For Fred, who wouldn't leave me alone until this story was finished. ;)
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. This story contains homosexual material, if that doesn't interest you please don't read it, if that offends you please grow up. Now, the rest of you read on and enjoy.
I Took a Chance, Part I By: antinoos_ad@hotmail.com (t/t, HS)
My name is Tim, I'm a junior in high school, and I play on the soccer team. No, I'm not the team captain, and I'm not one of those ridiculously popular students whom so many of us wish would come out. Still, (I think) I am a good soccer player, and I've never had much trouble making friends around the school. One of my regrets, is that in the past I've been too scared to really tell any of my friends that I was gay, so I haven't had anyone around with whom I could talk about it . . . until recently that is.
Even so, I couldn't help but check out the other guys. In the hallways, in the locker room, during class . . . what can I say? My hormones are a bit out of control sometimes. I try to be discreet about it, hoping that nobody notices anything too odd in my looks. There's one guy in the school, more than any other, that I really think is cute. His name is Ian, he's a freshman.
I first saw Ian a couple months ago when I was looking for my friend, Todd. Todd and I were supposed to work together on a project for biology, and I was meeting him after his cross-country practice was over. As I watched the various runners on the team do their cool-down exercises and then head off to the showers, my eyes were drawn to Ian. He was doing some light jogging, his red hair already slicked with sweat from his work-out. He was dressed in a sleeveless tee shirt and short nylon running shorts that showed off his body nicely. I mean, it's not like Ian was one of those muscle-bound gym-bunnies you see in the magazines; he's slim and really looks a bit small most of the time, but when you see him in his track outfit you can tell he's actually nicely muscled. There's a power and endurance in that smooth form that you have to respect. I'm sure that I was staring at Ian's rounded ass as he headed off to the showers, I was certainly surprised when my friend walked up next to me. I nearly jumped out of my skin when he spoke.
"You ready to go, Tim?"
"Jesus," I gasped, shaking my head clear, "give a guy some warning, will you?"
"Sorry man, what were you thinking about anyway, staring off into space like that?"
"Oh, you know, just wishing I could find a date who looks good in a pair of shorts," I said, skirting the truth.
Todd laughed, "you and me both, man. You mind if we get something to eat before we start working? I'm always starved after a long run."
"Sure dude, I could use a cold drink myself." I knew that over dinner I'd be pumping Todd for information on the team this year, especially about the cute guy who's name I did not yet even know.
Over the next few weeks, Ian featured prominently in my fantasies. I usually try to avoid fantasizing about people I go to school with; I'm afraid that if I start to associate someone I see all the time with sex, then I won't be able to . . . hide my excitement when I'm around them. Still, I just couldn't get him out of my head. When I closed my eyes I saw Ian's cute features, freckled a bit from his time in the sun. I saw his body dressed in his revealing track clothing, and wished I was on the team myself, so I could get a glimpse of him changing.
I found myself running through scenarios in my mind, trying to find a good way to meet him. Of course, I inevitably asked myself, "but then what?" I mean, I couldn't bring myself to tell my best friends that I was gay, was I going to reveal it to a total stranger in hopes (rather improbable ones) that he might be also? I had no reason to believe that Ian was any different from the rest of the guys I knew, most of whom would never have considered the possibility that they might like guys.
And so, I sighed to myself, regretting my situation, and tried to pretend that life was normal. Until, one day, I finally took a chance. It may have been a horribly stupid thing to do; in fact, I'm almost sure that it was. Still, I did it, and I can't say that I regret it.
It was a bright Friday afternoon, a beautiful day for a soccer game. The score was tied early on, and our energy was high; we needed this win. To make a long story short, (since the details of my soccer match are not what I'm interested in relating here) we made a late game come-back and ended up winning. I didn't make any spectacular moves during the game, but I was helpful, blocking and passing well.
