she marvelled. "You've got the biggest one I've ever seen. You're wonderful, Wil. I want to… I really want to do it with you." She continued to gently caress my deflating member, which was beginning to stir to life again.

Christ, I thought. Does it ever stop?

"B-b-but Cyn," I stammered, immediately thinking of Rick, "we can't do it here… now."

"I know," she cooed. "My parents have to drive out to Sarasota to see my relatives at 6PM tomorrow, and they won't be back until at least midnight. I'll make an excuse to stay home. You could come over, and we can… you know."

I began to panic. "Look, Cyn, I can't. I'm… busy."

"With what?" she asked, plaintively. "School's out until the 6th. You said the swimming pool's closed for the next few weeks for maintenance. You don't have anything else going on."

I thought quickly. "I've got a 1000-word History report to do," I remembered.

"You can start your homework on Thursday," she replied. Cyn looked really beautiful in the moonlight, which made her brown eyes sparkle. "You're all I want in my Christmas stocking, Wil."

I sighed. "Okay," I said. "I'll try to see you tomorrow night."

"Please come by, Wil," she said, gently caressing my groin. "I… I really want this. It's the best Christmas present you could give me."

I nodded. Just at that moment, we heard some footsteps down the gravel path. Quickly, I pushed my equipment back in my underwear, tucked in my shirt and zipped up my pants. Cynthia and I jumped off the bench and stood there, acting as innocent as possible.

"THERE you are!" yelled Sky, as he and Melissa ran up to us. "The band just started playin' a Beatles medley, and I figured you guys would wanna hear it. They sound really great!"

I nodded and walked back with them up the steps.

"I need to powder my nose, Wil," said Cyn. "Melissa and I will be right back. Wait for us on the dance floor," she called, running across the terrace.

Sky elbowed me and giggled.

"FUCK, man!" I winced, holding my side.

"Oh, shit, Wil," he whispered, apologetically. "I'm really sorry, man! That's where Scott slugged, you, right?"

I nodded as we walked back onto the dance floor, which was now only about half as crowded as it was two hours earlier. We sat down on one of the plush white chairs that lined the sides of the enormous room.

"So, didja get to make out with Cyn?" he asked, grinning.

I nodded and felt a twinge in my groin. "That was the best blow-job I've had all day," I laughed, quietly.

Sky was stunned. "You're… you're kiddin', right?"

"What," I said. "You think I'm gonna lie? Sky -- she blew me, right on the 17th hole!"

Sky looked like he was going to fall out of his chair. "Jesus, Wil, you don't waste any time!" he whispered. "Most 13 year-olds wait until at least the second date before movin' to oral sex!"

I grinned. "Well, I guess I'm skipping ahead to the advanced levels in this particular course," I replied. We both laughed.

"So what'd she say?" he asked.

I sighed. "Cynthia said I had the biggest dick in the school. And you know what, Sky?" I said, turning to my best friend. "I got the strong impression she's probably seen most of them." I sighed.

Sky rolled his eyes heavenward. "Shit! I swear, I had no idea she was a slut."

I laughed. "Cynthia's really nice for a slut. She wants me to come by tomorrow night and, you know…"

Sky's mouth fell open. "Wait a minute!" he whispered. "You're sayin' she asked you to fuck her?"

I nodded. He punched me in the arm.

"Shit," he laughed. "People think I'M the biggest stud in 9th grade. You're the only guy I know who's actually gonna DO it!"

We both laughed again. Sky thought for a minute and then said, "Wil, you know, Cyn used to have a thing for my brother. You don't think that she and Bill…"

I hesitated. "Gee, uh, I can't imagine that, Sky," I said, as seriously as I could.

"You ASSHOLE!" he hissed. "She's fucked him, too, hasn't she? Don't try to lie to me, Wil -- I know you too well."

I gave up and meekly nodded my head.

Sky let out a low whistle. "Shit. I never would've done this if I'd known."

"Don't worry, Sky," I said. "I think once Cyn gets what she wants out of me, she'll leave me alone."

