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

For the disclaimer, please read Part 1.

This story may be reprinted anywhere on the Net, as long

as it's done intact, without changing a single word,

and preserving my copyright & Email address. And that's

Copyright 2001 ThePecman@yahoo.com. All rights reserved. -----------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The moment we heard her car's engine start and the garage door open, Ron raced across the backyard and looked over the fence. Seconds later, he yelled, "OK, guys! The coast is clear! The wicked witch has flown the coop!" He cackled wildly -- not a bad impression of Margaret Hamilton from The Wizard of Oz, I thought. This guy's quite a character.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Fuck that," said one of Rick's friends. I looked up and was shocked to see him yank his pants off and dive in, naked! In minutes, all of them were all in the pool, splashing and horsing around.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The six of us started playing 8-ball in the family den, which had expensive-looking walnut-covered walls and bookcases. A cool stained-glass Tiffany lamp hung over the table. We each took turns trying trick shots, and Ron took great delight in creaming my ass. This red-headed twerp might be a goofball, I mused, but he did know his way around a billiards table -- just like a real pool shark.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rick and Ron beamed. "That's Rick!" said Ron, proudly. "He's a real artist. Look at the detail here!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ronnie leapt up and put his hand on my arm. "No, wait!" he implored. "You wanna... I dunno, maybe look at some dirty magazines or somethin'?"

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

Ron looked at me, expectantly.

"What kind of magazines?" I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, fuck!" I yelled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nobody," echoed Ron.

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

"Just us brothers," giggled Ronnie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hel-hel-hel-hello?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Uh... hi, Wil."

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

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

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

"Sorry, Wil. I got..."

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

"Yeah," he said in a small voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah...?" I said, quizzically.

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

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

Ronnie looked up at me nervously and nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jesus, calm down, Ron," I said, gently taking his hand off me. "OK, I swear, I won't ever tell anybody about this."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 6

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I winced, rubbing my sore left tricep. "Man, I thought I felt like shit after swim practice!" I moaned. "This is a whole new level of pain."

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

"What's that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I already had a partial hard-on, just at the thought of being in the whirlpool bath with Sky. I glanced down, and was mortified to see it was already at least 7 inches, and throbbing closer to 8 with every second.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He is not!"

"Is so!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, GOD!" he moaned.

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

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

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

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

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

"Please don't stop!" he begged.

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

"Wil... I'm... gonna shoot, man!" he whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who?" he asked, warily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"WHAT THE FUCK?" I screamed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two minutes later, someone else turned the lights out, opened the door, and left in the opposite direction.