Secrets of a High School Joc

Trent Baker made sure no one was watching before he stepped out of the sunny fall afternoon and into the public restroom in the corner of Shady Grove Park. The cement structure, situated behind a concealing copse of elm trees out of the way of the more heavily trafficked areas of the park, was dimly lit compared to the perfect outside weather. It smelled faintly unpleasant, owing to the fact that the facility wasn't cleaned, or looked after, very frequently or carefully.

Trent, who had on a Rabid Wolverine hoodie despite the pleasant weather, pulled the hood back off his head and unzipped it to reveal a matching practice jersey underneath. The Rabid Wolverines were Meadville High's football team, and Trent Baker was the star wide-receiver that had been instrumental in taking the team to the state championship for the past two years. The 18-year-old senior was on his way to taking the team to a third.

Trent bent over and eyed under the row of toilet stalls to discover that they were all empty. He was alone. He straightened back up, catching a glimpse of his handsome, square jawed and masculine features in the grimy mirror above the row of sinks. He wiped a few beads of sweat off the brow of his shortly cropped blond-haired head and moved to the very last stall in the restroom.

He swung open the door with a loud creak, stepped inside and slammed it behind him, engaging the lock. Slinging his gym bag off his shoulder and depositing it in the far corner of the stall, up against the cement wall, Trent eyed the unwashed toilet seat. Grabbing a wad of toilet paper, he gave the seat a wipe before sitting down and breathing a sigh, not pulling down his navy blue gym pants.

Abruptly, the silence was broken by the sound of Angels and Airwave's "The War." The inspirational jock-rock song emanated from the gym bag beside Trent. Frantically, he reached inside it, pulled out a cell phone, and flipped it open, answering in a cool-macho-guy voice.

"Yeah, babe?" It was Shannon, Trent's girlfriend, the captain of the squad that cheered Trent and the Rabid Wolverines to victory on Friday nights.

"Bay-bee! Where are you? Practice ended twenty minutes ago!" She cooed from the other line.

"Uhh- Well I was almost to your house when I realized I forgot my science book! I'm on my way back to pick it up so I can finish that lab report tonight!" He had found it easier and easier to lie convincingly.

"Well hurry up! I'm horny and my mom will be home soon!" She pouted, playfully.

"Ooooo... I'll haul ass, big time!"

"You better! But be careful! The whole season'd be blown without my hunk-of-Trent!" the 18-year-old cheerleader teased.

"Okay, see you soon babe!" He hung up, quickly fiddled with the phone to put it on silent, and tossed it back into his bag. Resting his elbows on his knees and putting his face in his hands, rubbing at his eyes, he thought about what he was doing in the men's bathroom in the far corner of Shady Grove Park.

It wasn't the first time. For a few months now, Trent had been sneaking off by himself periodically. Not on any sort of schedule, not more than once every few weeks. The park was twenty minutes away from the High School, in the opposite direction from his house and the neighborhood.

Raising his face up out of his hands, turning his head to his right, he looked at the hole cut into the side of the stall, leading into the adjacent compartment. The hole was at face level to Trent as he sat at the toilet.

It was the perfect size for a cock.

Around the hole and everywhere on the stall walls were written crude, profane and obscene remarks. Just above the hole were two large arrows drawn in black marker, the words "SUCK HERE" scrawled above them. Trent knew from investigation that in the stall next to him, above the same hole was written "INSERT COCK HERE."

For the thousandth time since Trent's discovery of this place, he wondered to himself what he was doing here. He was an athletic, attractive, successful, outgoing, STRAIGHT teen. He knew it. Hell Shannon, and a good many other girls at Meadville High knew it too.

So why the strange, disturbing desire for the male body? Why, over his high school years, did Trent find it harder and harder not to stare at his teammates in the locker room; in the showers? Their broad shoulders, pink nipples, rippled abs, tight asses... their swinging cocks. Shaking his head in disgust at his thoughts, getting a half-wood in his jockeys at the same time, Trent almost stood up to flee from the bathroom. He froze as he heard foot falls on the concrete floor, entering the restroom.

