Luke scanned the press of students trying to pick out from where—and more to the point—from whom the overture had come. Around him, there was an immediate drop in the lively volume as, like him, apparently nobody could quite believe what they'd heard. The chatter dropped further and heads turned left and right, searching the abrupt drop in volume. Some were already beginning to smile.
"Come on, guys!" The hidden voice was aware it had picked up an audience and stepped it up, barking the challenge this time. "Why are we pissing around with a stupid wedge? Let's give him a Hang!"
This time, Luke located it.
Mitchell! The stupid fucking bastard!
The last he’d seen of that jerk, Mitchell had been leaving the room. It looked like the fuckhead had come back! It was almost laughable, and Luke even wondered if he'd misheard though his brain kept replaying the exchange, and he knew he hadn’t. Hang Ryan Alexis? Yeah, right—like THAT was going to happen.
So, if it was such a shitty idea, why the hell did it still seem to be suspended in the balance?
Luke knew for a fact that nothing remotely close had been planned, yet he frowned as Mitchell flicked knowing glances to those around him.
What had he missed?
As he studied the faces close to Mitchell, a number seemed to be taking a measure of the idea, and several quick and pitiless grins began to appear amongst a few that should have known better! The silence stretched and it seemed that too many were actually considering the hairbrained scheme! It was true that there hadn't been a Hang for a while, but...shit, even so...Ryan? Come on…
From where he was hemmed in, Luke could see Todd glare towards the source of it, and his narrowed eyes drilled directly to where Mitchell was skulking. From the look on Todd's face, Luke was relieved. It looked like Todd was right on top of it and clearly thought the idea was total crap, too. That would be it...end of!
Then it came again—the same obnoxious demand—but from someone different this time.
“A Hang? FUCK, yeah—why not? Come on then, let’s get him up and make him squirt!” The tone sounded excited and convincing. Luke had no idea who it was, but it's tone left nothing to the imagination.
WHY NOT? Fucking hell! Luke felt he could give quite a few—dozens even—of pretty good reasons why anybody would be scared shitless to be the one pulled up into a Hang themselves. Right in front of him, one younger guy whispered into the ear of another, and got a reply that made the kid’s mouth drop.
Luke ignored them, though it wasn’t hard to guess what was being explained. That had been him asking those kinds of questions about a Hang, once! He turned his gaze back to the thick of it. Come on guys. Be sensible. Not Ry...!
But the spark had lit a brushfire, one that would be difficult to douse unless someone acted quickly. Luke could sense the early crackling of anticipation as the flames began spreading around those who hardly knew Ryan Alexis and didn't care a shit for anything other than the potential of another Hang. Momentum gathered, and with it, a palpable change in mood. No doubt sensing it too, Luke could hear Mitchell keeping it going, stoking up those around him. Gradually more took up the chant, and quickly the multitude turned into a mob. In its frenzy, a decision was quickly reached.
"Come on then, Quince! Fucking get on with it!” A chant began. “Hang...Hang...Hang...HANG!!"
Through the press of bodies, Luke could see enough of the floor to tell that Ryan had already begun to struggle hard against those who held him. They were pressing his head to the floor, but he got his voice.
"FUCK OFF YOU BASTARDS! Don't you FUCKING dare!" The muffled bellow carried uneasily above the clamor.
Around Luke, the room was beginning to hum with an energetic buzz. What did they care that their victim apparently wasn’t up for it? Were any of them, ever?
The room was also becoming cramped as the door kept opening to let in more who'd picked up that there was something bigger in play than a wedge. Bit by bit, Luke got edged further back from any ability to quickly step in. Still, he knew that Ryan had plenty of friends nearer to the action than himself. Friends who could—and no doubt would—call time on it at any moment. Todd would put an end to it, surely? Todd was in charge. Todd was always in charge!
It was Ry, for Christsake!
Peering between heads, Luke could see Todd wasn't buying it, either. Whether because he didn't want it done full stop, or just because he didn't want to be the one to have to do the deed himself, was unclear. Luke hoped the former. Wedgies were fun, and a Wedgie of Doom was for the special guys, but a Hang was something else altogether. Not that they didn't deal them out, but a Hang was personal. And out here? In public? That was nasty! He knew it and everyone else knew it, so surely Todd wasn't going to have any part of it?
With relief, he saw Todd begin to shake his head.
Thank God for that!
Luke decided that, as soon as Todd called it, then SmartKlamp or not, he would barge out there and get stuck in himself—just in case Mitchell tried to make trouble.
“No. It’s not going—” Todd started, but others drowned the words as it looked like Mitchell wasn't going to give up on his scheming so easily.
"Not up for it, Todd?" Bypassing Todd, Mitchell shifted his focus elsewhere and raised his voice. “Come on then, Scott. If Quince is a fucking chicken, you show us how it’s done!”
Luke was surprised as Landon suddenly rose up. Last he'd seen of him had been when he’d been pinning one of Ryan’s arms, but it looked like that job had been delivered to someone else. If Landon was surprised at suddenly being invited to head the team that would play out a Hang, he didn't show it. All at once, the memory of Mitchell whispering in Landon's ear earlier came back.
