This is the first chapter of several more to come in a regular fashion. Stay tuned for updates!

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people or events is entirely coincidental.

My name is Jeff. I was eighteen years old on the summer I first had sex with anyone...and during that summer I learned what it meant to love another man.

I was sitting at my school desk near the back of the room that day, drumming my pencil on the scratched surface of the wood, eyes locked onto the clock above the teacher's head. Two minutes left to go. My backpack was already packed, stuffed full of all the junk I'd accumulated over the year. I had my left hand on it, ready to sprint out of the room the second the bell rang. Most of my classmates were chatting their heads off in little groups, ignoring the teacher as she said something or other about studying during the summer break. I didn't talk to anyone; I just wanted to leave.


I practically jumped out of my seat and was the first one out of the classroom. I shouldered my backpack and headed straight for my locker, hoping to avoid the tide of yelling teenagers storming out into the corridors now that the school day had ended and summer had officially started. No such luck. By the time I got to the hallway where my locker was, I had to thread my way through throngs of people coming and going in every direction. I was even slammed into the nearest row of lockers by a passing, burly senior in a football jacket. I chose to think it was an accident.

I quickly dialed the combination to my locker and threw the little door open. I reached inside, hoping not to smear my arm with the slimy remnants of the raw egg that had congealed on the inside of the walls from the day before. I felt around to see what was left. There were only two books in there, some old candy wrappers and bits of eggshell littering the bottom of the space. I grabbed the books and stuffed them in my pack. I knew I should probably clean up the mess in there, but I was sick of the entire stupid high school. I left it like it was.

It was hard going with the heavy backpack and the hallway so crowded and noisy, and it was practically impossible not to hit someone as I neared the exit. As I walked, I kept looking around to see whether I would catch sight of Ray anywhere, and actually saw him several feet ahead of me, walking out with some other seniors. He was tall and broad-shouldered, a junior assistant coach of the track team. His shock of unruly black hair was unmistakable.

"Hey, Ray!" I yelled. My voice was lost in the noise all around me. "Ray!"

He heard me, and turned around. I waved, smiling, and saw his eyes meet mine.

And pass on as if he hadn't seen me.

One of the guys Ray was walking with said something and they all laughed. Ray said something else in response and they laughed even harder. I thought I heard my name in there, but I couldn't be sure. I lost him in the crowd right away.

I chose to think Ray hadn't seen me and kept on walking, past the doors of the school and down the short flight of stairs leading to freedom for an entire summer. No more high school for me; I had finally graduated and I was leaving for good. I was shoved several times as I descended, though, and the last shove sent me plowing straight into someone. I almost fell down the last couple steps and felt my backpack hit whoever it was as I righted myself. I turned around to apologize, but the words died before I spoke them.

I had crashed into Billy. Of all people, I had crashed into Billy. He was a senior like me, but he didn't look it; he looked like he belonged in a college football team somewhere. He was taller than any other eighteen-year-old I knew, and had a perpetual mean frown. When he saw who I was, the frown relaxed slightly, to be replaced by a sneer.

"Watch it, fag!" he snarled, and pushed me away.

I backed off, away from the steady flow of people pouring down the stairs and into the school grounds. I hoped Billy would leave me alone, but one of his dimwit buddies had caught on to the exchange.

"Hey Billy," the idiot said, "did he try to kiss you?"

"He tried," Billy said, grinning that evil smile of his. I kept on backing off, but he caught up to me. He shoved me again, hard. "But I'm not having none of that."

"Sorry," I managed to say, though the words burned in my throat. I wanted nothing more than to smash that smile off Billy's face, but I had tried once already, and I had come to regret it.

I turned to leave.

"Hey! I'm not done talking to you!" Billy yelled loudly. Then he pushed me forward with all his strength.

I was already off balance, and my heavy pack didn't help. I fell face down on the concrete with a thud, and the force of the fall ripped the top of my backpack open. Books spilled to the ground around me, a few on top of me, and the metal box where I kept my color pencils fell out with a loud clatter beside the books and spilled everything it contained. Several people looked our way and stared. I could feel their gazes on my back even before I got up. When I did, I saw them all right, and saw that none of them made a move to help me.

Out by the parking lot I even saw Ray, who happened to be looking my way. He was near enough to have seen me fall, and was leaning on his car with his arms crossed over his chest. I opened my mouth to call to him, but I saw him shake his head ever so slightly. He mouthed, no.