I'm sure that even those of you who don't play sports have watched enough tv to know that there's usually a cooler of water or Gatorade on the sidelines for the players to drink. You probably also know that it's common for team members to dump that cooler's contents over the coach or a particularly good player after a winning game.
Well, it so happens that our team's star player, Geoff, is a reasonably attractive red-head. It also happens that at the moment when the team was congratulating one another and heading back to the locker rooms, I saw Ian walking nearby. He was probably headed home after watching the game, and just decided to cut across the field. He was wearing an outfit that matched our team colors (although not exactly), which isn't really hard since our soccer team wears blue shorts and white jerseys.
To this day, I don't know what came over me, I'm not sure when I decided to take the action I did, but it happened nonetheless. I felt myself grabbing the handles of the cooler, lifting it high, and then saw myself dumping it over the head of that cute freshman who'd featured so prominently in my dreams of late.
Before I knew it, Ian was drenched with Gatorade, and I was left standing there, with my face turning red and stuttering as I tried to explain.
"Oh God . . . Ian . . . I'm so sorry. I thought you were Geoff, you see, and . . . " I trailed off thinking that the excuse sounded incredibly lame.
To my great surprise, Ian laughed. It was quite a site really, he has a bright smile, and his (freckled) nose wrinkles up a little. I couldn't help but join him, pretty soon the two of us were leaning on one another laughing ourselves silly, the Gatorade soaking into our clothing and matting Ian's hair. We must have looked ridiculous, but at least Ian didn't seem to be mad at me.
Finally, we got control of ourselves, and Ian spoke to me for the first time. "I'm Ian, but you already seem to know that. I was hot, and was heading for the concessions thinking that I needed a cool drink. It just goes to show you, you've got to be careful what you wish for." This speech was delivered with a good-natured smile, as Ian started to wring some of the Gatorade from his sopping wet shirt. His actions drew my attention to the shirt's transparent and clinging state, a site that distracted me for a few moments as I took in Ian's beautiful frame.
"Uh, I'm Tim, and I really am sorry. I know your name from some of my friends on the cross-country team, I should have recognized you, really I . . . ." My babbling explanation was soon interrupted. I couldn't seem to look into his hazel eyes without losing all my verbal skills.
"It's alright Tim," Ian laughingly reassured me, "a little Gatorade won't kill me. I will have to do something about this before I leave though. I don't like the idea of walking through the park with all its bees, and me soaked with Gatorade. Damn, I wish I hadn't taken my track outfit home to be washed."
"I can find something for you to borrow in my locker Ian. My stuff might be a little big on you, but it should do for the trip home. In fact, why don't I drive you? We can stop for some burgers or something on the way, my treat." I offered, seeing an opportunity to get to know this cute freshman better.
"That'd be cool, thanks," Ian smiled at me.
I waved away his thanks, "it's the least I can do after soaking you to the skin. Come on, let's hit the showers. I'm sweaty, and we're both going to be sticky from the Gatorade if we let it dry." Tim hesitated a moment (which struck me as odd, since he must have showered with the cross-country team a few times) before nodding and following me to the locker room.
We must have been longer than I realized, laughing our asses off and talking. Most of the team was half-dressed, the rest were toweling themselves off. For once, I didn't try to get any covert looks at them as they rooted around for their underwear, I was too focused on the freshman beside me.
"Hey Tim," my friend Jerry hailed me, "what took you so long? Are you still coming to the after-game party?"
Oh shit! I'd completely forgotten about the party at Geoff's house that evening. His parents were away, and they trusted him completely, it should be a hell of a time. "Yeah, of course," I answered, putting on a self-depreciating smile, "I just got caught up with my new friend Ian here. You guys'll have to start without me, I'll be along later."
"Cool, show up whenever you like, we should be there pretty late," Jerry answered, apparently not seeing anything strange about my appearance (or Ian's). Reflecting, I decided that the way the guys and I kidded each other, there really wasn't anything very unusual in their minds about dumping large quantities of liquid on a friend, as long as it was all in good-natured fun.