The fucking bastards! Somehow, they’d planned it!
Landon shoved Todd to one side, and the crowd, sensing that Todd wasn’t going to deliver what they craved, switched allegiance.
“Lan-don…Lan-don…!” Shouting him their encouragement, it elevated him and demanded action. Landon grinned, invigorated by the moment, and no doubt by the possibility of sticking one to Ryan Alexis, too. Deftly, the lead was snatched from Todd, and Landon took control.
Todd seemed at a loss. At first he’d looked furious at being shoved away, but as the increasing certainty in the voices around him eclipsed his involvement, he in turn began to look less certain. It was a critical turning point and Luke knew he should do something, but felt oddly powerless, trapped against the back wall. As both he and Todd dithered, Landon gestured to somebody he couldn’t see.
"Matt... JJ..." Landon called on two of his friends, and both were already close by. Quite willingly, and possibly relieved not to be part of it, two of the guys who’d been pinning Ryan's arms gave up their positions. Either way, tradition made it Landon's choice who made up a Hang team.
Landon grinned. “What do you think, guys? Should we let him go?” It was met with derisive laughter—nobody for one moment thought he was serious.
Mitchell shouted from the back again, cheerfully decisive. “Stop mucking around, Scott, and get his fucking pants off!” Around Luke, the whole room seemed to buzz with the same determination.
Landon smirked. “Sorry, bud—looks like it’s gonna be your turn for the Pleasure Trip, after all!”
The Pleasure Trip…
Squeezed between two seniors, Luke grimaced at the use of the other, more euphemistic, description for the Hang—a term that was both mean and accurate at the same time! Unwilling participants were more likely to go with calling it ‘that fucking awful thing!’, and apart from ensuring the deadliest wedge, it went further…much further!
Landon motioned to the floor. “Okay guys…give us a hand to shift him over that way. We don’t want anyone to miss anything now, do we!”
A small army of willing helpers poured over Ryan, and grabbing anything they could get hold of, they began to drag him across the floor nearer to the sinks. Amidst squeals and snickers, the extras streamed around the sides, flowing into the main block. Nobody wanted to stand behind the action during a Hang, and Luke lost sight of Ryan other than the odd flash of his black pants and white shirt.
The clamor increased and guys began pushing and shoving in an attempt to find prime spots. Really worried now, Luke knew he had to do something, but with all the movement of people, he got driven back against the wall and even further from the action. Yet even above the mounting din, Luke could still hear Ryan swearing and spitting in anger. As he was bounced across the cold stone, his muffled voice sounded panicked as he struck out back towards Todd.
"FUCKING HELL, TODD! SHIT! You can't let them...when did I ever do anything like it to you?”
Under their tight grip, Ryan remained trapped, and like everyone else, he had to know where this would lead if allowed to run its course. While Luke couldn’t see Ryan that easily, he could see Todd clearly enough, and he watched Todd shrug as he lifted his hands in a gesture of helplessness.
Standing close to Todd, Kieran didn’t seem prepared to show any mercy, either. An all-too-knowing grin split the lanky African-American’s dark features. "You know how it goes, homie. If you give, you get! Just chill and enjoy the ride—we all wanna see what you got this time!”
Kieran’s stance seemed to swing the balance for Todd, and a smirk finally broke out onto Todd’s face.
"Sorry, bud." Todd grinned more widely and now he seemed ready to let the fun run its natural course. "Just take it like a man!"
If Ryan was depending on either of the two—who, after Luke himself, were probably Ryan’s closest friends—it looked like it was misplaced, and Luke winced as Ry got delivered into unsafe hands.
It was hard to see what was happening, but even so, Luke knew well enough how this part of a Hang went. With two guys to hold the arms and two on the legs, the latter pair would in turn provide the platform over which to lift their victim. Kneeling and facing away, they’d line up the poor sod, and each leg would be pulled up and over so that the crook of the guy's knee was held over their respective outside shoulders. His dangling lower legs would be gripped firmly in front. And then—
"Come on guys! Get his fucking pants off, then!" someone in the ruck around Ryan demanded. “We haven’t got all day!” Through the press, Luke caught sight of Ryan as, around him, hands were going into overdrive to strip him.
“Then hold his fucking legs still, asshole!" Landon grunted as Ryan twisted like a madman, swearing and squirming beneath them. However, even Luke could tell his struggles weren’t making much difference. There were too many of them, and Ryan wasn’t going anywhere.
Breathing heavily, Landon still kept up his pretence of caring. "I'm really sorry Ry—you know I hate to do this to you. What can I say? Like Todd says, bud, just take it like a man!"
Luke still couldn't see what was happening down on the floor that easily, but he expected that Landon was undoing and removing Ryan's belt. Next he would unsnap Ryan's pants and pull the zip.
Ryan burst into voice again and screeched. "FUCK off, Landon! Don't you DARE!” It was a bit squeaky. "Let go of me you fucking pricks!"
“Yeah, yeah, bud…we've heard it all before,” Landon chided, leaning over him, smirking and clearly on a roll.
