Five Year Reunion

I almost had to laugh at the incongruity of it. Hardy had patiently waited for me to neatly fold my clothes and had even brushed the dust off a stack of mats in the exercise room behind the Porterville High School gym before he'd wrestled me to a mat and incapacitated me while he got his dick inside me. It was all so unnecessary, him having me belly over a medicine ball with his body covering mine from behind and above while his beefy arms trapped my arms in a full Nelson hold. I didn't fight him. I wanted him to power fuck me. I didn't intend to lower the boom on him until after he'd done so. When he wasn't expecting it and when he was forced to realize there was no way out for him.

It had been the same five years earlier, on graduation night, when Coach Hardy—my track and tennis coach, but also the wrestling and assistant football coach in this rural county high school—had taken my virginity. Making doubly sure I was of age—demanding to see my driver's license and all—he'd gotten me drunk (or so he thought) then and bound me and fucked me in the bed of his pickup truck down by Bass Lake. But I wasn't that drunk. I had anticipated, wanted, and prepared for what he did. All he would have had to do was ask me if I wanted him to fuck me—to initiate me in what a man, twice my age and with the body of a god, could do to a younger, naïve, but willing, young man.

But if he wanted it this way, incapacitating my body, covering me from above, and pistoning my ass with his thick cock, I'd let him have it. I wanted it this way from him. It wouldn't happen again.

It was part of the reason I'd come to my Porterville High School five-year reunion. A more acknowledged reason was the publicity angle, pushed by my talent agent, Scott, who was sitting at a table in the school cafeteria while Coach Hardy fucked me in a tiled weight-lifting room dimly lit from parking lot lighting coming in through high clerestory windows and that smelled like old gym socks—with Scott fully knowing where I was and what I was doing.

I was one of those phenomena frequently happening in high school—the guy few in his class could remember who had become a celebrity within five years of leaving school. In my case, it had been going to New York rather than college and falling into juicy stage—and more recently movie—parts that made everyone in my high school class dig into their memories to convince themselves and others that they'd been my best friend in school. Scott's idea had been for a movie magazine to do a "returning to his roots" spread on me. The coverage on that had been collected this afternoon. and the magazine people were gone, leaving Scott and me to pay our dues for the high school's cooperation by attending the alumni dinner.

It had all been touch-and-go on getting this set up with the high school because I had recently come out as gay. The intersection of my having an agent and juicy stage and movie roles was just what I was doing now—being fucked by someone who wanted me and who could do something for me.

In Hardy's case, it had been about special attention and favorable placement on teams that led to trophies. In Scott's and various producer's and director's cases it was access in exchange for favoritism. Most of my roles had me type cast as a vulnerable young man taken advantage of by an older man. The major movie I starred in and that had just come out was linked with my coming out in public. The older leading actor in the movie hadn't been exactly pleased by that—movie goers were suddenly looking at the film as a glimpse of reality rather than acting, which pulled the older actor into an uncomfortable position, even though he was a randy old homo himself. He'd never come out publicly, however, although I'd let him fuck me off the set to be happy with me being cast in the part. Scott had said coming out would boost my box office standing and visibility, and it sure as hell did.

Coming out gay also smoothed the extra reasons I had for coming back to this five-year reunion.

Hardy fucked me hard and deep just as he had done on graduation night in the bed of his truck under the stars. And this time I fully participated in the ride to the extent that he let me. I had been fucked a lot and learned a lot from some very important and expert men since that first coupling with the coach. I moved my pelvis with him, I pulled him inside me, and I set my muscles working on his cock, milking him dry so that his moans and groans overrode mine.

And then, as I was dressing and he was looking at me in a whole new way, I lowered the boom on him and returned to the cafeteria, the two of us taking separate routes, and slipped into my seat next to Scott. The lights were out in the audience and I hadn't seemed to have been missed. Speeches and entertainment still were spotlighted on the raised platform at one end of the cafeteria.