I told Ian to wait, while I rummaged through my locker, looking for an outfit that would suit his smaller frame. I finally settled on a pair of gray shorts with a drawl-string at the waist, and an old green tee-shirt. The shirt had been a bit too tight on me for a couple of years now, I used it sometimes when I was weight training, to make myself feel muscular I guess. (Not that I didn't have my share of muscles mind you, I just wasn't obsessed with body-building, 2 or 3 afternoons a week was enough for me). By the time I'd found the clothes, and asked Ian's approval, the locker room was empty except for the two of us (everyone else had rushed through their showers and dressed, hurrying off to the party, or to pick up their dates).
Now that we were alone, I was a little scared. I'd never been so close to an object of my desires before, especially not one who was preparing to strip for the shower. Of course, I could see a great deal of Ian's body already; the poor guy really was soaked. You could see his skin through his shirt, with darker spots where his nipples stuck out from his pecs. The blue shorts clung to his ass like a second skin, showing the outline of his equally wet briefs, and the bulge of a nice package in front. My breath was coming a bit unevenly, and I had to steel myself to keep from shaking. This was ridiculous, I was older and larger than Ian, nobody knew I was gay, what the hell was I scared of?
"Um, I'll go grab us some towels," I managed to say, needing something that would force me to pry my eyes away from this awesome-looking teen, "why don't you head into the showers, you look like you need it more."
"Gee thanks," there was irony in Ian's voice, "you make a guy feel so handsome."
I laughed mechanically, part of me wanting to grab him and show him how attractive he was, most of me too realistic and frightened to even look at him any longer. I went through to the laundry area and took more time than I really needed to, selecting a pair of large fluffy towels (fortunately we'd purchased new ones this year) and returning to the lockers. I figured that was the only way I could keep myself from watching Ian strip was to be in a different room, he was already in the shower when I came back. Ian's clothes were hung over some pegs along the wall, probably in an attempt to dry them a bit while he showered. I couldn't help myself when I saw them, I took down the pair of blue Fruit of the Loom briefs, running my fingers over the soft cotton that had so recently touched parts of Ian I desperately wanted to learn more about. It was about then that Ian called out from the showers, asking good-naturedly what was taking me so long with the towels. I quickly hung the briefs back up, shucked off my clothing, and heading for the showers myself.
The showers at my school are typical: one big tiled room with evenly-spaced shower heads, small shelves for toiletries, and a rack at one end to hold towels and spare pieces of clothing. The room was steamy and hot, Ian was standing on one side near the middle, his back to me as he scrubbed his arms with a handful of liquid soap. I think the noise of the water covered my gasp, and I'd already deposited the towels on the rack, so they didn't fall to the floor.
Here he was, the hot runner of my recent fantasies. The skin usually covered by his shirt and shorts was significantly paler than the rest of his body. That's pretty normal with athletes during the season, my tan lines were pretty obvious too. Still, Ian's natural skin color was several shades paler than my own . . . the contrast made his rounded cheeks stand out all the more to my eyes. They looked so smooth, I couldn't believe that I resisted the temptation to walk right over and grab them. The rest of Ian's body lived up to the promises it'd made the first time I saw him. He was slender but powerful, especially in the legs. This boy was definitely made for running races. The red hair on his head (looking more copper-brown when it was wet) was matched by that under his arms, and presumably the hair on his groin as well, although I couldn't see it from this angle. The freckles across Ian's nose and upper cheeks (the ones on his face!) were duplicated on both arms and shoulders, and as he twisted to get more soap I thought I saw some on his chest as well. This entire assessment couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds (I hoped). Quickly, I headed for the showerhead directly opposite Ian's, and started the water.
