Beginnings, Part II

As prefaced in the first edition, this story recounts my youth and the beginnings of self-discovery. I have never told it and may never again, but like all great events of life, it must be told to someone.

Beginnings, Part II

Standing at the head of the classroom, I looked around in a daze and shifted nervously. All eyes stared back at me…yet surprisingly no one seemed bored. In fact, were I foolish enough to believe it, I’d think they were actually interested. Not possible, I reminded myself. Taking a deep breath, I read the last sentences I had written from the page in front of me.

“At the precipice of the cliff, staring up at the stars, they held each other’s hands. No words were spoken; words were not needed when all was understood between them. There was hope in the stars, hope that, like the endless land stretched before them, continued on farther than one could ever imagine. Despite all the struggles, and all the uncertainty, they knew that together, they had a chance.”

Having reached the end, I stopped reading and looked up again. The teacher, Mrs. Beal, nodded towards me. After a few seconds, the classroom erupted in applause. I rushed back to my desk, my head slightly ducked; I could feel my cheeks turning red and didn’t want anyone to see. I sat quickly… too quickly: my ass remained sore even two days after my session with Mark. For a second I began to relive the moment when he pulled his shirt off and revealed his lithe, muscular body--

“Class,” Mrs. Beal began, rising from her desk and walking towards the front of the classroom, “that is the making of a truly brilliant story. Excellent job, Mr. Mitchell.”

I smiled at her, sheepishly. My face grew even hotter. Most of the class slumped back in their seats visibly, returning to the state of boredom they steadfastly held through these kinds of classes.

Creative writing, an elective taught at my local high school, was considered a blow-off for most of the student body. For me, however, it represented a dream come true. I loved stories of passion, stories of overcoming obstacles, where two characters find happiness in the abysmal struggles of daily life. I loved stories about hope. Though I never understood the reasons then, looking back I now know that I only sought to escape the sadness I felt regarding my own life. I guess I hoped that telling these stories to myself over and over would someday make one true, and that I could find happiness too.

Mrs. Beal began to search the room for her next victim, subjected to the public humiliation of reading their creation aloud. At the same time, the boy in front of me turned around.

“Hey Jake, great story,” he said.

His name was Michael, and he was one of the popular kids. Tall, tan, with black hair and sharp green eyes, I was shocked he even knew my name. Michael, who could only be described as beautiful, sailed through high school with a flurry of girls following him around, a high gpa, and probably a hundred scholarships for ivy league colleges on their way. For almost a year he sat in front of me in this class, and for almost a year I secretly dreamt of him focusing those green eyes straight onto me and declaring his undying love—or at least asking if I wanted to come over to his house and have hot, hard sex. All this rushed through my mind before I realized I had forgotten to reply.

“Umm… Thanks….” The words came out nearly inarticulate.

“Listen, I’m not doing so hot in this class and you’ve got the highest grade of anyone. Do you think, I dunno, you could help me out? This next assignment, man, its tough to write about.”

“What,” I replied, “you want to copy one of my stories…?”

He paused for a second, then laughed quietly.

“No dude, no way! It’s not like that—I just want someone to read mine over and, you know, make suggestions and stuff.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I would have let him copy a paper without a second thought if he’d just keep looking at me, but spend time helping him create one? It was unthinkable. Awash with confusion, I couldn’t put together a decent sentence in reply. All I said was,

“Oh.”

There was a momentary pause while my mind tried to start running again. Michael stared at me with a confused look on his face. I felt my cheeks start to turn red again.

“I mean, uhh, sure you can. Uhh, do you want to meet in the library after school or at lunch or…?” I finally stuttered out.

“Yeah, if you want to, but I’ve got study hall after school all week. So I was thinking I could come to your house? You know, if its not too much trouble…”

“No! No, not at all!” I blurted out.

Shit, I thought, Don’t sound desperate, just be cool!

The trouble was, cool was not something I excelled at.

I paused for a second, then realized what I had just initiated. Quickly, I corrected myself.

“Actually, lets do it at yours. My, uhh, mom doesn’t like people around.”