The fall had hurt, the stares had hurt, but that one word from Ray hurt even more. I left. I stormed out of there, forcing myself not to shed any tears where they could see me, and pushed my way out of the crowd before they had a chance to react. I left my books where they'd left; I didn't care. Apparently this took Billy by surprise, because he didn't follow me. The crowd just sort of parted to let me through like I was radioactive.

I reached my bike, rummaged in my pocket until I found the key and opened the lock. I stuffed the lock and the chain in my now much-lighter pack and jumped onto the bike with practiced ease. I drove off the school grounds calmly, not wanting to give anyone a reason to chase me, and passed a couple school buses, many cars blaring out music with teenagers hovering around them, and finally the stop sign at the corner. I took a right turn and lost sight of the school. Only then did I give in to the stupid sobs, and I sped away pedaling as fast as I could, tears blurring my vision. I couldn't get away fast enough.

I pedaled until my legs burned, but I didn't slow down. I knew the road by heart, and there was very little traffic on the streets. I could go as fast as I wanted. I was just a blur of a blond kid on a red bike, an empty backpack bouncing on my back every time I jumped a speed bump. The exercise and the hot summer air soon had me sweating, and the burning in my legs got to the point where I had to slow down a bit. I was panting, gripping the handlebars with much more strength than it was needed, crying silently as I drove. The bullying didn't bother me half as much as the betrayal. At school it was like Ray was a different person, and it had been getting worse all year. Today had been the proof I needed to stop kidding myself. Ray wasn't talking to me anymore. Of course. He couldn't afford being seen with the kid everyone had chosen to hate.

I kept on going, and the tears kept coming. Houses flashed by, and cars; people on the sidewalk barely even spared me a glance. I rode the bike, hard, and eventually the neighborhood I was riding through was much more familiar. I slowed down; I was almost home. I blinked away the tears and wiped my face as best as I could, riding down my street. Carefully tended lawns and nice oak trees by the sidewalk saw me ride by. I hoped I wasn't too dirty, or my dad would begin to ask questions again. I began to rehearse my usual bunch of lies to cover up for the rip in my pack and the loss of the books. I decided I would go with the bike accident one.

I rode past Ray's house on the other side of the street, then past another house and I arrived at my own place. Dad's car was in the driveway already, and I grimaced. I'd hoped to arrive before he did, but his business wasn't as demanding in summer and he was often home. Too bad.

I pulled into the driveway and jumped out of my bike before it stopped, then walked-ran the last few steps as I stopped the bike smoothly and leaned it on the wall. A trick Ray had taught me when I was just learning to ride a bike. The memory wrenched a little something inside me. Back then Ray and I used to ride our bikes together all afternoon, every day. Back then I was still in elementary and he was a freshman. Back then...

"Stop it," I told myself, walking to the door. I pushed it open, gritted my teeth and prayed Dad wouldn't see me like this.

I was lucky...he was upstairs showering; I heard the water running. That was good. I went upstairs too, and headed straight to my room.

"Jeff?" Dad called loudly, his voice muffled by the door. "Is that you?"

"Yeah, Dad! I'm home!" Thankfully, my voice didn't shake.

"Okay! I'll fix you something to eat when I'm done here!"

I wasn't hungry, and I didn't answer. Instead I went straight into my room and slammed the door. I dumped my bag on the floor and threw myself onto the bed.

Safe. At least here I was safe.

At first I was too wound-up to do anything but stare at the ceiling. I tossed around in my bed, thinking about how much I hated everyone at school. How much I hated school, period. At least it was over now, for good... until college. I'd go somewhere far away for college, far away from this stupid little town, somewhere I could walk where nobody knew me and nobody whispered behind my back. Part of me didn't want to because it would mean I wouldn't see Ray again anymore, but right then I didn't care. I solemnly decided to tell Dad I wanted to move out for college as soon as I could.

Restless, I got out of bed and went to the computer to check my e-mail. Nothing but crap. Then I checked my Facebook new posts on my wall. Big surprise there. I thought about tweeting something about how much everything sucked, but then decided against it. My dad was one of those ├╝ber-involved types and he might be stalking my Twitter account for all I knew. I didn't want him to know how much it sucked being me right then.

I shut the computer down and realized I was all sweaty from the bike ride, so I stripped. I lay down naked on my bed, and thought about Ray. I thought about how much I hated his guts, about how we had been such good friends right up until I'd started high school. Then the rumors had started, and here we were today.