JJ took it up. “And for God’s sake, stop worrying about your prick! We all know we’ll get to that, and you’re gonna get plenty of chance to show us what it can do!"
To hell with this!
Luke knew it had gone on long enough. Todd might be willing to throw Ry to the wolves, but he was fucking well going to do something. He began to surge forward, earning himself angry glares and grunts from those he pushed aside. He elbowed past a few and was near enough to the front in time to see Landon grab hold of Ryan’s black school pants. They were all over him for a few moments and it was hard to see, but then Luke’s view opened up as they got what they were after, and he stared as Landon made a show of pulling Ryan’s pants down.
“Whoa, Ry! Nice shorts!” Landon snorted with amusement with what he found, and Luke caught an eyeful of what he’d only guessed at before as, displayed on Ryan like on some well-bodied mannequin, his hipster briefs were sizzling—and it wasn’t just the red and orange colors! A pair of boxers that looked like they fitted like a glove were topped with a wide black band, and letters were printed in deep red across the front of the band.
"EUROBOY?" Landon continued, reading out the word emblazoned across Ryan's underwear. "Sexy, but not very patriotic, bud!" He stretched out the band for everyone to see. "And fuck, does Summers know you're wearing his slinky jocks?"
EUROBOY? Blinking, it caused Luke to pause. Laughter rippled across the room, and he froze as his name was passed around. In the school community, most knew that he and Simon hailed from England. Unable to help it, he flushed, and those near to where he was standing turned to grin at him. Layered over that was the memory that, not many days ago, Ry actually had been wearing his boxers!
He felt completely vulnerable—as undressed as Ryan—yet for the sake of those studying him, he rolled his eyes with apparent humor.
But what could he do? Sure he felt guilty at leaving Ry to the wolves like this, but it really wasn’t his fault that Ry had run into trouble, was it? If you gave, you got—that was how it was. That was what Todd and Kieran seemed to think, too… Sure, he could jump out there, but what if there was a fight? He was in no condition to get caught up in something like that!
Around about him, the sheer mass of numbers and weight of opinion was against any urge he had to put a stop to it, and it all came together to rip the heart out of any obligation he felt to step into the limelight and show any allegiance to his friend.
What else could he really do? Ashamed by his weakness, he hung his head and slipped back a row.
* * *
Extract from Luke’s notes:
I’d been at the Academy for a while before I got to witness a Hang for myself, always managing to miss the action. When I finally got to be in the right place at the right time, it had come not many weeks after I’d discovered the exquisite feelings that a dick could offer, and I had lots of questions—and LOTS of interest in what they meant by ‘The Pleasure Trip’!
The name of the poor sod on that particular occasion?
Rogério Carvalho Santos.
Santos was from somewhere like Venezuela—or maybe it was Colombia—anyway, it was someplace like that. He’d only been at the Academy for less than a year.
From what I could figure out, his father was some kind of government trade attaché. Perhaps that meant he was a spy, although I'd seen Santos senior once, and by the looks of his pudgy figure, he was no James Bond! That was about as unlikely as the possibility that his son might start treating those round about him as human beings!
Santos junior was a couple of years above Ry and me. To be honest, I hardly knew the guy other than by his reputation, and few people had anything good to say about him. Coming from a privileged Latino background, Santos seemed to have it all, and had this habit of treating everyone around him like shit. Maybe it worked fine in his own country, but he clearly had a few lessons to learn at The Academy—and the line was growing of those ready to teach.
And he learned.
The HARD way!
There was a Wedgie War on, and the rumor was they'd been after Santos all day. We all had our ears to the ground listening for the jungle drums that would signal what we were waiting for. But he was a slippery customer, always managing to keep out of reach and close within the protective cordon of nearby teaching staff. They, of course, knew jack-shit about what really went on at the Academy!
Santos' luck ran out when some guys spotted him trying to cross the grass from the cafeteria back to the main block. Caught out in the open, he made a run for it and was herded towards the recently finished sports block. He darted in there, maybe hoping to find a room he could lock himself into, but he was out of luck, and they tackled him to the floor in the big locker room where there was plenty of space for everyone to watch. Even I was given the heads up, and when I got there, they were piling all over him on the floor, pinning his arms and legs.
Everyone—especially him—knew what was on the cards.
Like his illustrious and portly parent, he was a bit overweight. Not a lot, but with a medium build, decidedly pudgy. With his family name being sufficient to get what he wanted, he’d probably never had to fight for anything in his life before, and he didn’t carry much muscle, but with the violence of the doomed, he fought them like crazy. It was a hell of a struggle, but by sheer mass of quite willing volunteers, they managed to get his school pants off him—and within a short space of time, triumphantly lifted him up into the full Hang.
Officially, the infamous Hanging Wedgie was just another way to inflict a tight wedge on some guy’s nuts. Unofficially—and everyone knew it—the Hang was about jerking-off a guy to try to get a boner out of him…with the ultimate goal of getting him to shoot.
It worked like this: once the Hang was performed, a muscle-jarring body stretch became an uncomfortable racking which could be quite subtle in the way it humiliated and broke down resistance. That was followed up with the splits—often quite excruciating depending on who was in the driving seat—and pretty demeaning, too.
