'Breathe Jack. Just suck in a few gulps of air and chill... you can do this.' I kept telling myself as I looked in the mirror. It was early Thursday morning in Goldrun, and I'd basically gotten zip for sleep. Fear was plastered all over my face -- fear that tomorrow would be the first game of the season. Fear that I would make a fool out of myself in front of hundreds of my classmates. Fear that my parents would be watching. Fear that I wouldn't be able to look casual and cool like the other players. 'Just breathe.' I said again, as I ran one hand over my buzzed black hair.

The fact that this would be my third week on the practice field playing football with seniors was something I was desperately trying not to think about. 'Hell, there are juniors in high school all over the United States of America that make the cut for the varsity team, right? So what? Not a big deal', I said out loud to myself. 'Just breathe, Jack.'

My mind was a freaking train-wreck. And as the rest of me came into view as the mirror de-fogged, I looked just as I felt: Naked and alone. After a ridiculously grueling summer of working out to try and get myself bulked up for football try-outs, the results had paid off -- I had made the varsity team, and I looked... better. At least I had that going for me. But hell, face it, 90% of what I was looking at in the mirror was my dad's doing. I got lucky with his good genes, although I'd never say that to him. Yep, he's where I inherited my size, which was just shy of 5' 11", and something like 160 pounds. And he is where I got my good coordination and probably all of my talent. I didn't have to even try for that stuff. Nice self-confidence, huh? Thank you dad.

Anyway, since I was staring right at it, I guess I should add that I have no idea if I inherited my fairly decent sized dick from the old man. Maybe it came from my mother's side? Jesus, what a thought. Either way, I should cover each of those bases and cuss them both out. Big dicks can be a royal pain. I could name off two dozen reasons, but I won't.

OK, so the other 10% of me was actually my doing. The big shoulders and strong chest came only after about a million bench presses. And my hard belly and trim waist came from about two million sit-ups. These guys that keep up the grueling workouts their entire lives are idiots -- it's way, way too much work for a few muscles. And what sucks the most is that all the hard work had only gotten my sorry 16 year old ass the same muscles that the 17 and 18 year old seniors on the team already had to begin with.


Well, if I fail on the football field maybe all of my efforts will pay off with the girls, I told myself as I stepped into my boxers and finished dressing for school.

I threw on some baggy jeans and a black tee shirt, grabbed my backpack, and headed off.

Luckily, in my current state of mind my classes went by in a blur, and I doubt I learned much, if anything. My mind was on the opening football game tomorrow night. And now here I was getting dressed-down in the locker room, dreading D-day. It sucked -- badly. But, with this being the last class of the day, I had some reason for hope. The solitude of my own bedroom would be a very welcome thing once this day was behind me.

I guess most guys that would read this might think I had a good thing going, making varsity at my age and all. But that's just not reality. It is hell -- complete fucked up hell. For one thing, I am an outsider -- a junior. Nothing could be worse. During practice the older guys all make it a point to tackle me extra hard, just to prove their superiority. It's a wonder I'm not laid up in some hospital. And if that isn't bad enough, the other Juniors who are not on varsity, avoid me like the plague. It's like they all automatically assume that I am now 'too good' to be associating with them. The saying, 'be careful what you wish for', was written by a fucking genius. I was screwed by my own desire to be somebody. Go figure.

A hard slap on my shoulder brought me back to reality.

"Hey Big Foot, you gonna keep the bench warm for me tomorrow night?"

Big foot? I looked up from the bench where I was putting on my cleats, and it was Jason Martin, one of the starting wide receivers. He had one of the two jobs I wanted on first string, and he was also one of the few on the team who would even talk to me, so his insult was welcome.

"Fuck off." I said grinning up at his half-naked senior bulk.

He messed up my hair, and walked on by.

"Piss ant." He exclaimed over his shoulder.

That was low. I'd worked my ass off all summer long just to avoid being a piss ant.

And that was about as mild as it gets with these guys. Next, I went through the torture of watching the others cussing and belching and laughing and slapping each other around as they stuffed their massive bodies into their uniforms. It was a daily ritual that would have been laughably funny, if it not for the fact that any one of them could pop me like a grape if I so much as looked at them sideways. Of course I played right along with them and their crudeness -- from a safe distance.