Sky gave me a curious look, then put his hand on my shoulder. "Wil," he whispered, "I wanted you to… you know… find out what a good time you could have with girls. I know you, man. You're not a homo."

I nodded. "I like Cynthia -- a lot." I looked up at his face. "But I really like you, too, Sky."

Sky turned away from me and pretended to watch the band on stage. "I don't wanna talk about that," he whispered angrily.

"But it's true," I said. "Who says I can't love both of you?"

He looked up at me, with panic in his eyes. Fuck, fuck, FUCK! I screamed in my brain. Why did I have to say that?

I started to stammer out an apology, but Sky stood up suddenly and said, "Melissa! We were just talkin' about you two!"

I looked up and saw Melissa and Cyn walking towards us out of the crowd. Both of them were giggling. Cyn turned to Melissa and whispered something in her left ear, and Melissa screamed with laughter, covering her mouth. Several onlookers turned in our direction, and my face turned beet red.

"Hey, Melissa, d'ya wanna dance?" yelled Sky over the music. "C'mon, let's go!" He turned to me and said, quietly, "c'mon, Wil. You can't sit there all night."

I nodded, and Cyn took me by the hand and dragged me back to the dance floor.

The band hit the opening chords of "Ticket to Ride," a moldy oldie from three years ago, and my face brightened.

Cyn leaned over and whispered in my ear, "I think I love you, Wil."

I grinned and nodded, then I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. We started to dance to the music, but after a few moments I winced. The song sucked -- it was missing something. They were totally blowing the harmonies, I thought.

I looked up at the long-haired lead guitarist, who was just ten feet away from us at the front of the stage area. He looked like he was only a little older than we were, maybe 16, 17 at the most. None of the other guys in the group seemed to be singing with him at all. Before I could stop myself, I began belting out Paul McCartney's vocal harmonies as loudly as I could.

"I think I'm gonna be sad,

I think it's today, yeah,

The girl that's driving me mad

is going away, yeah.

Aaaaaaa…

She's got a ticket to ride,

she's got a ticket to ri - hi - hide,

she's got a ticket to ride,

but she don't care."

The guitarist looked down and grinned at me, nodded his approval, then continued singing. I laughed and smiled back at him, singing louder. He thought for a moment, then gestured down to the stage steps, then pointed to me and waved me on up.

Cynthia turned to me and grinned. "Wil! He means you! Go up there and sing!"

Me? I pantomimed to the singer, pointing to my chest. He grinned and nodded, then waved me up to the stage again.

Cyn pushed me up the steps and I stumbled up alongside the guitarist and stood next to his mike. The moment I gazed out at the crowd, I felt a flurry of butterflies in my stomach and my knees began to shake. Jesus -- there were a lot more kids here tonight than I thought.

The singer gave me a look, as if he was daring me to actually do it. I immediately leaned over and launched into my best Paul McCartney harmony impression on the chorus.

"I don't know why she's ridin' so high,

She ought to think twice,

She ought to do right by me…

Before she gets to sayin' goodbye,

She ought to think twice,

She ought to do right by me."

I winced a little at his guitar solo, but I reminded myself -- you're not exactly going to find George Harrison playing in Tampa the day before Christmas.

Jesus, I thought, getting a better look at my band-mate. I couldn't see him that well from the floor, but up close I could see this guy really was good-looking enough to be a rock star. He was tall and had long dirty-blond hair, which hung down to his shoulders. From the look of his arms, I'd say he pumped iron, too.

I grinned when I looked down and saw Cyn looking up from me from the audience, smiling. By the middle of the song, the guitarist and I were singing as if we'd rehearsed it together for a week. I belted out the words with all my heart, trying desperately to remember how Paul looked on The Ed Sullivan Show a year or two earlier. I glanced over at the guitarist, who grinned at me as we reached the final verse.

"She said that living with me,

is bringing her down -- yeah…

That she would never be free

when I was around.

Aaaaaaaaa…

She's got a ticket to ride,

she's got a ticket to ri - hi - hide,

she's got a ticket to ride,

but she don't care.

My baby don't care

my baby don't care

my baby don't care."