Then the wedging began. Done provocatively, it was a manipulation that many found quite difficult to ignore.
It started simply at first, pulling tight up the front in a show of Wedgie-style underwear stretch, but then going round the back and beginning to fold the back of the guy's underwear into a thin tube, to start to embed it into his crack. Repeated again and again. Up at the front and wedged at the back, it was this brazen backwards and forwards shifting of cotton over a guy’s dick that would usually begin to elicit results.
In short, the Hang team wanted you hard.
Shit—let’s be honest—at that point, EVERYBODY wanted you hard! And if you started heading that way, there was usually no stopping it. And for those who boned up, the likelihood that those controlling you would be able to get you to spunk were really quite high! It was usually just a matter of time and the right application of pressure.
And Santos? The rather plump and hapless South American was out of luck from the moment they caught him in the open. In his year at the Academy, they said he'd joined in on a number of Hangs himself, so he knew exactly what the score was! So, once they’d got him, my God did he holler and screech. It was a good job it was being done in the new sports block, and well out of earshot of interfering staff.
The team racked him mercilessly, his own body weight making it easier than usual. Murderous threats turned shortly to howling and frantic begging as, not so tenderly, they pulled him apart—splitting his chubby brown legs uncomfortable wide to the point when he was finally ready to be trained.
Like all traditions, a Hanging Wedgie still had its boundaries…kind of.
The Academy was a boys school, and the unwritten code was that it was bad form to touch another guy’s dick. That was a no-no, and way too gay for most people's liking. At least, when it came to a Hang, that was how it was at the beginning of the journey. On the other hand, that you could use a victim’s underwear to get him excited on the way was quite within the loosely-interpreted guidelines that defined the Hang.
Pretty loose, eh!
Only at the finish, when everybody could see that the guy was riled-up good and ready, was it accepted that the kindest and quickest way to get it over with was to allow for him to be properly and soundly tossed until he squirted. Once most reached that point in the ‘pleasure trip’, they were going to be unloaded whether they liked it or not, anyhow! Those in the driver’s seat usually just took hold and started jerking using plenty of soap if it was to hand, keeping it up until the inevitable happened...all over the tiles!
The Hang. What can I say...? All schools have their hazing rituals and ours was no different, though how that played out in an 'all boys' environment might surprise many. Giving wedgies was a prank, but even that had plenty of underlying sexual overtones. Then there was nudity and stripping.
Maybe more unusual in bi-gender schools, stripping a guy of his fig leaf was surprisingly common in a place like ours. At the Academy, it tended to start in middle school at a time when kids discovered that they had willies—willies, which they soon found out, did things! Research was needed, and at that age, there was plenty of horseplay and fooling around in the showers.
As exploration escalated, it was fairly common for kids to get bushwhacked on their birthdays, and get benched—stretched over a table or a desk by a posse of eager, giggling classmates, to have their wiener popped out of their black school pants for class scrutiny; a birthday present for everybody!
Everyone bar none was interested in what other kids had, and more importantly, whether it could be turned into a stiffy when they encouraged it. Most were nervously on edge when their birthday came around, though some were actually quite brazen about the whole thing. Either way, with a little bit of determined massage once they were over a table, more than a few could be coaxed into getting their twigs to bone up. It hardly ever happened, but if you were brassy or short-fused enough to spunk, then everyone got to see it. No ifs, ands, or buts.
From those formative fumblings, such raunchiness became less overt through high school. We weren't kids anymore, and nobody did any out in the open 'sex stuff'. Yet it still went on under the radar, and the coup de grace of the big boys came together in the humiliating 'Hanging Wedgie'—though we kept our heads firmly stuck in the sand about what we were really doing. After all, someone was still being jerked with the goal of getting them to ejaculate. It was just being done in a way that allowed everyone to suspend the belief that there was anything wrong in it, allowing us to ignore the fact that there was any communal sexual gratification in play.
From time to time, hormones would fire up and the Hang would raise its awkward head. And, when it did, everyone was happy to sign off on it. 'Hey...it’s just a bit of fun,' we would say. 'Nobody gets hurt. We’re just messing!'
For me, back then it was at a time of life that I was still getting used to the whole masturbation thing. The idea that it might be possible to see another guy hard—and maybe even to squirt—was, even then, of massive interest! Mind you, in the packed lockers just after lunch on the day Santos was hung out to dry, I suspect I wasn’t the only one who might have flushed if someone had asked, “And what have you got in your pocketsies, my precious!”
As I said, his was the first Hang I’d seen, and at the time, it did seem a bit gay to be playing with a guy like that. But everyone else seemed to be into it—even Ry—so I just went along for the ride...and, damn, was I glad I didn't miss it!
There were some pairs of underwear, I eventually figured, that you didn't want to be caught wearing if you got hung. Especially ones with a good wide waistband—something stretchy but tight enough that the band could be snapped just into the right position. It was meant to be the best way to take the beginnings of a woody and encourage it along.