Once we were out on the field running drills, life was much easier. The guys turned mostly business, and messing with my head was the last thing on their minds. Their mission was to prove to the world that a nearly all white town of rednecks, with a minuscule population of less than 7,000, could get on the state football map. The plays that were called were complex, created by a coach who had no business wasting his time at Goldrun High.

Even though I didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of actually playing the opening game, I wasn't about to let that stand in the way of making myself stand out to the coach during practice. I knew that he viewed me as second string, which I wasn't complaining about, but I knew I was better than that. I had memorized every play in our book, and I hit my running patterns right on target throughout the day, rarely missing a catch. I mean, I was literally diving and catching over-thrown and under-thrown passes right and left.

Over the course of the next hour, I got my usual full body tackles. I can't even count how many times I scraped myself off the grass. But I was catching everything Kline Richards was throwing at me. The dude threw bullets with an attitude, and I was having a good day pulling them in.

As we rotated in and out of the lineup, we'd all go over to the water cooler, get a drink, and plop down and rest for maybe 10 minutes before the next rotation. During one of the breaks, I happened to look up in the bleachers, and noticed a single person watching. It was some dude I'd never seen before. He was shirtless, just sort of kicking back, taking in the sunshine as he watched. And while he was a good 50 feet away, I was pretty sure he caught me looking over. He casually moved his long blond hair away from his eyes, and made an upward nod with his head. I did the same back, and took my seat wondering if I knew him from somewhere.

No sooner than my ass had met the bench, the coach called over to me.

"Jack, can I see you over here for a minute."

I popped up and walked over to him, promising myself I wouldn't be intimidated by any criticism he was about to throw at me. And he had been doing a good job of that all through the practice with the others guys.

"Hey coach." I said, wondering what torturous observations he had to share this time.

"Jack, you think you can catch 'em like you're doin' if I put you in tomorrow?" He said, looking off out at the on-going scrimmages as if I weren't even standing next to him.

"Um, yeah. I mean, yes." I said nervously. My heart jumped to my throat.

"Good, because Baker couldn't catch a hard-boiled egg if Chicken-fucking-Little herself shit it out in the palm of his hand."

That's how coach always talked.

"Sure, I mean... thanks." I stuttered back.

He tossed me a key.

"That's to the equipment locker. Get yourself a clean jersey and some decent pads. You can trade in that 4-year old crap you've been wearing -- it's not fit for opening day. Oh, and Jack? You need to reprogram the two balls Jesus Christ had the grace to place between your legs, and shove that size 15 shoe you wear straight up the next senior ass that over-tackles you."

"Yes sir, I'll work on that." I said, forcing myself not to grin.

I didn't hang around for him to change his mind. I turned, and headed back to the bench to get my helmet. Cory Anderson, the backup quarterback sneered at me from the sideline. His sidekick, Andy Rhodes followed his lead. I blew them both off, and didn't even acknowledge their gestures.

And I'm not sure why, but as I approached the bench, I glanced up to see if the bond dude was still up in the bleachers. Not that it mattered -- but he was gone.

I grabbed my helmet, and headed back to the gym.

As I walked across the track and beyond the bleachers I saw him again over by the shot- put pit. He had a baseball mitt on one hand, and was throwing a ball into one of those net contraptions that springs the ball back at you. I slowed to watch him catch a few, and I guess I caught his view. He threw the ball on more time, caught it behind his back, and looked over at me.

"Hey man." He said casually.

"Hey." I said back.

It was really weird, but I felt my eyes scan his ridiculously perfect body.

Guys do that sometimes. We check each other out, and compare ourselves.

It's a competitive thing. At least that was my thinking. And the fact that my heart skipped a couple of beats, had nothing to do with it. Even a priest would have dropped the rosary and done a couple of hail mary's at the sight of him.

"You're good," He said, all cool and collected.

"Um, hey... thanks." I managed.

"You deserve it man... being on varsity and all. Don't sweat the jerks who are treating you like shit because of it -- just be a one-man army and kick ass tomorrow."

"Do I know you?" I asked, not knowing how to respond.