He hit the final chord, and the band took a bow. I retreated off to the side, then laughed out loud as I caught a glimpse of Sky and Melissa. They were staring at me, open-mouthed, then broke out into cheers and whistles.

The guitarist to my right grabbed my right hand and pulled me back up to the front of the stage, then whispered, "take a bow, asshole!" I grinned and bowed low, like the Fab Four used to do on Sullivan.

Man, I could really get into this rock and roll thing, I thought, as I trotted down the steps back to Cynthia, who grabbed me and hugged me.

"Wil, that was great!" she gushed. "I didn't know you could sing like that!"

I laughed. "I guess I inherited that from my grandmother," I said. "She's been in the church choir for like 50 years, and we used to sing together when I was little."

Sky and Melissa pushed their way through the crowd, still applauding and whistling.

"Cut it out, you jerks!" I said, smiling sheepishly and rolling my eyes.

"You were great!" Sky said. "We should put you on the next plane to London!"

"Yeah, right," I muttered. "Make it Hollywood, and you got a deal."

"No, really, Wil! You were fantastic up there," said Melissa, who kissed me. Cyn gave her a look, and my face turned red again.

"Well, I wouldn't call it fantastic," said a voice from behind me, "but it wasn't bad for an amateur." I turned, and it was the handsome guitarist.

"Jesus, I-I'm sorry, man," I said, apologetically. "I swear, I usually don't jump up and interrupt concerts like that."

He jumped off the stage and playfully grabbed my shoulder as he almost fell, then pulled himself up and flipped his long blond hair over his shoulder. "Hi," he said, shaking my hand. "Jesus is another guy. I'm Pete."

"Pete Best?" I said, laughing, referring to the original Beatles' drummer.

"No -- Pete Woods," he said, laughing. "I go to Madeira Beach High, across the Bay. You know, for a little twerp, you were pretty cool."

I grinned at the compliment, such as it was. "Your Lennon's not bad, either," I said.

"You've got a great voice," he said.

My face reddened at the compliment.

"And you've got the right moves and everything," he continued. "You ever think about bein' in a band, man?"

"No, no… I'm a swimmer!" I protested. "I'm on the varsity team at Tampa Central High."

"Groovy. You a junior or senior?" he said, cocking his head to get a better look at me.

I shook my head. "Freshman."

He laughed with surprise. "You're just a 9th grader? Funny," he said, "Judging by your voice, I thought you were a lot older." He looked me up and down. "Maybe it's just your vibe," he said, softly. "Groovy."

I felt a chill as he walked around me in a complete circle. Was he checking out my… I glanced down at my groin. No -- no tell-tale stains or obvious bulges, thank God.

Pete nodded as if in approval. "You know, you might actually look pretty cool if you'd let your hair grow out."

"I can't," I said. "I'm a swimmer. It'd slow me down in the water."

"I know," he grinned. "You told me already. You know, you'd be great in our band. You play any instrument?"

"Just skin flute!" stage-whispered Sky.

Pete and I laughed.

"Aside from that," said Pete.

"Well," I said, "I know a couple of chords on the piano…" I started.

"Cool!" he said. "We could really use a keyboard player! I've got an old Hammond B-3 organ in the church storeroom."

His church? I raised an eyebrow.

Pete chuckled when he saw my expression. "I'm the black sheep of the family," he admitted. "I'm not exactly what you'd call 'religious.' Just… spiritual."

I nodded, a little relieved. My family definitely wasn't what you would call Bible-belters.

"Look," he said, scribbling on a piece of paper. "Here's my number. Call me sometime if you ever wanna get in the rock and roll business. You really do great harmonies… it's Wil, right?"

"Right. Wil with one 'L,'" I said. "Thanks, Pete."

"Anytime. Well, we gotta pack up. We got another show to do tomorrow night in Bradenton. S'long, folks!"

He jumped back up on stage and started taking down the mike stand, never taking his eyes off me. Man, this guy was even better-looking than Sky, I thought.

"Call me," the singer mouthed, then nodded.

I nodded back, then looked down at the piece of paper in my hand. On it, he'd written:

"I saw you out back tonight.

You're fucking cool, man!

Call me anytime.