When it came to his snugglers that day, Rogério Carvalho Santos was definitely wearing the wrong ones—medium-sized, grey slips that had a wide black waistband. In fact, they seemed to be mainly waistband, and the rest of the cotton clung inadequately around his bulging bum. His tormentors got to work on him with the wedging, and, after an eye-watering splits, whatever wasn’t waistband seemed to find its way into his crack!
Sadly—at least from what I could see—it didn’t seem to be making much difference around the front. It seemed to me that Santos wasn't ready to play...that was until they wrapped a sock around him. Having never seen it before, I had no idea what to expect, but by the frantic look on the Venezualan's sweaty face when that sock got cinched tight around the base of his dick, just under his balls, he knew exactly what was likely to happen!
‘Banding’ they called it, and I think I was a bit more naive than Santos back then, as I didn't see the point as his underwear went back up, trapping his still-limp wanger half way down his shaft.
Hellfire, was I wrong!
Whatever the sock was doing, it really made a difference—something which I later learned was to do with the way blood flows in and out of the tissues down there. It sped things up, and a guy could be a lot more easily ‘inspired’ to come up stiff!
The threats and swearing in two languages began to multiply as poor Santos found himself responding to the teasing manipulation, and his soft willy rapidly developed into an impressive chub! In fact, it seemed a marvel that he ever managed to keep that weapon safe in such inadequate undies!
And now that it was hard, everyone was keen to know if that spear could be made to jizz. This was the ultimate humiliation of the notorious and fiendishly erotic Hanging Wedgie—coercing a guy to shoot his wad, not to prove his manhood, but milking him out to let it spill onto the ground for everyone to see.
After having been soundly persuaded to put it all on display, crap, did Santos start squealing! Using the wide waistband of his briefs they worked his sweet spot incessantly. He pleaded, swore and cursed, and promised all kinds of shit storms in retribution. None of it did him any good, or slowed the relentless advance.
The truth was, I'd never seen another guy cum before. Back then, I didn't have my own private MacBook or a place where I could browse the web unobserved. So it came as a bit of a shock as it suddenly dawned on me that he was actually going to spurt! Fucking hell! I think I probably turned scarlet at the realization! Thankfully nobody was looking at me.
I suspect the same thing also dawned on Santos as they poured soap over him and took hold of his dick and began to jerk him off. All around me, guys were cheering and really into it—even Ryan—so I figured it was okay, and joined in as we watched the frantic squirming become desperate grunts.
For Rogério Carvalho Santos, after the long wait, his time arrived abruptly. Though it had taken so long for the Latino teen to get there, that I doubt there wasn’t anyone present who wasn’t as hard as either him or me!
He froze and made a sound that came out as part way between a shout and a strangled groan of relief—and was in neither English nor Spanish. It was in a language that every boy in that room who masturbated was familiar with—the language of sex. We all correctly and immediately translated the complex announcement as:
‘OH FUCK...I’M THERE!’
Without missing a step, the slick grip that was wrapped around his dick sped up and jerked him rapidly, pushing him over the edge as he completely unloaded across the tiles with a huge spurt of creamy jizz. The first spurt was followed others until, slack faced and looking totally wasted, Santos had been reduced to a dribble.
OH MY GOD!
Never had I seen ANYTHING like it in my life before! Trust me, I had to really adjust my pants after that! Carefully!
Well, Santos was only with us for the one year. At the end of the summer term, he returned to Venezuela or from wherever he came. But the training of the young Latino had gone well, and after being hung, he’d definitely calmed down a bit; older and wiser and much less of a prat.
He even made a few friends!
Perhaps, when he went back to his home country, they would realize there that he’d come a long way in life. He’d certainly done so across the floor of the new sports block of the Atlanta Academy that fateful afternoon. It's quite hard to live that kind of thing down—especially if you're not allowed to forget it!
After the deed was done that day, I’d scurried away from the place quite wound up. It was one thing to hear about a Hang, but something else to actually see it first hand, and I really wasn’t sure what to think. However, the next day, I quizzed Ry about it in detail. What surprised me was that neither he, nor any of the other guys who I counted as my friends, seemed that freaked by it. It could happen to anyone, Ryan had said, a teasing glint in his eye—but it won’t, he added, and the likelihood that it would ever be either of us was miniscule.
Despite that, you can bet I made it my business to make sure I was NOT to become the next 'anyone'!
But then again, it was never just ‘anyone’ who got targeted. If you gave, you got. That was the unwritten code and why nobody chose to make complaints. If you took part—even if you just stood and cheered—you were already complicit.
So, every three or four months or so, some unsuspecting victim would be utterly dismayed to find himself up-ended. Glaring out in shock into an ecstatic, upside-down crush of eager onlookers, his world would get rearranged! His pants would go and his boxers would end up in his crack. Then, he who had probably taunted plenty of others caught in the same position, would find himself put to the test. He'd squeal and swear and even beg, but pretty much every time, his spunk would end up on the floor with his so-called friends cheering and thoroughly enjoying watching him become the next one in a long list of those taken the full distance!
Whoever had suffered the indignity on that occasion would slink away to lick his wounds. He'd become a celebrity for a few days, but it would soon be forgotten. Sometimes it took a few days longer for the victim to come around, sometimes quite a long time, but that was all part of it.