"Not unless you came to any of the freshman baseball games last year. I heard about you though, and I decided to come out and see for myself what it takes to make varsity. I figured if you could do it, maybe I could."

He looked big for a sophomore, and if size was any indication, I didn't see why he couldn't make it. In addition to looking good, he had the typical baseball bubble butt that seems to go hand in hand with the sport. I could never figure that out. Anyway, I saw no harm in giving him what he wanted to hear.

"You're lucky, you got size going for you. That's a big part of it. What position?" I asked.

"Pitcher... and sometimes first base."

"So you're pretty good?" I asked. Talk about a stupid question.

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Maybe not as good as you are at football, but I'm close." He said confidently.

"Maybe I'll make one of your games this year. Good luck man," I said, not knowing what else to say.

"Cool. Later, man." He said back.

And with that, he turned and continued his game of catch with himself.


I made my way into the empty locker room, found the equipment locker, and dug around until I found a brand-new jersey and shoulder pads. After that, I took the stuff to my locker and hung them along side my street clothes.

I thought for a minute, and wondered if coach had intended for me to come back to practice. I looked up at the clock, and there was around 10 minutes to go before the gym period would officially end. And since tomorrow was a game day, we wouldn't be doing any weight lifting after practice - so I reasoned that he was just giving me a jump on the others so I could get the jersey and pads.

I stripped down and decided to hit the showers while I had them to myself.

I was in and out in less than ten minutes. And as I was getting out, the others were just coming in.

I got a few comments from the guys referring to my starting assignment for the game. Word spreads fast around this place. They were mostly bullshit insults that were all part of the expected way a senior would treat a junior. I didn't mind it actually. It was their way of acknowledging that I'd done something good. At least that's what I told myself.

I toweled off, threw on my street clothes, and busted my way through a wave of sweaty half naked jerks.

Don't ask me why, but as I pulled my backpack over my shoulders and made my way across the quad to start on my trek home, I found myself looking for the blond dude. But he was nowhere to be seen.

A million things were going through my head on the three mile walk home.

Most of it was me just trying to shake the butterflies over the big upcoming game. And along the way, I forced myself to think of it as only a game - there would be a lot of them in the coming weeks, and the only reason this one was any different was that it was the first game of the season. But the butterflies hung in there, and they were basically kicking my ass.

The next day at school was brutal. And by lunch time I just needed to get away. I mean, I was a complete basket-case, and it didn't help that in second period little Miss Erica Johnson decided to exert her cheerleader charms on me. Why the fuck didn't she do that shit earlier in the year?

I'll tell you why, because she is a professional dick tease, and she preys on guys when they are at their weakest. She knew I was trying to get psyched up for the game, and she wanted to see if she could break me -- like she was a fucking female Rocky Balboa going after me in the 15th round. Well, my dick didn't respond, and I blew her off by ignoring the hell out of her.

Anyway, I ended up walking a half mile to the Dairy Queen for lunch, hoping the whole way there that I wouldn't see another person who wanted to cram down my throat how important a game this was for the school. It's all I'd heard all day. It's like people have no clue that you don't want to talk about a game on game day. What's up with that?

And no more than five minutes after I'd thought about wanting to be left alone, I saw the blond guy leaning up against the side wall of the restaurant. He had on the same looking loose cargo shorts as the day before, and had shed his shirt in defiance of the on campus dress code to which he would be returning. He was wearing a faded blue baseball cap, and a pair of old worn out looking hiking boots with no socks. He spotted me walking up the path.

"Hey." I said over to him, not understanding why I was even talking to him.

"Hey man... I see I'm not the only one who likes to escape that shit back there." He said motioning towards the direction of the school.

'Don't drop the freaking rosary Jack, just be cool.' I thought, as I walked up to him.

"The place can be ruthless." I said back.

He was sort of rocking back and forth with both hands in his pockets, pushing his cargos in and out as leverage as he'd elbow himself away from the wall, and then slowly let himself fall back against it again.

I stopped just short of him, and stood there like an idiot, trying to figure out why I hadn't blown passed him to get my highly anticipated lunch.

"So, you nervous?" He asked, fixing his green eyes on me with a sideways grin.

