Samuel

We introduced ourselves on the first day of our high school careers. Both of us, freshmen from different middle schools, walked into one of the largest high schools in the state.

Knowing what I know about him now, he was probably meandering through with his click of admirers, making his way to the large double-door front entrance of McKinley High School. Meanwhile, my mother had just dropped me off, and I was dipping and dodging everyone to get to my class before the late bell.

Just as I was about to reach for the door, I was slammed into by this giant person, causing my backpack to hit the ground and almost spilling all its contents all over the place. I stood there in awe and could have sworn I heard the big guy say, bitch.

Something came over me, and he was on one knee, so I punched him hard. The slap sound it made brought everything to a standstill for a brief second. When he stood up, I thought I was dead.

This guy looks me over and laughs. He laughed at me! But wait, there’s more.

He grabs my backpack in one hand and scoops me up with his other. Throwing me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes walks me inside, and then puts me down. Slaps my ass and hands me my backpack wipes the blood from his mouth, then walks away.

But not before winking at me.

I stood there with my ass still stinging from what had to have been the imprint of his hand on my ass and the most awkward, what the fuck look on my face.

That was my introduction to Timothy Bradshaw.

We would spend the next four years watching each other go through our separate worlds. And as luck would have it, sharing at least one class during those years. It took two years before we even acknowledged each other.

Timmy and I were from two different planets. He was outgoing, an extrovert, and never chased a girl. Not because he didn’t like girls but because they all came to him. He’s tall, muscular, handsome, and an athlete. He accepted a scholarship to play football at the state’s flagship university during his junior year.

As for me, I was quiet, unassuming, and introverted; I also never chased girls but for different reasons. I was also an athlete and earned a scholarship to a rival school from where Tim would be attending. My scholarship was also in football. The original football or, as we know it, soccer.

My physique turned out much different than most boys growing up during those formative years. I topped out at five-six with the body of a runner. My lower torso is longer than my upper torso. But underdeveloped in the manhood department.

My upper body developed more like a teen girl than a teen boy. My neckline, shoulders, chest, arms, hands, and feet are more elegant and graceful. I didn’t develop with the brutish figure that all the other boys that grew up with me during that time.

I spent those years mostly confused, not understanding what was going on with my body. But I wouldn’t let it affect me. I balled out on the pitch and was the leading scorer on my team the first season. This year, my senior year, I became the leading scorer in school history and was on the verge of breaking state-wide scoring records.

For all of my accolades, Timothy was equal to the task in his type of football game. Led the school to back-to-back state championships and had the world on a string. He wanted or needed for nothing.

That’s who we were, how we met, and how it started.

Now, here we are, having just returned from Christmas break. Both of us are eighteen now with our world in front of us. Kings of our court, and we were stuck in a study class together because there was no need to take an actual class that period. In five months, we would graduate and enjoy our last summer before having to report to our university teams in the fall.

*~~*

“Everyone is right,” Timothy was about to start in on me. “I don’t know why I never saw it until now.”

“Don’t start,” This would be a first for him because he’d never touched the subject, but I knew what he was about to say.

“You do have a girl’s body.”

“Seriously, just stop.”

“I mean, look at you; the only thing your missing is tits.”

“Go fuck yourself, Timothy Bradshaw,” I replied in a whispered huff before turning around and facing away from him.

“See! That’s what I’m talking about. You sound like my mother with the Timothy Bradshaw!”

We’d only started talking to one another our junior year. At first, they were just everyday pleasantries. Then we went down memory lane, replaying our first encounter freshman year. Then we just developed the oddest friendship in school.

I slightly turned my head back to him so he could hear me say in a low voice, “Fuck off.”

“Don’t be like that; I didn’t mean it in a bad way, Sam.”

By the change in the tone of his voice, I could tell that he was sincere or about to play his crudest, *gotcha* stunt that he’d ever played on me.

“I just think…, I mean, you’re pretty. That’s all I’m trying to say. I’m trying to pay you a compliment. Ass!”

He sounded sincere and also a bit agitated. I smiled.