I suppose I should take a moment to describe myself as well. I've neglected to do so until now because, quite frankly, I was more interested in looking at other guy's bodies. I'm 5'11" tall (5 1/2 inches taller than Ian), with brown hair and green eyes. As I've said before, I play soccer and work out a bit, so I've got a nice body. I'm not a walking god by any means, but I don't have anything to me ashamed of either. My chest is smooth, but there are brown hairs scattered over my legs and arms, as well as some (am I blushing?) around my dick and on my balls (yes, I must be blushing). Since I'm sure you want to know, and I've already to decided to tell this story right, I'm 7 inches and cut. Again, not monstrous, but larger than average.
Then again, it's been my (admittedly limited) experience that the key issue isn't size so much as passion and natural ability. Now, let's get back to the interesting stuff.
I tried to look natural as I lathered and rinsed various parts of my body, but this was made difficult. First of all, I kept glancing over at Ian's back, taking in his naked body, committing every square inch of skin to memory. Secondly, I was rather afraid to touch anywhere near my groin. The site of Ian had gotten me hard rather quickly, and I didn't want him to notice my obviously aroused state. Ian turned his head toward me as I was gazing at his ass (again), and broke the silence.
"Hey, do you have any shampoo, Tim?" he asked. I was relieved that he had apparently not noticed that I was staring, or had dismissed it as normal (maybe I was turning around to start a conversation or something). "That stuff made my hair kind of sticky, and I don't think I'm going to be able to just rinse it out with water."
"Shit," I answered, mentally kicking myself, "I should have thought of that.
I left my shampoo in my locker, hold on a minute." I slid swiftly along the wall and grabbed one of the 2 towels I had brought, wrapping it around my waist. I managed to get out of the shower room and into the locker area without giving Ian a clear look at my groin, much to my relief. The bottle of shampoo and conditioner (in one) was sitting on the shelf of my locker. I grabbed a large comb too, just in case. However, I took a minute, willing my cock back to a soft state, before returning to the showers.
"Found it," I said, announcing my entrance and pulling the towel off. I tried not to focus on Ian as I headed towards him; it seemed to help, my dick stayed obediently soft for once. Ian's hands were pulling through his hair futilely, trying to smooth out the tangles.
"Just in time," Ian smiled, "I can't seem to do anything with this mess."
"Here, let me help," I wasn't thinking, at least not consciously, or I would never have dared to suggest my next action. Without contemplating the consequences, I popped the cap on the bottle, squirted some of the greenish cream onto my hands, and walked up behind Ian. Casually tossing the bottle out of the way, my hands brushed Ian's aside, and I set to work smoothing the shampoo gently through his hair. Ian's voice brought me back to myself.
"Uh, Tim . . ." there was uncertainty in Ian's voice, "I didn't mean for you to wait on me . . . I could do this myself."
Crap, what was I doing? My body was inches from Ian's, both of us naked and wet, and I was running my hands through his hair. I managed to explain (rather lamely, I thought), "well, uh, you said that your hair was all tangled and sticky. I just figured that since I can see it so much better than you, and I'm kind of responsible for it, you know, I should help. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to . . . ." I trailed off, unable to think how to finish that sentence.
There was a moment's hesitation before Ian answered me. "No, no . . . it's ok. Thanks really, I appreciate it. I'm just not used to people touching me, you know, I didn't mean to offend you or anything. I'm sure that being so much bigger than me and all you can get at my head pretty easily."
I laughed to try to lighten the mood and downplay my own actions, "All I'm doing is washing your hair, you'd get more contact from a kiss on the cheek from your mother. And I'm not exactly huge, you know."
Ian was silent for a moment, apparently thinking something over. Finally, as if the confession was forced from his lips against his will, Ian burst out, "my mother's dead. I live with my dad and step-mom. They're really nice to me and everything, but they're not, you know, the kissing and hugging type. I think they don't think boys should be raised that way or something." This came out in one colossal breath, and Ian continued with, "and you are pretty big, bigger than me anyway. Maybe you could show me how you work out sometime? I like how your muscles look." At that point Ian's speech cut abruptly short, as if he felt he'd said too much. His head was turned, but I'm pretty sure that his cheeks had darkened with a blush.