What he fuck kind of question was that? Did he mean was I nervous that I was jaw- dropped over another dude for the first time in my life? He looked too good to be a real person -- otherwise I'm sure I would have never noticed him in the first place. I mean, it almost scared me. Maybe I was just jealous, I convinced myself. I checked my self back into reality. The game... he must mean am I nervous about the game.

"Dude, it sucks. My stomach has been tied in knots for two fucking days straight." I said back.

"I come here sometimes before my big games. I like to watch the ducks over there in the pond, and I just let the sun do the rest." He said, continuing his bouncing motion on and off the wall as the sun beat down on him.

I felt my eyes fall down his tanned chest and stomach just as he was pushing the pockets of his cargos out. My eyes sunk into the abyss of the gap it created, and I nearly didn't recover. My heart went ballistic.

Jesus, what was I doing?

His eyes were on mine by the time I pulled them off of his body, and I felt massive quantities of blood rush to my face. I needed to get the hell out of there before I totally blew it. What the hell had just happened to me?

I wouldn't normally give a flying-fuck about what other guys look like.

"You should try it." He said, waiting for my reaction.

My reaction to his statement was all happening below my waistline. He was affecting me. ME! Shit, shit, shit.

"I don't know if a pond full of ducks is enough of a distraction for me. I need heroin or a beer or something for this." I said, trying to be funny.

"Well, if you are nervous, you sure don't show it on the field. You're awesome."

That comment was enough to make me feel that he hadn't busted me for gawking. So I chilled a little.

I held my hand out towards him.

"Name's Jack. Thanks for the compliment man." I said sincerely.

"I'm Carl, and it wasn't a compliment, it was the truth." He said back, shaking my hand.

"Hey man... cool to meet you Carl." I said, still feeling awkward.

Then it happened: The mere touch of his hand sent a jolt of lightning through me, and succeeded in putting the finishing touches on the hard on I was fighting. My heart was off into the stratosphere. This was way too weird.

He went right back to his rocking motion, and his hands went right back to the pockets after the handshake.

Howling demons from deep in my soul were now beginning to surface. I'm not exaggerating. And Satan himself made me peel off my shirt, and lean up next to him. Thank god for my baggy shorts.

His face flushed slightly, as his piercing eyes found themselves quickly scanning me, as I'd done to him a few minutes earlier. For him it seemed more of a guy thing - always check out the competition. He looked back up at me with a quick jerk of his head, sending his long sandy blond hair out of his eyes.

"Damn, maybe you should put it back on, I think my chances of scoring with a girl just went straight to hell." He said though a dimpled little half-grin. Yep, it was competition alright. But I didn't mind the compliment at all.

This is where most upper-class-men would have fired off some kind of cocky insulting response. You know, something to make me feel superior like the seniors are always doing to me. But I buckled.

"I think you have yourself covered with the girls." I said. And that was definitely no lie.

"Yeah? Hmmm. Well, you wanna trade me?" He asked.

Trade him what? Bodies?

And like the fool I am, I looked down at his body again and happened to catch the outward movement of his cargos. This time I saw more than darkness as my eyes got re- sucked into the gap between his flat stomach and the waistband. I actually saw his big- ass fat dick flopped off to one side. What the fuck? And he was looking off in the direction of the park, totally oblivious and uncaring. I was dying. Totally freaking. But I recovered, kind of.

"Ask me after the game. If I make a fool out of myself, I'll be in the market for a good disguise." I said back, without exactly complimenting him.

"Cool. That will save me all the workouts. We'd both win." He said, looking back at me and laughing at the absurdity of the idea.

What a strange person, I thought.

"So you planning on coming to the game tonight?" I asked, trying to snap out of it whatever was going on with me.

"I wanna try. My mom usually goes out on Fridays trying to find herself a man. So I get stuck watching my little sister. It pretty much kills my social life. Everyone else is out having a good time, and I'm stuck in a single-wide trailer watching TV with my baby sister."

"Damn, that sucks." I said back.

And again, he looked away, and out towards the pond.