The bell rang, and I already had my things in hand, which made it easier to get up without giving him the chance to come around to me and say anything more. I made my way out of class and headed off to the parking lot.

*~~*

That night, I lay in bed and started reminding myself that I’d tried dating girls and couldn’t follow through. I did the kissing and heavy petting and just couldn’t advance to the next stage. The few girls that did reach between my legs were always disappointed.

Some even had questions, do you have a penis? That was the number one question. There are many areas of my body I view as defects. Technically, they aren’t, but technically, they are.

I know that can be confusing, but it is what it is.

When describing my body, one does not think of using words like rugged, manly, broad-shouldered, guns, or Popeye forearms. Instead, the words delicate and elegant seem to apply when describing my neck, shoulders, arms, hands, and feet.

My Adam’s apple is almost nonexistent; it’s there, but good luck finding it. Then there’s my penis and testicles. Add the word micro to the description, but you might still be exaggerating. Even my masturbation and orgasms aren’t what I’d consider manly.

When I rub one out, I rub one out. There is no jerking, stroking, or choking anything. I rub my penis underside by penning it against my body; then I use my thumb. As if I was a woman playing with her clit.

It gets semi-hard at best, and when I cum it drools out of me in a long steady flow. All the while that’s happening, I’m in spasm mode, and depending on the intensity, it can be full body spasm and quivering mode. I can’t complain about my orgasms.

I watched all the free porn available to me, and recently, I’ve been watching a lot of gay porn. If I’d just shown a slight interest in girls, I wouldn’t have any doubts about my sexuality, but I dated girls more for my mother and appearance's sake.

She’s always talking about finding the right one, and the talk of me looking like a girl has followed me all four years of high school, and now that I’m finally months away from graduating, it’s starting to piss me off.

It doesn’t help that the girls who managed to grab onto my anaconda would go on to spread the word about it. I couldn’t get a date with a girl from my school if my life depended on it. But I’m eighteen now and have more money than I could ever dream of, so anything is possible.

Right?

Then tell me, why can’t I get Timothy off my mind? I can’t even decide what to call him. Timothy, Tim, Timmy, dickhead? Yeah, dickhead. Sounds about right.

*~~*

I pulled up to my usual parking spot near the field house. I had a full workout that I did every morning. A workout sent to me by my future coaches at university. Usually, it would only be me and the team trainer at this time of the morning. You can imagine my surprise when I saw my secret best friend, Tim, sitting in his brand-new Cobra Mustang next to my spot.

Living in Texas means that summer/fall and winter/spring come in week-to-week moments. This week allowed me to break out my bike for a while. A Harley-Davidson red 2024 Sportster S, but after this morning’s drive, I figured it was time to put it back in the garage for a few more weeks.

“Are you insane? It's freezing balls out here?”

Ah, Timmy, eloquent as ever in his descriptive choice of words.

“Why are you here?” I bluntly asked.

“Bored, I guess; why? You still butt hurt?”

He wasn’t making it easier for me. It was bad enough that I was already masturbating to gay porn because of him, and now I had to deal with him showing up early for my workout. He rolled his window back up and got out of his car in his workout clothes.

“I figured I’d run with you this morning unless you’d rather run alone.”

I took off my helmet and gave him the once-over. I think that’s when I gave up. If he was here, he must be interested as well. I had no clue where this would end up, but what’s a little running with a friend going to hurt?

Little did I know that this would become one of the most complicated times in my life. A time that, to this day, I have no clue how I survived, yet here I am telling you how it all happened.

*~~*

January came and went with our little morning workout ritual. A ritual that had begun drawing attention. We drew a crowd when the athletic department started hearing about what we were doing. We were working out together and finishing it by running wind sprints; people started showing up in those early morning hours.

We didn’t pay much attention to it at first, but by mid-March, everyone really seemed interested in who would win the last sprint.

The first part of our workout just consisted of stretching, and then we’d split it into our workout for our particular sport. I’m a striker or attacking midfielder, and my game is predicated on speed and my ability to come to an immediate stop from a full sprint.

Plus, my workout was more footwork-centric. Dribbling exercises, stopping and starting, and then practicing taking shots. His position was more power- and speed-centric because he was running back. I don't need to go into deeper detail; I'm sure you understand.