Then, with almost everybody happy, we'd get back to normal life again. It was like a pressure release valve for the school, and everyone sighed in relief until the pressure built up again. Every time it happened, I became less disturbed by it, and now even looked forward to the next one.
But who it would be next, or when, nobody knew, though we all adamantly believed it could never be us. I was quite happy to stick my head in the sand with the rest of them on that one. Talk about living in denial! We were too popular, too clever, and had too many friends. We'd watch out for them, and they for us…
How many times had I seen those pacts go down the tubes!!
* * *
Just like now…
There had been several ‘incidents’ that school year already, and searching the faces Luke could spot from where he was squeezed in, he noticed at least two…no, three, who’d been there. All were salutary examples of how being handed your dick on a plate was usually ‘arranged’ by people you knew quite well! The nearest, only a couple of paces away, was Xiao 'Joseph' Wong.
Back when Luke and Simon had entered the Academy, it became apparent that they weren't the only foreign kids. In fact, the school drew quite a few international students from families whose parents—usually business executives—were semi-permanently located in the Atlanta area. As long as they paid the fees, they were welcome. Xiao Wong—going by an anglicised Joseph, as most struggled with Chinese pronunciation—was one of those, and had been attending the Academy for a couple of years.
Joe was Asian, and home for him used to be Taiwan. He was a nice enough guy, if rather small and chubby. His English was pretty good and he'd fitted in at the school well enough to be hardly noticed, other than by those who frequented the chess club.
There was nothing particular about the guy that should have singled him out, and he certainly wasn't a wedgie wars devotee. Actually, he was a bit of a swot—though that wasn't a crime—and was captain of the school chess team. Again, Luke didn't particularly feel that that was a sin…though not all were as generous! However, for someone so bright, Joe had been a bit rash. Two people had got hung the week just before Christmas, and he was the first.
It had been three months previously, and during the last week of the semester before the Christmas break. Exams were over, and students were all letting their hair down. One of the sports periods that week brought all four classes together, and was a ‘do-as-you-like’ period. Some played soccer, others stuck to football and basketball or worked out in the gym.
Afterwards, with everyone in a buoyant mood, the atmosphere in the locker room was boisterous. With the lunch recess to come, there was no rush, and towel flicking ran on into a few well-delivered wedgies.
Joe Wong was in as good a mood as any. They'd had the table tennis tables out—a sport he was surprisingly good at—and he was relishing the temporary fame and glory that came with victory.
In the midst of the mayhem of some ‘grab and pulls’, Kieran had got his hands on Brad Powell's boxers. A friend of Joe’s, Brad squirmed and bucked, trying to shake Kieran loose, and not at all happy with having his nuts squeezed. Then, to add insult to injury and completely out of character for him, Joe took it on himself to step in and give Brad a pantsing! The guy's face was a picture as his shorts hit the floor and Kieran leaned over to help the guy’s boxers into his crack!
Now that was actually quite funny, and Joe grinned at his coup, thoroughly enjoying being popular. But what on earth possessed him to then turn on Kieran, pull down his shorts and boxers, to leave Kier’s dick swaying in the breeze, was anyone's guess.
Death wish, or what!?
Realising his error in judgment in Kieran's thunderous expression, Joe tried to leg it, but didn't get far before Kieran floored him, grabbed his briefs from behind, and started yanking pretty hard!
Joe had squealed something in his native tongue that sounded like 'Mi choi shang' (God knows what it meant), so Kier, still smarting from being de-frocked, suggested that, if he really wanted a Hang, they could sort that for him!
Kieran was a man on a mission, and at the time, Luke couldn’t help but feel for him. He and Ryan were happy to watch from a distance, because you didn’t have to be in the action to still enjoy the fun. But, unfortunately for Joe, Brad wasn't the only ‘friend’ in his class who stepped up to the plate to assist Kier, as Joe lost his clothes.
Joe had a fairly fat little wanger that was buried in a healthy mound of black pubes. Once they’d stripped him, and despite his natural reserve, he discovered he was up for the ‘pleasure trip’ a lot more readily than he’d expected! It was intriguing for Luke, and was also the first time he realized that he wasn't the only uncut guy on the block. Joe, however, wasn't someone he had much reason to hang-out with, was easy to overlook in the showers, and it had never come on his radar.
With relative ease, they up-ended the guy, and for someone with such prowess at the chessboard, he lost most of his pieces quite quickly. Stripped of everything bar his briefs, he found himself in check early on in the game! He swore like blue murder in several languages, but it fell on deaf ears. If you gave, you got...though to be fair, coming from abroad, Joe had been a bit unlucky with the exchange rate!
They tied him off with a sock and played the usual games, chasing him around the board for a bit, though Kieran wasn't anywhere near as mean as many could be. In a short space of time—and to everyone's enjoyment because in those parts it was quite unusual to see a wanger that actually retracted—Joe enthusiastically unhooded for his audience, exchanging his unremarkable pawn for a healthy bishop! From then on in, the journey was swift.