Scott nodded to me as I returned to my seat, a quizzical look on his face. I nodded back and then I caught the eye of my high school drama coach, Evan Norton, across the table and gave him a smile, which he returned.

You're next, ran through my mind.

* * * *

"Everything OK?" Scott asked sotto voce out of the side of his mouth while doing his best to pretend he was listening to the vice principal introducing a girls' singing quartet on the platform.

"Everything's great," I answered. I smiled at my former drama coach, Norton, again. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but the music began, slightly off key, and he settled back into his chair and turned his gaze to the platform.

One of the waiters for the evening, a member of the high school football team, and a particularly hunky one, came by the table and I made him lean in real close to me to ask him for another cup of punch. I prolonged our exchange, which the football player didn't seem to mind a bit, and made sure that Hardy, uncomfortably seated across the hall with his wife and at the coaches' table, saw me talking to Ron, the football player.

I almost regretted that I wasn't going to be spending more time here. Ron must have known what I liked—I'd just very publicly come out. It was almost like he was coming on to me—like maybe what he liked yin and yanged with what I liked. He was quite a hunk. I gave a sigh when I'd let him go.

Earlier in the evening—before Hardy had gotten me alone—I'd seen the coach's eyes follow this particular player around the room. If he wasn't playing Ron now, I knew that he intended to do so soon. So this made me wonder again—was Ron a top, and thus of possible interest to me, or a bottom, of little use to me? I wanted Hardy to see that I spoke to the young man, though. I wanted him to think I gave the football player a warning and possibly someone to call if he wanted to.

What I'd told Hardy after he fucked me was that his days of taking privileges with student athletes were numbered—that if I heard even so much as a hint that he was fucking other students, like he'd fucked me, I'd manage to give a national interview of how and where I'd lost my virginity to a man and enough of an ID on who did it that everyone in this county would know it was Hardy. I didn't care if he was careful to ensure the guy was of age. I could muster enough of a national audience to nail his ass to the wall. I'd also been asked about my first time. It would be easy to answer that in a national tabloid.

He hadn't taken my lowering the boom on him all that well. He'd bluffed until he realized I could easily have a platform to talk about it and then he'd shown me how much he thought of himself.

"Hey, if it's more of me you want, just come back and I'll take care of you anytime you want."

"No, it's not more of you I want, Coach Hardy. I can get better than you right there in Hollywood."

After he'd gotten over that rejection, he offered me money to keep quiet. I laughed at that, of course, being able to say that I made more money in ten minutes in front of a camera than he made in a month.

I left him with the impression that I'd do it—that I already had written out a mock interview and my agent had it. He just didn't know when I'd do it. Maybe not for a very, very long time if I didn't hear of any other students being manhandled by him.

"Is it time that we can start a merciful retreat then?" Scott asked, leaning in to me and putting his hand on my thigh and squeezing.

"We're in a high school cafeteria, Scott," I whispered.

"Oh, fine, then," he responded with some exasperation. "Can we start our escape?"

"No, not yet," I said. "I'm not finished here."

I half rose from my seat and moved around the table to where I was sitting next to Evan Norton. Most of the eyes in the room followed me. They had been watching me since I'd returned from my tryst with Hardy. It didn't really matter what was going on on stage. I was the visiting celebrity who, just five years ago, was one of them—and, they'd already determined, not exactly someone who stood out in my yearbook or who was predicted to take the world by storm. I was visible proof that there was hope for each of them. If almost nobody Randy Worth could turn into movie star Tyler Hill in five short years, so could they. And they all were watching me as if the secret to how I did it could be read on my shirt sleeve and could be replicated by them.

Little did they know that it had more to do with taking my shirt off—and my pants and briefs as well.

Evan Norton began to tremble with pleasure and anticipation as I rounded the table to the seat next to him and leaned in to talk to him. All the school was now watching him as well.

I'd forgotten how good looking he was and how elegantly he dressed. I could remember the fluid, dancing movement when he walked and the precise way he had of talking, making full use of his rich, baritone voice. I'd forgotten how I'd mimicked him and later received favorable comments on how I carried myself.