We’d end the morning workout running forty-yard dashes against each other. That’s what made everyone start looking. People were betting on who would win. We played along with it and made some money using others to place bets for us. It was fun while it lasted, but once our universities caught wind of what we were doing, they told us to either find a place with no public access to work out or stop working out together.

During that short period, we started bonding, and both of us gained mutual respect for each other. Realizing the hard work that we both put into our game. The sacrifice to push ourselves to be more than anyone ever thought we could be. We were competitors, and we respected each other for that.

Game. Recognizes game…or something like that.

It was after one of those workouts that something else happened.

“How come you never go and shower before going to class?”

We sat against the field house wall just outside the door, cooling off. It was dead of winter, but again, this is Texas. If it were a bitter morning, we’d be inside. Tim’s question wasn’t unexpected, and I wondered if he’d ever asked.

“I go home and take a quick shower, and that’s why I stop the workout regardless of whether or not you’re ready to finish. I only live a couple of blocks away.”

“What? Are you afraid of me?”

I looked at him, looking into his eyes. I’d never thought I would act on my deeply hidden feelings, but that morning, I just spoke my truth, knowing it could blow up in my face.

“I’m not scared of you. I’m scared of myself.”

The instant change in his facial expression stunned me. His big smile disappeared, and he sat there with a stone-cold look. It was as if he was looking through me. I don’t know what came over me, but as we sat there looking into each other's eyes, I slowly slid my hand to his until my pinky touched his.

We both had an expression on our faces that begged the question. Now what? The moment seemed to last forever instead of the brief seconds that it did. We were both terrified because we didn’t understand how we got to this point, but there was no denying we were here.

“Who’s at your house, the one that’s a couple of blocks away?”

“Nobody,” I replied with a shy smile.

Tim jumped to his feet and told me to wait by his car. I smiled, jumped to my feet, and slowly walked to his car. My heart began to race; this was happening, and I could feel my heart trying to come out of my throat.

I got there and sat back against the front fender. Tim didn’t take long to come out running from the field house with his school clothes under his arm. I made my way to the passenger's side and opened the door when I heard the electronic click unlocking it.

I was already inside with my door closed when he got into the driver's seat. As we pulled out into the street, I looked down and saw his hand holding on to the stick shift. I moved my hand, placing it over his; neither said a word, and he made no effort to remove my hand.

I relaxed and sank into my seat, and he allowed me to rub the top of his hand with my thumb. I gave him directions in ample time, and we pulled into my driveway without a problem.

When he parked the car, he turned and told me not to move. I’ll admit this got my curiosity going, and I didn’t take my eyes off him as he jumped out and came around to my door. That’s when I realized he wanted to open the door for me.

“Are you ok,” I asked, hoping my blushing wasn't noticeable.

“I am,” he answered with that smile I loved so much.

He took my hand to help me out of his car, not that I needed him to. Then he held it as he maneuvered me around the door so he could close it. He held it as we made our way to the back entrance.

Pulling my hand out of his, I retrieved my house key, and not only was I blushing, but my little buddy was dribbling precum uncontrollably.

Once inside, I turned and pressed my body against his, both of my hands against his chest, my face just above them also against his chest. He laid his face against the top of my head and wrapped his arms around me as if we were dancing to some slow song in the background.

The kitchen was eerily silent.

Not even the noise from the refrigerator humming could be heard. From the outside, the muffled noise of a car driving past the house or a dog barking in the distance. It wasn’t long before I could hear his breathing. I may have even felt his heart beating, or maybe it was mine.

“What’s wrong,” he asked in a soft tone.

“I’m scared,” I replied.

“Me too,” he quickly shot back.

“Bullshit, you’re Timothy Bradshaw; nothing scares you.”

He leaned his shoulders back, causing my head to separate from his chest, and I looked up. He stared into my eyes, and I knew I was in trouble. His blue eyes cut right through me.

“The day I met you was the first day I’ve ever felt scared,” he said. “You were so cute standing there with your fist all balled up.”