It took me a moment to realize what that last remark could have meant. I probably wouldn't have noticed it at all if it weren't for Ian's obvious discomfort with the statement. The logical part of my brain dismissed it as wishful thinking, but the emotional part of me had to ask, "Ian . . . ."
He cut me off before I could get any further, "You won't tell anyone I said that, will you? I didn't mean too . . . I mean, you're just so nice and when you touched me I . . . ." Ian spun around to face me, shampoo spattering over the wall and my chest, and looked me in the eyes, "Please Tim, I don't usually . . . ."
This time, I cut Ian off, by leaning over and covering his lips with my own.
It was a hell of a chance I took just then. Ian's small slip may have been an innocent comment that he was afraid, under the circumstances, I might take the wrong way. On the other hand, he might have been admitting an attraction to me. At that point I decided that if there was even a slight chance, I had to take it; full speed ahead, and damn the torpedoes. I was risking a lot here, but it seemed worth it at the time (and I certainly can't regret it now).
Ian made a surprised sound and started to pull back from me. But then, something seemed to come over him, I couldn't say what. He let out another small sound, this one sounding more of relief, and returned my kiss. He was tentative, obviously not certain exactly what to do with his lips, much less his tongue. I took things slow (I'd kissed my share of girls before concluding I was gay) and tried to guide him without forcing him into anything. All the while my mind was racing:
Could this really be happening? I mean, I'd been so scared to even hint to anyone that I was gay, and now here I was kissing a boy I barely knew, naked! Things were moving way too fast for me to get a clear perspective on anything. Anyone could see that Ian was cute and athletic; I'd just discovered that he had some hidden vulnerabilities I'd never guessed at. There were definitely depths here that I waned to explore. Of course, these more rational thoughts were also overwhelmed by the fact that I was, for the first time ever, close to someone who seemed to share the same sort of attraction that I felt for them.
Giving in to the more immediate of my urges, I brought my body into contact with Ian's as we kissed. The feel of his somewhat shorter form pressed against me was amazing. We were both wet from the ongoing spray of the shower, but the heat I felt was quite apart from that of the water. It was the heat of a passionate need on (I thought) both our parts to be close to one another. I was pleasantly surprised to feel Ian's arms encircling me, pulling us into an embrace that seemed to finally grant me acceptance of my feelings for men.
At length, I broke our kiss, looking into Ian's eyes once more. The shampoo had disappeared from his hair as we'd kissed under the cascading water. The coppery strands now clung close to his skull, dewdrops of water all over his face and upper body. He still held himself tight against me, and my own arms were around him, making gentle motions along the softness of his back, between strong shoulder blades. Neither of us spoke, I think that we were afraid to say anything, afraid that the wrong words would ruin the moment, and that we might never recover it.
It may seem odd that until that moment, my senses were so overwhelmed that I had not noticed the pounding twin rods sandwiched between Ian's body and my own. I couldn't see them, but the impression of them against my skin filled my thoughts. Ian's pulse was racing as much as my own, we were like two drums in the same percussion pit. We'd started playing this tune without help from a conductor, but I now knew that we both had to keep going to the last climactic measure of the composition.
Still not saying a word, my lips again joined with Ian's. This time, however, our bodies were not clasped together so tightly. I had moved one of my hands between us, following the outlines of Ian's freckled chest with my fingers. I found one of Ian's nipples and caressed it with a light touch, an act that caused Ian to groan appreciatively against me. Encouraged, I brought my other hand around and mirrored the act, teasing both nipples at the same time, occasionally sliding around his water-slick pecs.
Ian, whom I assumed was acting on instinct, was meanwhile caressing my back with long firm motions of his hands. He seemed to be drawing slowly but steadily lower with each pass, inching his way towards my hips and beyond. His mouth was growing less tentative and more demanding on my own. Our tongues wrestling with a mutually expanding need for more attention from one another.