I felt my eyes drop down his body for a third time, challenging every straight bone in my body. His growing cock had inched up further, and his large mushroom head was threatening to bust upwards over the waistband.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him look over at me, only this time I didn't take my eyes away. I just let him bust me as I let myself go into some kind of ridiculous trance.

"It was the compliment -- you know -- when you said I 'had the girls covered'. My dick does that when I get complimented." He said, seeing where my eyes had landed.

"I'll try and remember that." I managed.

"Sorry man, it's not you or anything. It's a personal problem it get from time to time." He said, as if that was enough to make everything good with it. He let out a lazy, uncaring yawn.

His stomach went concave as he sucked in air through his long sigh, and the head of his pulsating cock was now hanging on by a thread -- a fraction of an inch from jerking free from his waistband.

And in the very same instant I was about to look away, his massive cock broke itself free like fucking King Kong, and slapped up against his perfectly smooth stomach. I thought I'd lose it right then and there.

He looked down at himself, finally embarrassed, and unsuccessfully attempted to pull his shorts up over the thing. But as it was smacking two inches above his belly button, it wasn't working.

"Damn... Dude, you maybe better throw on your tee-shirt." I said, gulping in air.

"Good idea. Dang... good thing you are a dude." He said, turning a shade of pink.

I'm not sure if we were saved - or cursed just then - but a group of three freshman- looking dudes approached, and they were looking over in our direction. There was no time for putting on tee-shirts, as they were making their way towards us, and would be upon us in seconds.

"Oh SHIT... cover for me." Carl said, panicked, and with no chance in hell of stuffing his over-sized whopper back in his pants. I looked up at him, then back down to his fully exposed and vulnerable cock. I sucked in more air.

"Dude, you need to put on your game face... follow my lead." I said, snapping back to reality.

I moved quickly to the front of him, reached under his armpits, pulled him a good six inches off the ground, then slammed him as convincingly as possible against the wall.

"You better say you're FUCKING sorry punk, I should kick your ass right now!" I yelled, hoping the freshmen would think they were witnessing a fight in progress.

Carl's hands dropped to my flexing biceps, and our hard bodies smashed tightly, sandwiching his throbbing cock between us.

He looked down at me, desperately. His cock was pulsing out of control, mostly from the heart-pounding fear of being seen by the younger guys. His face was beet red.

"This is not a good plan, Jack." He said in trembling voice that only I could hear.

My heart launched itself deep in my throat at his words.

"Just trust me." I whispered. "Make them believe this and it will be cool.

"I'm dead-fucking-serious." He pleaded. "I cum at the fucking drop of a hat, trust me."

Cum? How could anyone cum at a time like this? It didn't make any sense.

"Dude, we are both dead if you... let that happen." I heard myself plead.

His heavy breathing told me that he wasn't listening.

"Carl, get a freaking grip. Go with me on this..." I said forcefully.

Sex had hunted us down like animals, and found us in the middle of downtown Goldrun in a situation taken right out of some horror flick. I could tell my the sounds he was making that he was fighting it.

"This is bad, Jack... I... can't... stop it." He panted.

His squirming hot body became like a rock against mine. And as his will power evaporated, a desperately frantic moan erupted deep within in his chest. And after a split second of dead silence, a blast of cum exploded between us. His legs flailed wildly above the ground as I held him high against the wall. We were both instantly covered in his steaming sperm as he violently -- helplessly - shook.

"Oh, fuck. Oh FUCK!" He screamed out loudly, uncaring of the younger guys that were watching.

My mind swam for a moment in his volcanic orgasm, as the musky scent of his cum sent my cock throbbing. I somehow managed to rip my mind back to reality.

"Say you're fucking SORRY, asshole." I yelled back, trying desperately to continue our deception to the on-lookers.

He was grunting and panting pretty hard. And I prayed.

I forced myself to look over at the gawking freshmen.

"Check it out," one of them said excitedly, "It's a fight!"

They were buying it! My heart was now racing. I had to go with my one opening.

"Get LOST NOW or you're NEXT." I shouted over my shoulder, and at the top of my lungs over at the three on-lookers.

They traded startled looks at one another, began to back off, then turned and started running off toward the park. But it was too late for Carl.