I couldn’t hear another word and buried my face into his chest again.

“Hey, hey. Look at me; don’t be scared,” he coaxed me to look up, and I reluctantly did.

“I’ve waited for this moment for the past four years, and I’ve been terrified ever since. I get mad sometimes because I don’t understand,” his voice was becoming agitated, and his breathing began to change.

I looked up at him, stood on my tiptoes, and kissed him under his chin. My kiss broke his speaking rhythm, and he looked down at me.

I slipped my hands under his hoodie jacket, under his t-shirt, and slid my hands around his back. I could feel his warm skin and his muscle mass, and I held on tight.

“Hey,” he whispered.

I looked up, and he lowered his face to mine and kissed me. I not only accepted his kiss, I kissed him back. His mouth tasted like he’d just eaten a handful of mints. I would have been horrified to wonder what mine tasted like early in the morning, but the thought didn’t linger very long in my mind.

His last words began to echo in my mind because he was right. I, too, was scared and wondering why I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Unlike him, I had already started accepting that gay or not, I wanted to be with him.

We stood in that kitchen and kissed like we never wanted it to end. But it did, so I pulled back at the very least so we could catch our breath. I took his hand and led him down the hallway to my room. When we entered, I could hear a giggle escape him.

I spun him around and gave him a playful push, which he exaggerated as he fell back into the middle of my bed with me almost on top of him at his side.

“I know what you’re thinking, and unless you want this to stop, you better not,” I was smiling at him just inches from his face. I could see a complete change in his facial expression.

Just moments before, when he was talking, he looked confused, almost angry. Now, lying there with me next to him, he seemed at ease, happy, comfortable.

“I promise that I won’t say that only a *girl* keeps her room looking immaculate with everything in its place,” he said with a mischievous smile.

I made a sudden lunge at him, and again, we were kissing. It felt so natural I didn’t want it to stop, and apparently, neither did Tim. He sat up enough to allow me to pull his hoodie and t-shirt over his head and toss it on the floor.

Then he laid back on the bed and allowed me to explore his body. I couldn’t get enough of it. If I wasn’t running my tiny hands over his body, I was devouring it with kisses and then suckling his neck, pecs, and nipples and started following the trail of tummy hair leading down to the waistband of his sweats.

I was facing towards his feet at that point, but his feet didn’t catch my attention. It was the outline of a very aroused cock under his grey sweatpants. Timothy Bradshaw was hung, and now I didn’t know what to do.

Timothy knew what to do, and a part of me wanted to be disgusted that there had been many girls here before me, and I’m sure they knew exactly what to do. Whores. But when I saw him flick his shoes off with his feet and then raise his hips and slide his sweats, shorts, and jockstrap off, other things came to mind.

When he settled back in front of me, I was genuinely miffed. Did he think I was like his little groupies and I was just going to start sucking his cock? Fuck that. Instead, I slid up next to him and made a spot under his arm with my back to his side.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, slightly confused. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

What should I say? I was confused and didn’t know what he expected. I knew what he expected, and that’s what I wanted to do, but I wasn’t going to be like the others. Fuck what do I do? I kept thinking to myself.

“Babe, talk to me,” he whispered in my ear. “I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

I turned and kissed him again; I was making myself crazy, and I needed to stop being stupid. I kissed him like I was begging for forgiveness. If he only knew the drama that was playing out inside my mind!

I released the kiss and slid back down until I was positioned between his legs, my arms over his upper thighs. I grabbed his cock and was instantly amazed at how it felt.

It was so smooth, like silk, and its weight was heavy. I have small hands, still the girth of the shaft. I opened my eyes wide. From the moment my hand touched his cock, Tim laid his head back down on the mattress.

I moved myself further up until my face was hovering over his crotch. The scent was intoxicating. A mixture of sweat, musk, and whatever he showers with every morning. The scent had all of my senses at full alert.

Before I could conjure up any more excuses, I lowered my mouth and took the head of his cock. It felt so good in my mouth, with my tongue instinctively slathering the underside with my saliva, and there was a lot of that. My mouth must have been watering from the time I’d accepted the fact that I was sucking cock this morning.