Disclaimer: This story is basically a fantasy involving humiliation, mild violence, and sexual activity between teenage boys. If you find such material offensive or in violation of the laws of your state/country, please don't read any further.
(c) Art M. Hill ArtHill579@aol.com All rights reserved (2004). If you enjoy this story, please email m
"High School Blues" part 18: Joe prepares for battle...
Bob had told me to meet him at the park over on Afton Drive. Apparently he didn't want me in his home anymore. When we met, however, Bob was surprisingly pleasant although somewhat formal.
"I think I owe you an apology, Joe," Bob said. "I guess I was mad that you let me do what I did to you and that you seemed to enjoy it. I guess you're gay."
I was ready to say that Bob might also be considered 'gay' for what he had done, but I decided that was not the way I wanted to take the conversation. Instead I said: "I don't know Bob. I'm really confused. I have to admit that I enjoyed the times you and Terry let me suck your cocks, and that I also enjoyed what happened last night. But I wasn't the one who asked for it. You guys were the ones who started it."
Bob blushed slightly, realizing, maybe, there was some truth to what I said. "Joe," he said, "I don't know about you, but most guys our age are horny all the time, and when there are no chicks around and especially when we've been drinking it's kind of a matter of 'any hole will do.' Now I don't want you to think we just wanted to use you on the camping trip, but we started talking after you went in the tent, drinking more beer, and getting really horny. We heard rumors around the school that you were a faggot and so we thought we would take a chance and try for some head. What happened in the basement wasn't planned at all. But after you got down on your knees and rubbed my crotch I guess nature just took over."
"But what about last night," I asked. "You called me. You must have known ahead what you planned to do. Besides fucking a guy is a lot more than letting him suck your cock, isn't it?"
Again I made Bob blush. "Joe, when I called you I was honestly looking for some company. I've been pretty down and out since the robbery and really wanted someone to talk to. Normally I would talk with Terry, but he was out with his chick. I had chugged five or six brews and was watching a porno movie. That got my cock really going. Then when you showed up I started thinking more with my cock than with my brains. I'm not gay, Joe. Never had the slighest attraction to men, but something happened to me last night and I just needed to fuck. I guess I was madder at myself than I was with you, but I wasn't ready to admit that last night. I didn't mean to say all those things. I guess what I'm saying is that I want us to still be friends. I still want to help you with your excercises if you want to work out. You just need to understand that I don't want to have sex with you again."
Well, there it was. Bob had apologized--kind of. At the same time he had decided that I was gay, and reminded me that he was off limits. I felt angry that he had taken such a superior attitude and 'explained away' his behavior as due to booze and lonliness while mine was due the fact that I was a faggot. Still, he said that he wanted to be my friend and help me to better myself by exercising and maybe getting on the soccer team. I wanted to hug him and say that I accepted his apology and was grateful for his friendship, but I resisted, knowing that the gesture would be misinterpreted.
"Uh, I guess that's it, Joe. I'll let you know when Terry and I work something out for an exercise routine. We've been checking out some of the local gyms that we'll probably be using until I can get some new equipment. I suppose I'll have to put bars on the windows this time." He smiled, which was good to see, given his depression and recent anger.
"That sounds good Bob," I said. "Well, I guess I'll see you around school."
"Later..." Bob said as he turned and walked off. He didn't look back.
As he left I couldn't help but admire his tight ass so well displayed in the white jeans he was wearing.
On Thursday of that week I had my inevitable "close encounter" with Mike and Jimmy in the school corridor. Phil, Tod, and Brad were with them. "No more delays, Pinky," said Mike. "Saturday is your big match with Shawn. I hope you've been doin' some exercises and practicing your moves. I know that Shawn has. I saw him almost knock the stuffing out of my heavy bag yesterday. He was really working up a sweat and looked like he was enjoying every moment. I think he was picturing your face and stomach on that bag."
"Um, Mike, do we really have to go through with this? You know and I know that I'm no match for Shawn. He's just gonna beat the crap out of me."
"Don't put yourself down," Jimmy said. "Mike and I are both betting on you. So you better not let us down or we'll be real disappointed. Besides, there's no way we can stop Shawn this time. He wants to take you on real bad. If you've ever seen Shawn when he wants something, you know you can't talk him our of it-and he wants this!"