“Great,” Michael said, giving me a big smile. I nearly melted in my seat. “I’ll call you after school to set it up!”

I smiled back nervously. Looking around, I saw another boy in my class, Ryan, looking at me with a slightly intrigued expression. He had been listening to Michael and my conversation.

Shortly after, the bell rang and I bolted for the door.

“Mr. Mitchell, wait one second!” Mrs. Beal called, just before I reached it. “Come here for one second.”

I walked back to her desk. “Yes ma’am?”

The rest of the class filtered out quickly, leaving us and a few stragglers behind.

“Your story today, Jake,” she began. She had never called me by my first name before. “Your story was excellent. Frankly, they all are. Have you ever considered being a writer?”

“Not really, Mrs. Beal.”

“Well, maybe you should.” She smiled at me. I smiled hesitantly and looked down. I noticed the grading sheet on her desk, and quickly zeroed in on one name: Michael Smith, my green-eyed beauty. The grade beside it, a 91. Confusion began to seep in.

“That’s all, Jake. Just something to think about.”

I thanked her and left the classroom.

---

Gym always followed Mrs. Beal’s class. Normally one of my favorite subjects, despite my ineptitude at most team sports, I spent the entire class in a daze. Michael Smith, the subject of my greatest affections, wanted me to come over to his. Thoughts filled my head as I walked to my locker, wearing nothing but a towel, to get my street clothes back on. I pictured Michael and I sitting beside each other, his manly scent clouding my brain, and him reaching over to show me a line he had written. His hand brushes against my leg and there is a spark, a certain something. We lock eyes, and he leans forward—

I suddenly realized my dick was at half mast and I wore nothing. I quickly checked if anyone noticed. Ryan, the boy from Mrs. Beal’s class, stared straight at me with that same intrigued expression. My face turned a violent red as I quickly threw my clothes on and dashed out of the locker room.

Just as I opened the doors to leave the school building, it hit me.

“Shit!” I exclaimed. In my rush to get out of the locker room, I had forgotten my notes for creative writing. I needed them to meet with Michael. Quickly I turned and trotted back to the guys’ locker room.
The room was deserted when I entered it, but I could hear the showers running. I didn’t register this oddity, but headed straight for my locker. I opened it, found my creative writing notes, and slammed the door shut. Turning to leave, I caught sight of the shower room. Mr. Jordan, the high school football coach, stood naked under the shower, his eyes closed, soap bubbles washing away from his strong hairy chest. His right hand held a bar of soap, and the fingers of his left were wrapped tightly in the dark brown hair of some boy, pushing the boy’s face up and down on his cock. I stood, transfixed. Suddenly, Mr. Jordan’s eyes opened and he looked straight at me. After a brief pause, the boy who was so attentive on his cock turned around too. I looked straight into the eyes of Ryan.

For a moment, no one moved. Then, Mr. Jordan smiled mischievously.

“Well boy, why you just standing there? Let’s take care of that tent in your pants.”

I noticed my dick stood at full erection. I didn’t know what to do. I could feel my face growing red again, my mind struggling between two different options: stay or leave. I stood there, staring at the two for I don’t know how long. Suddenly, Ryan’s face broke into a grin as he looked at me. With that, my hormones took over. I dropped my books on the bench, unbuttoned my pants and pulled off my t-shirt. I walked forward, straight into the steamy shower, got down on my knees, and began working Mr. Jordan’s nine inch cock. Mr. Jordan dropped the bar of soap he held in his hand.

Ryan watched me with that cocky grin, his trademark. He reached over and grabbed my dick, stroking it.

“Damn, Mitchell. Nice size!”

I tried to respond, but Mr. Jordan placed his hand around the back of my head and started really pushing his cock into my mouth. Ryan’s hands began to explore my body, first my dick, then up my chest, down my back, and finally his fingers brushed over my ass. I jerked instinctively and he laughed. Slowly, he pushed one finger into my ass. My body tensed up and I let out an involuntary moan. Ryan pushed the next one in.