By the end, Joe only had his King left, and was out of time and appeared ready to forfeit. Fully checked and unable to avoid being mated to the firm grip that Kieran wrapped around him, the game ended up being as short as his fuse and he surrendered his last piece quite suddenly.
One of the unusual traits of the end point for most in Joe’s position was that they tended to be quite...well…a bit noisy. Definitely more rowdy than you would be in the privacy of your own room! Who knows, maybe being upside-down made the squeaking come out more easily. Either way it was always entertaining! Joe didn’t disappoint as he splooged it out where many others had already left their mark in times past, convulsing as he did quite noisily, yelling loudly and incomprehensibly in a language familiar to us all
Luke studied the mildly pudgy and undersized Asian teen, as Joe, in turn, observed it become Ryan's turn to take that particular journey.
Joe’s expression was hard to read. After his downfall, he’d not been a happy puppy at all. He'd left for the Christmas break in a foul mood, and even on his return seemed to be brooding. He’d been the first one to join the Hall of Fame that last week of term—and probably the only reason he didn't completely fly off the handle at his treatment was that the second one ended up being Kieran McElroy himself!
Luke glanced past Joe towards the wall by the door and spotted Kieran now standing near Cody Mitchell. The pair were whispering and Mitchell passed some items to Kieran, who quickly pocketed them. Kier seemed to have a satisfied gleam in his eye!
* * *
Extract from Luke’s notes:
Back in that same week just before the Christmas break, wedging anything that moved, Kieran was becoming a problem. We all agreed he needed reeling in, so we planned the perfect way to sort him out.
Kieran McElroy claimed Irish heritage—as if it actually made a difference! It seemed everybody in America liked the idea of being from somewhere else, with heritage being bartered as if it actually meant something: a quarter Italian, a third German.... Who cared!
What made it funny was Kier didn't have a hint of emerald in his dark African-American skin! He used to tell us that his parents had been horrified when the nurses brought across this unexpected little black baby when he'd been born. Of course his mum and dad were both dyed in the wool African-American too, which kind of made you grin!
You can probably already guess what he was like. Bright, lively, and a popular member of our class as well as a fanatic on the basketball court and a big supporter of the Hawks! Kier was a guy who was always ready for a bit of fun, and into any action that was going. This time, without him knowing, the focus of that was HIM.
We laid a trail that indicated that there was a plot afoot to get Todd seriously wedged—with maybe some ‘undisclosed’ side-line fun—and Kieran was quietly given the heads up in a way that indicated we felt we needed his expertise. Other than that, it was kept under the radar, to be done on the last morning at the end of the final sports period of the year.
Carter, the coach for the session, wasn't particularly creative. Dressed in regulation kit, our class spent a sweaty hour in the gym, moving between cross-presses, steppers, rowing and jogging machines. Back in the locker rooms, we bided our time, not in any rush to get to the showers. In the corner, I could see Kieran grinning like a goat at a garden party in anticipation.
True to form, and more so because it was the last day of term, Carter abandoned us to change in our own time before lunch.
The way it went down began as Ry mock-felled Todd and called for help. Hook, line and sinker, Kier fell for it and threw himself onto the eager pile. With his attention diverted in the scrum, more than enough of us gathered round and grabbed his arms and legs and bodily hauled his sweaty black ass to the showers! He kicked and screeched, but we had a firm grip. Everyone was getting soaked, but who cared? We all liked Kieran enough to want the best for him—and didn't everyone deserve something special for Christmas? So out came the razors and shaving cream we had stashed ready.
Maybe it was a bit heartless, but when someone suggested that, in memory of poor Joe Wong, Kier might appreciate more of a first-hand perspective, who were we to disagree? He only had himself to blame, after all! So Kieran was upended, and the look of surprise on his face was priceless as he found himself hanging upside down, ready to be milked.
I have to be honest, poor Kier didn't take it well!
Despite it, Christmas arrived early for him as—exactly as it had for Joe—he ended up spunking a healthy distance across the tiles, becoming the next in line to leave his mark on the hallowed floors of the Academy. At the time, everyone knew he was seriously pissed and it was probably a good job it was the last day of term and that he had a few weeks to get over it.
It was true that helping a guy to get over being hung was a delicate matter. And having just splooged for a cheerful audience, first off he'd want to sink into a hole and die.
For God's sake, wouldn’t you?
Then, once he'd tucked his now emptied and deflated wanger out of the way, straightened out his clothes, and got his act together, he'd be seriously pissed with everyone. Scraps were quite common in the immediate aftermath! He'd be boiling mad for a few days, and the truth was, not all friendships survived the ordeal—especially if a close friend had played an active role.
Thankfully, the majority did.
Timing was critical, but good friends wouldn't allow him to stay distantly mad for long. That didn't help anyone.
Give him a day, maybe two max, and they'd come back around him protectively, offering solace and working some delicate diplomacy.
For someone who'd been taken all the way to his climax, they'd let him know that he had nothing to be ashamed about. He wasn't the first and he wouldn't be the last. As far as these things went, they'd say—and he may well have found himself coerced enough to squirt quite enthusiastically—he'd put on a pretty good show.