I felt my stomach begin to knot big time. "But I don't know how to box," I said. "I've never done it before. In fact, I've never even been in a fight before, except for the one you started that first day on Main Street...and look what happened to me."
"Dude, we were just playin' a game with you that day and you froze 'cause you didn't know it was comin'. That can happen to anybody. This is different: now you know what to expect. (Yeah, I thought--like broken bones!) And like I said, you better not disappoint us; we made a wager on you, and we're gonna be real pissed off if you lose. You know by now that it's not good to piss us off."
"Oh, by the way," Mike said, "remember tomorrow's Friday and we'll be expecting that $100 bucks from you. We should be able to pick up our new bikes in a few weeks and then we'll have a big party at my place. 'Course we want you to be there as our guest of honor since you made this possible. Nobody can say we ain't grateful."
"Okay, Mike, thanks...Listen, are you sure I can't get out of this fight. I mean I'm no challenge to Shawn. What difference can it make if he beats me up?"
"Sorry, dude," Mike said, "we gotta go through with it. Usually once Shawn gets something out of his system he'll be okay. It'll be better for you. Afterward he's usually cool with his opponent. Who knows, ya might end up bein' the best of friends. Now be over at my house Saturday morning around 10:30 am. Just wear a pair of shorts and a jock. We've got a couple pairs of gloves for you guys to wear. We'll explain the rules of the match when we get started. Jimmy and I will be in your corner and Brad and Tod in Shawn's corner. Phil will be the referee. We know Shawn's weaknesses so we'll be advising you how to handle yourself. So ya see, you got nothin' to worry about."
As Mike, Jimmy and the others swaggered off down the hall, I took stock of my current situation. I had been easily able to persuade my manager at the grocery store to give me more hours on weekends. After all, who wants to work weekends unless they have to? I had already gotten several pay checks (I was paid weekly). I was able to cash them to pay off the goons and-with my allowance-still have something left for pocket money and a small amount to deposit in my bank account. Dad had insisted that I have my own account (joint) so that I could learn responsibility. He had even let me hold the bank book. That's why I was so nervous if he asked to see it or simply asked at the bank. Luckily he was exceptionally busy lately and didn't have time to check out my stories- at the school or at the bank!
My biggest immediate concern was the fight with Shawn on Saturday, which I could no longer postpone or avoid. I guess I would just have to try to take a defensive position, avoid getting too close to Shawn, and protect my face as much as possible. The only problem was that he was out for blood or at least bruises. I was tempted to ask Terry or Bob for advice or maybe even to intervene to stop this, but decided that it was time I fought my own battles.
I called Terry and told him I was interested in boxing, and if he could recommend somewhere to go and check-out some bouts. Terry was amused by my request, but agreed to take me the following day after school to one of the local gyms. There I could see some amateur boxers who were training with sparring partners and performing various exercises to increase their strength and agility. Terry told me that his older brother had taught him some moves. He had boxed for several years in college before enlisting in the army, where he continued to box.
Terry gave me a crash course in the fundamentals of boxing: a boxer's basic stance, how to avoid and block punches, as well as various jabs and combinations. He illustrated all this information by pointing out the boxers' movements during the actual bouts at the gym. I found the action as well as Terry's explanations fascinating, although I knew they wouldn't be of much use to me tomorrow. I did think to myself that--if I survived tomorrow--I just might like to try boxing, strictly as an amateur, of course. It might help build my self-confidence.
I went to bed that evening with butterflies in my stomach, anticipating a sleepless night. My thoughts turned to Shawn again, but this time they were entirely erotic. I imagined his sweaty, muscular body clothed in skimpy shorts; his hair falling sexily over his brow; his smirk of superiority; his powerful punches which rocked my head back and forth, and doubled me up as his leather clad fists sank deep into my stomach; and finally the look of triumph and contempt on his face as he stood over me, his fallen and conquered opponent. I had been jerking off to these images, and once again experienced a powerful orgasm. Soon after, I fell asleep, with my thoughts divided between Shawn as the dangerous enemy and Shawn as the sexy conquering hero.