“I think he likes that,” Mr. Jordan said, chuckling. I looked up. Water ran down his hairy, muscled body and splashed across my face. He stared at me, his face broken in two by a wide smile, his hand guiding my head up and down on his huge dick. I nearly gagged every time the monster hit the back of my throat, but I held it together.
Ryan stood up, wiped the water out of his face, and walked behind me. Ryan, the quarterback of our football team, was the same height as me but infinitely broader. His body moved with lithe, coordinated perfection. When he moved, you could see his strong thick muscles under his skin. It was fucking hot. He stood out of the direct spray, but water washed down his smooth chest, his washboard abs, and dripped to the floor.

Now standing behind me, he pulled me up by the waist, so my ass sat right at his dick and my mouth still worked Mr. Jordan’s cock. Ryan grabbed his dick, slapped my ass with it a few times, and in one fluid motion he pushed it inside of me.

Unlike Mark, Ryan didn’t go slowly, and my already-sore ass came alive with pain. But there was pleasure too—intense pleasure as Ryan’s dick shoved in and out of my ass. Water from Mr. Jordan’s body splashed across mine as I took a dick in each end.

Mr. Jordan moved his hand and I quickly pulled away from his cock to catch my breath. I stood up straight, my back running right up against Ryan’s muscular body. Ryan shoved his dick deep inside of me, and rubbed his hands across my chest, my abs, and then started to stroke my dick.

“Goddamn!” was all I could come up with to say.

Mr. Jordan moved forward, pressing himself against the front of me. Sandwiched between these two beautiful bodies, I nearly orgasmed right then.

Mr. Jordan ran his lips across my neck, then bit down lightly where my neck and shoulder meet. A shock of electricity ran through my body, pain and pleasure so perfectly mixed.

“My turn,” he said, looking at Ryan. Ryan nodded and pulled his dick out of me. Before I could move, Ryan and Mr. Jordan had traded places, with Mr. Jordan behind me and Ryan in front. Ryan looked at me with his beautiful eyes, gave me a cocky grin, grabbed my head and pulled it against his strong chest. I licked his smooth chest, traveled to his nipples, and circled them with my tongue. Then, I felt Mr. Jordan’s nine inch dick start to push into me. I closed my eyes, making sure to breathe heavily, as his monster slid deeper into my body. He pushed it all the way in, his balls lightly slapping mine, and began to slowly fuck me.

I started to move again, running my tongue back to the center of Ryan’s chest, down his abs, and onto his dick. I swallowed it in one gulp; Ryan convulsed as its head hit the back of my throat.

“Fuck you can suck a cock,” he shouted.

Determined to stay in control, I brushed his hand away as it tried to grab the back of my head and grabbed the base of his dick with mine. Immediately I began to slide up and down on his cock, moving my tongue rapidly underneath. Every few seconds, Ryan tensed up and moaned with pleasure.

Meanwhile, Mr. Jordan’s cock pounded into my ass feverishly. He placed his hands on my shoulders and really got down to fucking me.
“You’re so fucking tight, Mitchell!” he exclaimed.

I stopped working Ryan’s cock for a second, put both arms on the floor to brace myself, and began to move myself backwards and forwards on Mr. Jordan’s cock. He stopped thrusting into me as I gladly took his cock on my own, as hard as fast as my body would move.

“Jesus, I’m gonna cum, Mitchell. I’m gonna cum inside you.”
With that, Mr. Jordan grabbed my hips and began thrusting again. He reached around with one hand and jerked off my dick. Ryan grabbed his own cock and started jerking it off, right in front of my face. Mr. Jordan started first, shoving his dick into me in one swift motion I could feel his balls tighten and his body tense. He moaned loudly, unleashing waves of cum inside of me. At the same moment, Ryan put his cock to my lips. I opened slightly and he started to unload his cum into my mouth. It hit the back of my throat, then pumped into me in waves. He kept cumming, and as his dick came out of my mouth he shot the last of his load across my face. Mr. Jordan’s fist pumping on my dick increased in speed, and I felt my balls tighten up to my body and waves of pleasure spread across me as I erupted, sending cum flying across the shower floor.