He'd been on the stage himself, of course, before giving it up because the parts didn't meet his expectations and turning to teach drama to high school students. I'd been his "find." He'd given up New York quickly, and thus wasn't much more than six years my senior when I took drama from him. All of the girls had swooned over him. No doubt they still did.

I didn't realize until after Hardy had taken me for the first time on graduation night that I too had swooned over Norton too. I just hadn't known why. I knew why the evening Hardy fucked me. Earlier I saw the drama coach in the shadows backstage at graduation, kissing a young man, a guy who had graduated from the school a couple of years earlier, who Norton had brought in as a stagehand for the graduation ceremony in the school auditorium. I suddenly realized why Norton had been so magnetic. I also did some review of the previous year and I realized why he had spent so much time and effort on me. He was interested in me too.

There just was nothing that had been consummated. He left on vacation as soon as graduation was over—probably with the young man he'd brought in as a stage hand—and I'd escaped town as soon afterward as I could as well, ashamed that I had given it away to Coach Hardy and that I had enjoyed doing it.

But I realized that it had all started with him—not with Hardy, really.

"Mr. Norton—Ed," I whispered to him. "Earlier in the evening you were telling me that the backstage had been upgraded considerably since I was here. You, know, I'd like to see that."

"You would?" he asked, both surprised and pleased. "When would you—?"

"Right now, if that would be OK with you. My agent says we'll have to be leaving soon. I'd hate to go without seeing that—and spending a little more time with you."

* * * *

Trembling with pleasure and excitement and maybe with something a bit more, Norton showed me around the backstage area of the school's auditorium. I showed interest—I indeed found that I was interested and was surfacing the pleasures of the stage productions I'd been in here and Norton's enthusiasm for them—and his hard work at instilling the basics of an actor's skills in me. On this end—the professional success end—of the art, I could fully appreciate the fundamentals I had been given and how, through Norton, we had used limited resources, now augmented, not the least because of the fame I'd brought to the school's drama program, to weave magic. I lodged in my brain the intent to write a check for the school's drama department as soon as I got back to California.

He had instilled much more of both affection and interest in me than just for stage work, I now realized. And, unlike Hardy, he had held off, kept himself in check.

We had moved to the back, dimly lit corner of the area, where folded scrims—painted curtains—for some completed production or other were folded and stacked.

"And over here is—"

Drawing close to him, I cupped the back of his neck with a hand and brought his face into mine for a kiss. His eyes went large in surprise and panic, but I didn't release him. My other hand went to his crotch, hunting for and finding his cock through the material of his trousers. He was hard—hard for me. I knew he would be. He slowly melted to my kiss and his hands went to my waist.

"Randy," he said, elongating the word and drawing it out into a hiss of escaped tension when our lips parted.

"Yes, right, Randy," I whispered. "I'm Randy. I'm randy for you. I want you to fuck me. You've heard that I've come out, haven't you—that is OK—that you wouldn't be taking any anything from me?"

"I didn't . . . I didn't know," he responded. "Well, I didn't know then, not for sure. But, yes, I've read about you. And, yes, I knew you inclinations back in high school. I just never expected . . . well, you know."

With him still holding me to him with his hands on my waist, I unbuttoned his shirt and then mine, flaring the sides open, and rubbing my smooth chest against his well-muscled, slightly hirsute one. He didn't object, nor did he object when I took his mouth again with mine, opening my lips to his tongue, encouraging him to lead. I unzipped him and then me, and held our cocks together, slowly frotting them. He was as long and thick as I had always imagined him to be.

"Randy. Randy. I don't know what to say," he murmured. His fingers were playing with one of my nipples—maybe inadvertently, but maybe because he sensed I'd find that highly arousing, which I did.

"You don't have to say anything. I know you wanted me five years ago when I was your student. I wanted you too. I came—to this reunion—mostly for you. You were the good part of coming back. Not just because you held off, waited. But mostly because you helped me understand what it is that I wanted, what direction I wanted to go in."

