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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On with the show.

--The Pecman

Los Angeles, CA

5 May 2001

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

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

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

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

Chapter 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gotcha, fuckwad!"

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

"You dick!" I screamed.

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

"You give, asswipe?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?" I hissed back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I recoiled. "Watch that, you homo!"

"You're the homo!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Lemme grab a ruler."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?" I asked.

"You know... cumming!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I looked down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Alright. Get outta here!"

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

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

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

"You swear?"

"I swear."

"Best friends?"

I grinned. "To the end."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hold it!" the teacher shouted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sky, you asshole!" I cried.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, SIR," he grimaced.

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

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

I nodded, meekly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, really. Where do you live?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I winced and nodded.

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

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

Chapter 4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You think so?" I asked, hopefully.

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

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

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

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

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

The mental image gave me an immediate twinge.

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

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

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

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

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

I hesitated, then turned to him.

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

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

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

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

"Try another position," he advised.

"Like what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who?" I snapped.

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

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

We both looked away, in an uncomfortable silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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