I allowed my right hand to slip down towards Ian's navel, wanting to learn more about his body as it hovered so close to my own. As I moved down Ian's stomach, I felt something bump against my hand. The brief contact with his heated dick sent all other thoughts flying from my head. I reached out and felt my way around his head. Like mine it was cut and slicked not only with water, but by a generous coating of precum, leaking from long pent-up need down the poles between us.
I was like a blind man, my hand imprinting the image into my mind of that which I'd never seen. I kept the contact light as I moved down the shaft of Ian's cock. He was probably about 5 and a half inches, from what I could tell, and so hard it must be almost painful for him. His hips gave a little thrust as I continued to trace around his length, learning its shape committing it to memory. I left the throbbing organ briefly to cup his balls in my hand. They were smooth and low hung, and like the rest of him seemed to thrum with an internal rhythm at my touch.
Ian was either impatient, or sensed that I was as ready as he was to finally feel the touch of another guy. Whatever the reason, he literally took matters into his own hand, by moving one of his hands (now cupping my ass in a manner that still takes my breath away) around next to my own, and decisively wrapping his fingers around my erection. He gave a gentle squeeze that brought a gasp to my lips, momentarily breaking our kiss. Grinning at him, I moved my hand back to his cock, and copied the gesture, then began to slowly stroke up the shaft.
Ian's eyes fluttered closed briefly and his head rolled back as the sensations washed over him. He recovered himself quickly however, and smiled back at me, matching my motions with his hand. I lowered my head and kissed swiftly down one side of Ian's neck, intending to cover all the freckles on his shoulders, neck, and chest with kisses. I was startled swiftly out of this, however, when Ian's hand left my butt and flew up to urge my head up once more. We both remained silent, but looking into Ian's eyes I somehow knew that he needed to see my face through all of this. For whatever reason, this was important to him, and so I acquiesced; not entirely understanding, but for the moment just as happy to have Ian pull my head into another kiss as to explore his chest.
Our hands had not slacked their pace, indeed the speed with which we moved along one another's slick poles had increased. I wanted to keep this moment alive as long as I could, but I knew that I wouldn't be able to hold out. These sensations were all so knew to me, this was the fulfillment of my fantasies, I couldn't control my body for long.
It seemed that Ian was in a similar position (physically at least). His hips were again moving so that he was thrusting a bit into my hand. I realized that I was doing the same thing into his palm. To be touched by this cute teen, and to be holding him at the same time . . . it was all too much. I began to pay extra attention to the head of Ian's cock as I passed it, giving it a little squeeze or a quick pass of my thumb, each time that I encountered it in my trip along his length. Soon, I knew, it would be over; my first time with another boy ending in a burst of pleasure. Our lips parted as our breath began to come in gasps. Still, we looked into each other's eyes, full of need, and we planted swift pecks along various parts of one another's faces.
I would have bet a great deal that I would have been the first to be overwhelmed, this was everything I wanted for so long. So I was a bit shocked to feel Ian swell in my hand, throwing his head back in a very loud (it's a good thing everyone else in the school had gone home) moan of pleasure as he came. I followed a moment later, relieved that the sweet torment was over. It seemed to go on forever, we soaked ourselves anew, this time in the juices of our bodies as the water poured down behind us. I'd never come so much on my own, never felt the intensity of pleasure that I did now, Ian's mere presence seemed to do amazing things for me.
Then, as the film of passion cleared from our minds, it was over. I was still out of breath, as I forced myself to look Ian in the eyes, afraid that I might find rejection there, that it had all been a momentary weakness of lust on his part. Again, Ian surprised me, there was no rejection in his face, nor was there guilt, nor anger, nor fear (all of which I thought to be likely possibilities). What I saw appeared to me to be simple open happiness.
"That," Ian broke the silence at last, "was pretty amazing."
End Part I
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