Exhausted and satisfied, we all three held our positions. Slowly, very slowly, Mr. Jordan pulled his cock out of my ass. I stood up, and moved underneath the water with Ryan.

“Nice job, Mitchell.” Mr. Jordan encouraged. “You’re a fuckin pro!”

Ryan looked a little confused, like he just realized what had happened.

“I gotta go…” he stammered, and quickly dodged out of the shower. Mr. Jordan chuckled and joined me under the water. He grabbed the bar of soap from the floor and began to rub it across my body.

“Boy hasn’t accepted he likes the cock yet,” Mr. Jordan explained. “He won’t let me fuck him yet, but man he gives great head when I want him to. ”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded and stayed quiet. Mr. Jordan finished soaping my body and let me stand under the shower head to wash it all away.

“You know you don’t tell anyone about this, right?” he said to me, a slight threat lingering in the air.

“Yes, sir. I mean, I won’t tell.”

“Good.”

As I turned to leave the shower, Mr. Jordan slapped my ass playfully.

“Tight and hot. Just like I like ‘em.”

Still dripping wet, I quickly grabbed my clothes and rushed off towards the door, wiping myself with a towel as I went. Mr. Jordan stood under the shower, water gushing across his naked body, and just smiled.

---

As I climbed the stairs to the apartment I lived in, I recounted the events of the last hour. I was in shock. Ryan and Mr. Jordan? And now me too. What started as a little fling, a little tester with Mark, was spiraling outward quickly. Reaching the door of my apartment, I unlocked it and shoved it open. I was greeted by the stench of stale alcohol as I stumbled down the dark hallway towards my room. I stepped on something and heard the crack of broken glass.

“Shit!” I whispered.

Underneath my foot was an old bottle of vodka, half of it now crushed beneath my feet.

“Who’s there??” came a slurred voice from the room to my left.

“It’s just me, Mom.” I stuck my head in the door. My mom was sprawled across the couch, wearing a filthy robe. Shit, I thought, she hasn’t even bothered to get ready. Hell, actually, she’s probably been wearing that all week.

“What the..? Where were you?” She spat when she talked, and the way she spoke gave the sense of something congealed, old, and rotting. A half empty bottle of whiskey sat beside her makeshift bed.

“School, Mom. I was at school.”

“School? What day is it?” Confusion decorated her face.

“It’s Thursday,” I stated, simply.

“Oh.” She looked at me for a second as though I were lying, then grabbed her bottle of whiskey and took a big gulp. Placing it on the floor, she turned away from me and began to fall asleep again.

I continued down the hall and entered my room. I was greeted by four barren walls and a bed. Anything else I once had had long since been sold to help pay the rent. I collapsed on my bed, completely and utterly exhausted. I could still feel Mr. Jordan’s cock buried deep inside of me, still feel his body tense as he came. My cock hardened in an instant. I thought about how I had run my tongue across Ryan’s perfect chest, down his gorgeous abs. I reached down, unbuttoned my pants and began to stroke my dick. In my memory, Ryan’s eyes looked down at me as his cock slowly slid inside my mouth. I stroked myself harder as he smiled that cheeky grin—

My cellphone’s ring rudely interrupted my thoughts.

I reached over, checked the caller ID. It was a number I didn’t recognize. I flipped the phone open.

“Hello?”

“Hey Jake, Its Michael. Caught you at a bad time?”

I had totally forgotten about Michael with everything that had happened.

“No, uhh, no it’s fine. Whats up?”

“You still wanna get together and work on that paper?” Michael’s voice sounded almost…hopeful.

“Sure. You want me to come over now?”

“Whenever you’re ready. I’m on my way home now.”

“I’ll be right over.” I closed my cellphone quickly. I felt my heart begin to beat faster, my nerves kicking in to overdrive. It’ll be alright, I told myself, trying to be assuring. We’re just working on a paper, nothing more.

In my mind, I again saw Michael’s beautiful green eyes and his perfect white smile. For a second, I swear my heart stopped.
Jumping out of bed, I grabbed my books and headed out the door. I heard my mom shout at me, asking where I was going, but I was already two floors below, running.