Eventually, even he would come round enough to hopefully brush it off.
There was also a healthy respect for those that had 'been there, done that', though I can think of a hell of a lot of easier ways to get it! At the same time, those who were closely involved tended to watch their own backsides a little more carefully. As Kieran had personally discovered…if you gave, you got!
Remarkably, when we started back in the New Year, Kier seemed buoyant once more, receiving quite a bit of good-natured teasing with equanimity. Perhaps the break had calmed him down? Or maybe he was happily just biding his time and looking for the perfect moment to get revenge!
Still, you had to respect the guy. Under the showers the coming weeks, he didn't flinch, even though it took almost two months to grow his bush back!
All of this was the closely guarded tradition of the demonic Hanging Wedgie—a practice we had a complicated love-hate relationship with. It continued unabated, because everyone wanted to see it executed…as long as it was on someone else. We feared it because nobody really knew who would be next…or when.
Odds were, if you ran the numbers, the likelihood that you would ever be targeted was pretty slim.
Ry and I knew it would never be either of us—or so I’d thought until that ghastly day when I ended up doing nothing and completely letting my best friend down as I watched Ry being stripped and lifted up ready for the pleasure trip.
* * *
From behind a group of heads short enough that he could see quite easily now, Luke’s gaze flicked over the scuffle that was still on-going. Despite his belief that nobody with an ounce of sense should be Hanging Ryan Alexis, the evidence that they were getting close to pulling it off was staring Luke in the face.
"Let go, you bastards!" Luke saw Ryan glare angrily at Matt and JJ, heaving on his arms as the pair held him tight.
Matt grinned. "No need to get your knickers in a twist, Ry!"
"Matt's right, bud," JJ snickered. "I think Scott's gonna do that for you!"
Landon? Well, that bastard sure looked like he was enjoying himself!
Ryan continued to put up a real fight as they started to strip him. Luke felt uncomfortable, but stayed where he was. JJ might be an asshole like Landon, but Matt was okay—one of Ryan’s friends. And Matt appeared to have no qualms about getting entangled in the rough melee on the floor. It made it easier for Luke to stay out of the way. Maybe it was enough that he wasn’t directly involved…like Todd and Kieran…
Ryan reacted angrily again as he was stripped.
"FUCK OFF Landon! Don't you dare!' His voice was sounding increasingly desperate, though Luke couldn’t see any way he was getting out of any of it now.
Even so, Ryan put up a real fight. "Let go of me you fucking gay prick!" He twisted and turning in an effort to break loose, but with many hands to keep Ry in check, Landon appeared unimpressed.
"We've heard it all before, Ry. Stop getting excited about your prick, for God's sake." He grinned, relishing his role. "We're gonna give you a good shot at showing us what you can do!"
While he talked, Ry’s pants got pulled completely off, stripping him to his boxers to a chorus of cat whistles.
From then, it went fast, and Luke had seen it enough times before to know how straightforward it was to get some poor panic-stricken bastard up into a Hang. Looking to the left and right, those around Luke were upbeat in anticipation—hell, even Joe was enjoying it, grinning from ear to ear!
It really looked like a guy’s time had come. And if that were so for Ry, then there could be backing out of it—only forward to the inevitable. Heads were straining over shoulders and through gaps so as not to miss the show, and Luke knew what they would be thinking: What a great day this has turned out to be—and prime seats too! He could also see the other side of it in their expressions—‘Fuck, I’m glad that I’m not THAT poor bastard today!’
Luke shrugged. What was there to say? If you gave, you got, though without doubt, Ry had been set up…then again, wasn’t everyone when it actually came down to it? Across the floor, he saw Mitchell smirking. There would still have to be payback there.
Either way, it appeared that Ry had walked into a Hang, and there was little either of them could do about it now. Surrounded by those out to get him, Ry was sounding increasingly panicked. Luke knew he’d be no different if, God forbid, it should ever be him in that position. Most were like that when realization set in, and they got that they’d been suckered—started on the journey which, in Ryan’s case, would almost certainly end up with him unloading onto the restroom floor!
Right in front of Luke…
Luke swallowed. Okay, he felt a bit guilty that he’d not done much to help save Ryan from his fate, but…well…he could live with it. Afterwards, when it was all done and Ry was done spunking—and experience dictated that it was quite likely he would—they would dump him on the tiles and leave him to lick his wounds.
Luke had no doubt there would be total hell to pay at that point. Ry would be in an absolute foul mood for the rest of the day, and Luke knew he could almost certainly kiss goodbye to going around for a swim. It would be days before Ry came around and saw any sense. Maybe the baseball outing on Saturday would be off, too, though Luke hoped not. Surely Ry would be over it by then?
He chewed his lip. How would it be?
Joe had had a rough ride, but Kieran had got over it quickly enough, hadn't he? It was just one of those things that nobody thought about anymore. He hoped Ry would be the same and that it wouldn't change things between them. He shrugged, telling himself that there wasn’t much he could do about it now, even if he’d wanted to.
And, despite all of it, there was no way he was going to miss any of the show now the clock was running…