A second powerful shot fired from his massive cock just as I had released some of my body weight against him - and a long rope of his cum rocketed onto my chin and half way up my cheek. My heart surely must have stopped, as our bodies slipped together in his spent sperm.

He was erupting uncontrollably. And as I held him there, shielding him from public view, he bucked powerlessly against me. His battery of unrelenting blasts to my chest and stomach sent a river of sperm running down under my waistband, totally drenching my pounding cock. I was so close to shooting off myself, I had no choice but let him to the ground.

And as I did, his pulsing hard-on slid across my flexed stomach. He was panting and looking into my eyes, helpless to talk as he shot off strand after strand of his sophomore spunk. His green eyes had me by the throat.

I was so sucked into the vacuum of his massive climax that my head felt ready to explode - both heads.

"Oh, this is bad... what are you fucking doing to me?" I grunted into his ear once his feet touched the ground.

I freaked. And losing my own battle, I reached down and yanked my cum-soaked cock out into the open, and draped my exhausted arms over his shoulders. He did the same back to me, all while staring into my terrified eyes.

Our over-sized dicks clashed, skin to skin, and he looked down at my heaving body as our cocks slipped and slid in his smoldering cum. He pulled me in tight to steady me, as my body shook in convulsions. I bucked silently into him, feeling his pounding heart beating against mine. And, utterly unable to hold back any longer, a raging fountain sperm flew from my aching cock. Completely oblivious to any new eyes that might have been watching us, I pulled him even closer to me -- nearly craving his hot body. The personal horror of my own weakness was flooded in defeat with each seemingly endless jolt of cum I fired off. And as the most intense orgasm of my life shuttered through me in a colossal wave of sheer electricity, my God-given soul escaped from my body, and melted into his.

Heaven itself had paused... and waited for us.

We remained holding each other, as we frantically caught our breaths. And with our cum soaked bodies still smashed together, and our hearts still pounding, Carl was the first to come out of his daze.

He reached back, and got the tee shirt from his back pocket, and ran it up between us as I held myself up with his shoulders. And as we slowly recovered, we managed to shove our twitching cocks back in our cargos, and stood there panting as he soaked up as much of our mingled cum as his tee shirt would allow.

When we finally took a step back, we each looked down at each other, we found our cargo shorts were totally plastered in smoldering sperm. Our shirtless bodies were soaked as well. There was no way we could get that shit dried up before returning to school. We were totally fucked, with no where to go or hide. Discussing what we had just gone through was the last thing on my mind. Anyone that would walk by would instantly see, and probably even smell the sex radiating off our sweating bodies. The guilt was intense - I was some kind of freak to have let this happen -- and I fought hard to stay in control of myself.

"Dude, that was sick," He said looking around as he tried to figure out what to do with the soaked tee-shirt.

We were standing a good foot away from one another at that point, taking inventory of the huge mess we'd made. And our carefully trained straight minds slowly began to re- take the control over our bout with temporary insanity. Denial is an awesome thing.

"Please tell me none of that just happened," I panted, trying to show equal remorse, "That was totally disgusting."

I reached back to get my dry tee-shirt, and took over with the rather bad mop-up job he had started. And for the moment, our attempts at self-disgust had fought off our lingering after-glows.

"Jack, we are so fucking-incredibly-screwed if someone we know sees us like this. No way we can go back with our cargo shorts fucking starched to out skin like this."

"No doubt," I replied. "We need to think. We need to think fast." I replied.

It took all of my will to fight off the remaining, uncomfortable ecstasy I was feeling. I literally forced myself back into my straight-ass jock attitude. Carl seemed to be handling it far better, with a 'shit happens'

aloofness about him. He was more worried about being busted by someone than the crazy frenzy we'd gone through.

And just as we had expressed our greatest fears of being seen, a group of at least eight underclassmen were rounding the corner and walking in our direction. Our eyes locked in utter panic.

He looked quickly away from me, and I followed his eyes out to the park... and I saw the one glimmer of hope that he was gazing upon.

"Dude, the pond! We can jump in the pond," He said hurriedly.

And without even acknowledging his brilliant plan, I took off running as fast as my weak legs could carry me - with Carl right on my heels


B. Taylor

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