Stupid Ray. He had seen me get beat up and he'd done nothing. I guessed I couldn't blame him, but it hurt just the same. When I thought back on his face as he mouthed 'no'... But that brought me back to thinking about Ray's face. I didn't want to since I hated him at the moment, but I couldn't help it. He was really handsome, in a rugged sort of way. Even when he had been on the track team as a student a couple years ago he'd been all lean and muscular, and I usually fantasized about being just like him in a couple years' time. I'd even started working out a bit, just going by some random YouTube vids that gave pointers on how to do stuff at home. I'd asked Dad to buy me a dumbbell set a few days back and he'd promised to buy them for the summer.

I was kind of on the thin side, but I hoped a few months with the dumbbells would help me with that. I hoped to have Ray's broad shoulders, his clearly marked pecs and abs. I could visualize Ray's body perfectly from the many times we had swum together at the community pool. We'd still done it this winter even, before he'd stopped talking to me for good. He'd also taught me to swim, I remembered. I wished I could have that old Ray back as a friend.

I could picture him even now, in his swimming trunks. Ray was much hairier than me, and one time he'd even taken his swimming trunks off in the shower when we were the only ones there. I'd known I shouldn't stare, but I couldn't help it. Back then I was just beginning to grow some fuzz myself, and seeing his big cock framed by all the wet, dark pubic hair in the shower, it had been impossible not to stare. Ray had only laughed and said it was okay to be curious, that he'd gone through the same thing when he was my age.

Without really realizing it, as I remembered him, I began to touch my own cock, right there in my bed, all sweaty like I was. I grabbed the shaft and stroked it, slowly, while I caressed my smooth balls with the other hand. I closed my eyes; it felt really good, and I didn't known why but I was suddenly very horny. I needed to get a load off right then. I considered going to the computer and looking up some porn but it seemed like too much work. I just kept remembering Ray as he looked that day, in the showers. The memory made me even harder.

I began to pump my hand over my cock, going faster than before. With the other I still stroked my balls, remembering how Ray's balls had hung low between his legs, perfectly round and slightly hairy. As he had soaped up that day, I had never taken my eyes off him, even though I'd seen him almost naked a million times before. That time had been different, though. I could still see Ray shampooing his hair with his back to me, the suds falling down on his strong, muscled back and running with the water lower and lower, over his smooth round butt and into his crack.

The motion of my hand increased in speed and pressure. My cock was rock-hard by then and I was breathing heavily, arching my back slightly. I was getting close, and I couldn't help picturing Ray's sculpted, hard chest as he had rubbed soap on his pecs, under his hairy armpits and below, over his abs and the slight trail of hair that led to his pubes and the limp but thick cock resting between his balls. That cock was manly, big, inviting. I had seen him soap up his cock and balls that day, seen him rub them between his strong, big hands...

My fist had a mind of its own by then and I felt my entire body tense up as I kept on pumping fiercely up and down my swollen dick. I spread my legs wide on the bed and grabbed my balls with my other hand and squeezed, hard enough to hurt, and I moaned with pleasure. I squeezed again, my fist flying over my shaft, and with the image of Ray's cock in my mind I suddenly exploded in a violent orgasm that made me cry out and sent rope after rope of hot cum as far up as my face, then my chest, and then my stomach. I shuddered as I emptied my balls, panting, sweating again. For a few seconds I just lay there, feeling my heart racing as my cock went soft, a faint smile on my face. Then that passed. I felt suddenly guilty for having thought of Ray like I had. I'd never done that before, ever. It had felt so good... but what would Ray think if I told him? I felt ashamed until I remembered that he wasn't even talking to me anymore. Which made me feel worse. I reached over my bed for the jerkoff towel I always kept there and wiped off, feeling awful. Maybe the kids at school were right in calling me names. Maybe I...

"Jeff?" Dad's voice asked, right outside my door.

I leapt out of bed and put on some clothes back on as fast as I could. I saw the door handle turning when I was just putting on my pants so I said, "What's up, Dad?" to stall.

"Hey Jeff," Dad repeated, opening the door. I was just reaching for my T-shirt when he poked his head inside.

"I was changing, Dad," I said defensively.

"Oh. Sorry," he said, retreating. He closed the door again and I looked at the towel lying incriminatingly on the bed. I finished dressing and stashed the towel behind my pillow.

"What's up, Dad?" I repeated.

"Just wanted to tell you Ray's here," he said. "I'll fix you boys some lunch."

I heard his steps retreating, then clunking downstairs. My heart practically stopped when the door opened again...but it wasn't Dad this time.

"Hey, Jeff," Ray said, stepping into the room. He was smiling.



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