He gave a low moan as we both heard his trousers rustle to the rough wooden planks of the flooring, the belt buckle making a metallic sound as it hit. Then the sound of the falling of my trousers as well.

"I don't know," he whispered. "I don't know if I can . . . with you. You are a movie star now."

"Thanks largely to you," I murmured. "You don't have to do anything if you don't want to. Just lie back on this pile of material here. I'll do it all."

Saddled on his pelvis, hovering over him and looking down into his eyes to take in the pleasure he was experiencing, I held his upward bent arms to the material with my hands on his upper arms above his elbow and rode his cock languidly. When he no longer could hold himself in check, he rolled me over to the side, putting my arms in the same position, slid his knees under my buttocks to raise them to his thrust, which I met with a hissed "Yes" and an upward thrust of my own, and pumped me increasingly hard and deep to a mutual ejaculation.

All the time his eyes were looking down into mine as I had done with him, and I did nothing to mask the pleasure he was giving me—the pleasure we were sharing.

He was reaching down into the core of me, and both of us could feel me totally surrendering to him, my shimmering walls giving way, the muscles of the channel undulating over his plunging shaft. I let all of the tension drain out of my body and lay there completely open to him, my head turning to the side, my tongue hanging out, groaning deeply, with full satisfaction, as he fucked on.

* * * *

"You were gone a long time. I don't think this reunion crap will never end. You got what you wanted, I see." Scott's expression was one triangulated on boredom, amusement, and slight panic at being trapped in a middle America scene.

I had let Norton return to his chair before I came into the room. I figured it would go unnoticed that we were gone together then. As I thought, there was a murmur across the cafeteria and all eyes flashed to me as I moved to my seat. I took only a glance at Evan Norton to ensure that he was OK, and I could see that he was more than OK. I made a vow to visit this town more often, if only to drop in on him—he had proven to be a master cocksman—and not the high school. Maybe I'd bring him out to Hollywood and help him with networking there.

"Yes, everything is great," I said back to Scott, forcing my eyes and smile to scan the room instead in greeting to all those who were watching me. Thankfully, the principal was on the platform giving what sounded like—and I'm sure everyone in the room hoped—were the final remarks of the evening.

"Exchanged briefs too?" He asked. I turned and looked at Scott, who had a sardonic expression on his face.

"Excuse me?" I said, in surprise.

"You two came back wearing each other's ties," he said. "Are you wearing each other's briefs too?"

"Could be," I said, with a sloppy grin. "I guess we should stay well away from each other as we leave," I added, "so no one else notices."

"Do you want to go home with him?" Scott asked.

I looked hard at him. The remark had been delivered lightly, but somehow I didn't think it was given lightly.

"Yes and No, Scott." I answered. "If you weren't here, I'd be happy to go home with him. But you are here. I want to go back to your hotel room and have you fuck the stuffing out of me."

Putting Hardy in his place and at last getting it on with Evan Norton had been very satisfying. But that was my past. Scott was my future in a cutthroat business. A five-year high school reunion didn't even register on a priority scale with the future of my career.

We left the cafeteria together, but as we got out to the parking lot, our attention was arrested by lights pointed at us and flashing from an old jalopy of a convertible in the lot. The lights went off and, in the light from the lot poles overhead, I could see that the football team hunk, Ron, was sitting in the driver's seat, his eyes honed on me, a questioning expression on his face.

"I think that guy wants to get your attention," Scott said. The car lights flashed again.

"Yeah, maybe," I answered.

"I think he wants you. Do you want him too?"

"Yeah, I guess so." I was in the mood for someone young and virile.

"Go ahead. Relive your high school days for a few more hours. Find the bank of a lake and let him screw you silly. You'll enjoy yourself and he'll have something to remember forever, even if there aren't many he can tell about it. There's always time for us. I'll be back at the hotel when you're finished."

"Thanks, Scott. Thanks for understanding." As I walked toward Ron's car, my mind was trying to remember the directions to Bass Lake.