The following morning I woke up early, took my shower, and prepared to get dressed. I looked at my butt and back as I had done ever since my whipping, and saw that the wounds were almost completely healed. However, the lash marks had left small crisscrossed scars that might be permanent. They reminded me of movies I had seen about prisoners and slaves who had been punished with a bull-whip, and continued to carry the scars wth them for all to see. For some reason this thought made my cock start to harden again.
I filled a small backpack with a jock, shorts, and some light weight sneakers in case I needed them. Mike and Jimmy had assured me that they would provide everything else. I wondered, after being to the gym with Terry, if we would be wearing padded helmets to protect our heads as well as groin cups. I certainly hoped so.
I went down for breakfast around 7:30 am, surprising my mom who didn't expect me for at least another hour. "What's the occasion," she commented, "You're usually not up for another hour. Big day today?" (If she only knew!)
"Yeah, mom, I'm gonna be at this guy's house who has a gym set up in his basement. We're gonna be using some of the equipment. It should be fun. I've been wanting to do this for a long time. We may even have a few boxing matches." Well, at least this way if I came home black and blue I could tell her we were rough housing and it got out of control. I don't know what I'd tell her if I ended up in the E.R.!
"Please be careful if you start boxing. I don't want you coming home with chipped teeth or a broken nose!...You know, you just reminded me of that poor Greenburg boy whose equipment was stolen in that robbery at his home a few weeks ago"
"Oh, you mean Bob. I spoke to him a few times since then; he seems to be coming out of it. The place I'm going today belongs to a guy named Mike Cunningham (shudder!). I don't think he needs to worry about getting his stuff ripped off."
"Why not?" my mother asked.
"Nobody would want it," I said. "His best friend says it's a pile of junk!"
After finishing breakfast I decided to go for a jog around the block to calm down and also to get the blood flowing. I could still move pretty quickly from my track days. Hummm, I wonder if that would give me an advantage in the ring. I wavered between confidence and fear, with fear usually winning out over confidence. Let's see...9:30 am. I probably should be on my way to Mike's house a little before 10:00. It took around 20 minutes to get there by bike. That way I'd be there a little bit early.
At exactly 9:50 am I pushed off my bike and headed off for Mike's place. As I've said, Mike lived in a big old house on the edge of town surrounded by woods and fields. When I pulled up to the front door I saw four dirt bikes parked in the driveway. I guess the gang was here already. I pounded on the door and after a moment Mike opened up. "Hey, Joey-boy, the other guys weren't really sure you'd show up; they said you were chicken- shit. I told them my boy was fearless, that nothing could stop you from coming today and defending your honor. I'm proud of you, boy! Now get your ass in here and get down to the basement. We gotta get you geared up."
As I descended the stairs into the cool basement I saw all Mike's gang lined up: Jimmy, Phil, Brad, Tod, Carl, Stew and several other fellows I didn't know who looked like they washed their hands in motor oil. As soon as the guys saw me they began to yell: "Hey Zits! Way to go muscleman! Go for the gold, dude!" Standing in the ring above everyone was Shawn who was looking awesome. His muscles looked totally pumped up as he flexed his biceps and posed as if he were putting on a show. He wore black nylon shorts, a pair of medium length boxing boots and bandages on his hand in preparation for lacing up his gloves. Just the sight of him was completely intimidating.
"Well, well," he said, "the faggot showed up after all. I'm really gonna enjoy this- pounding you into the mat. Hey, Brad, you got the camcorder? I want to get this beating on film. Hey, isn't it time to get the faggot ready? The clock is tickin' man."
Mike handed me a mouthpiece (I hoped it was clean), but no helmet or groin cup. "Aren't we at least wearing helmets, Mike?" I asked anxiously.
"Helmets are for girls," Mike said. "We guys don't need 'em. Besides they deflect the punches and really aren't fair to the stronger boxer. Remember this is a KO bout so no sense dragging it out with helmets."
Mike bandaged up my hands for protection. We were both given standard black leather boxing gloves. Since Shawn was wearing boxing boots, I slipped on my sneakers. Brad and Tod objected that they were too hard so we both ended up going bare foot.
Now that we were fully prepared we sat in opposite corners of the ring and waited for Mike to announce the rules.
(to be continued)