Jeez, no! This is not about learning gymnastics.
You, boi, if you are under 18 I do not want you
On my turf. Come back when you are over 18.
The rest of you, take off your shoes, unzip and
Sit back.
Sup? Plenty! This guy Andy is after my ass. He's real clever; he never makes a move when anyone is around. His favorite place to work his sex stuff is in the locker room.
We are both sophs. I'm Terry Fowler, redheaded, second generation Irish boy. Girls say I am cute. Trouble is, I am on the skinny side and I can never get a decent tan with my pale skin. Oh yeah, they think freckles are good to have. I don't.
Now my tormentor, Andy is one of those good-looking jocks. He's square all over. No not that way, I mean he has a square jaw, a square face. His pecs are square, and so are his sex packs, for all I now his prick is square. I guess he is handsome in a muscle bound way, but his aggressive nature is unsettling. Somehow he has decided that I am gay. Worse, he thinks I will become "his boy".
I ought to report him for sexual harassment but can you imagine the razzing I'd get, besides, I can't prove it. It would be his word against mine. And who would not believe the three-letter popular athlete of the school's word, especially against a quiet bench sitter like me?
So I stood for it, but not gladly.
It usually went like this: my locker was one away from his (his was smelly and packed with unwashed jocks and tee shirts.) He waited until we were alone with no one in the aisle. Then he'd grab the back of my neck in his jock paw and massage my neck. He'd bring his puffy lips next to my ear and whisper, "How's my boy Terry? Did you jack off yet today?"
I had to admit that his large, warm hand felt good on my neck and his breath was hot against my ear, but I broke away quickly. "Andy, you are such a dumb jock. Your mind is always on queer sex. I think you wank too much."
He'd laugh, then grab my sixteen-year old ass and squeeze it. "You have the prettiest ass in Central High. When you gonna give it up to me? I have a nice fat dick that'll make you happy. Ask any of the gay boys here."
I never even knew there were gay boys in school. He sure lived a life that I could not imagine. I got a glimpse of that when he said, a few days later, "Meet me in the basement boy's room. That's the place for action."
I continued to ignore him. I never contemplated sex with a guy. I'm not homosexual, is that what they call them? I do admit that I kinda liked the attention he gave me. At times my backside would tingle in remembrance of his ass grabs. My neck would get hot, just where he stroked it so possessively. Shit, I had to watch myself. I was in a battle, and he is winning.
On the way down the back stairs to get to the locker room, I heard footsteps behind me. Very soft, because sneakers hardly made a sound, but these were the treads of a strong determined body. I looked over my should and found the smiling face of my nemesis about one half flight above me.
"Alone at last," he said. "Slow down, this looks like a good place for you to get to know me, really know me. I once fucked a kid just where you are standing."
I tried to hurry, but my legs were like lead. He exercised an almost hypnotic effect on me. His voice, his presence, his smell, his powerful eyes could control me. He easily caught up me and stood on the same step. The hand he brought to me cheek was moist and warm. He stroked my check, tenderly. Back and forth. I was falling into a trance, a trance of sexual need. Surrender was around the corner and it came when, without realizing it, I kissed his fingers as they graced my lips.
"That's it baby. You're coming around nicely." He pushed his index finger past my lips. "Suck it baby."
I don't know what came over me, but I took that finger into my mouth, I salivated over it, I licked it and finally began sucking it as though I was trying to pull something out of it.
"Whoa! Geez, you are a hot one. Ease off, I know you want my prick to suck, you'll never get cream out of my finger."
He took two hands, one on each shoulder and pressed. My knees collapsed and I was kneeling on the hard steel step, his crotch in my face.
"Feel it. I'm commando. Put your hand up my shorts. It's waiting for you."
I pressed my lips against the large bulge in his thin shorts. I could feel his stiff cock pulsing there. I rubbed my lips back and forth, making love to it. Then his words echoed in my mind: 'Put your hand up my shorts,' his shorts were loose and his cock almost reached the bottom hem. I put one finger in and felt the slippery head. Above me I heard his deep groan. In my lust it seemed like a compliment. He thrust at my finger. "Pull them down," he ordered in a firm voice.
"I put both hands on the bottom of his shorts. The elastic waistband hardly held them tight and they moved quickly down his thick, muscled legs, covered with shiny black hairs. But it was his prick that made me gasp. I had never been this close to a man's sex organ. His seemed more intimate than I imagined. It was thick, tubular, unveined. Perfect. The foreskin was slightly retracted, exposing a red glossy head. Drops of dew oozed out of the piss hole. The odor reached my nose and my head spun.
With a cry of resignation tinged with avid passion I opened my lips and slipped his cock into them, my saliva filling my mouth. I held him there, and lapped at the head like a dog with a bone.
"O-o-o-o-h, you sweet fag. That's s-o-o good. I knew you could be had and I knew you would like it. Get to work boi."
His words humiliated me. I was always proud. I would never have stood for that except...I wanted to taste that cock, to suckle it and to finally taste that gift of man milk. But along with the shame of his crude words came knowledge that I loved being insulted.
He was not satisfied with my soft attempts to pleasure him. He wanted thrusting, fucking. His thrill must have come from abusing me physically and verbally. To him the sex must have been secondary. I felt his cock touching the back of my throat. I gagged. That made him laugh.
"Shit, keep gagging, that feels excellent."
Finally I somehow stopped him hitting against the back of my throat by instinctively opening it. He slid down and I held him there, swallowing wildly to keep from choking off my air. He loved it. He was now crowing with passion. He began rubbing my hair roughly. "Oh you fucking Red Head, you cock sucker. I love your mouth. This is the best blow job I have even had."
In my new lowered state I was thrilled to be complimented by this pig. I smiled in gratitude around his thrusting cock. Suddenly he put him arms around my head and stopped me from moving. He began mewling and thrusting. He was fucking my mouth like a cunt. Then his hot legs locked as his orgasm took control of his body. He shouted and cried. It was almost frightening. Then I felt my throat pelted with his unending streams of cum. I managed to taste it. It was something I knew I had always wanted.
At last he pulled out of my abused mouth. "Kiddo, you get the cigar. You were born to suck. Get up and scram, I'll let you know when I need another draining.
He shook his softening cock, splashing the remaining cum on the staircase, whipped up his shorts, gave me a cocky salute, and thundered up the stairs. I swear I heard him whistling.
End of part one
Now you weenies who think poor Terry was sad about being turned out by the lout Andy just have no real sense. Immediately afterward Terry wiped one off, and an hour later his lips was twitching for a second helping of Andy. Keep turned to see how this develops.