The star athlete held his breath, listened as the footsteps approached, as the stall door beside him creaked open and slammed shut, as someone shuffled into the stall on the other side of the wall. There was a long moment of silence, some heavy breathing on the other side. Trent was sweating not unlike he had just sweat on the field during practice, in spite of the fact that the dim bathroom was cool, and he'd done this all before.

In his head, he found himself wishing simultaneously that the guy on the other end would just go to the bathroom and leave, and that he'd soon be filling the crudely fashioned hole in the wall with his man-meat at the same time. Such were the contradictory thoughts that ran through his mind during his homo-erotic cravings.

The quiet was shattered by a deliberate series of knocks from the other side. Three short raps on the stall partition. Trent caught his breath again, hesitated, then brought his own knuckles up to heavily vandalized wooden partition and knocked three times back. From the other side there was a grunt and the sound of a fly being unzipped. Trent sat with his eyes transfixed on the hole in the wall. He realized his lips were abnormally moist, that he was practically drooling, that he had forgotten to swallow. He licked his lips and swallowed the excess saliva.

Some shuffling from the other side, and then Trent's eyes were going wide as the object of his unnatural and unsettling desire came gliding through the hole with barely enough room to fit.

A thick, swollen purple headed cock.

The cock kept coming through the hole until it was accompanied by a few brown pubic hairs as the man's pelvis hit the other side of the wall. Trent thanked silently yet again that the wood partitions went up especially high between the stalls, leaving only about a foot between the top of the stall walls and the ceiling. Any shorter and the man on the other end would be able to peak over, maybe recognize the high school football player. Trent's life would be ruined in a flash.

He was brought out of these thoughts as the guy on the other end cleared his throat. His mind half telling him no, that there was everything in the world wrong with what he was about to do, Trent reached out and wrapped his hand around the fat tip of the penis. Squeezing the head gently, he stroked downwards until his fist met the wall, then slowly back up; feeling every inch of the warm dick in his hand. He jerked the cock up and down, every other thought pushed out of his mind, only vaguely aware of the aching hard on already pressing against the jockeys in his pants.

He was startled out of the trance as the guy on the other end spoke, his voice deeper and more macho-sounding than Trent's own, perhaps purposely concealing. "C'mon fairy, I don't got all day. Just suck it already."

Trent felt a pang of embarrassment that his stroking efforts weren't doing it for the man on the other end. He wasn't too upset however, because his mouth was practically dripping at the thought of filling it with the man's dick. Squirming off the toilet and down onto his knees despite the grimy floor, Trent stared down the barrel off the cock, inches from his face.

He opened his mouth wide, brought his head down, and closed his moist lips around the cock head. Savoring the taste, the warmth, the softness, Trent let his tongue swirl around the mushroom tip, flicked it over the sensitive area on the underside of the cock just below the head. The Man on the other end grunted.

"That's right faggot, suck that shit..."

Encouraged when he should have been irate at the bashing, Trent brought his hand back up around the base of the cock, stroked upwards as he brought his head downward, bringing the cock into his mouth. Trent went to work like this, twisting his fist gently as he brought it upwards, twisting his head slightly as he brought his mouth down, keeping his mouth as wet and inviting as possible. The guy on the other side sighed and groaned, breathlessly whispered the occasional "fuck" or "shiiit yeah."

Trent's mouth eagerly took care of the top half of the cock, while his hand took care of the lower half. The man on the other end spoke up again, "Fuck! You pussy-faggot! Get rid of the hand and take it down like a real cock-slut."

Trent didn't hesitate for a moment, no longer thinking, he took away his hand and recklessly pushed his mouth down on the cock. Before his face made it to the wall and the cock made it all the way in, it reached his throat and Trent thought he was going to gag. He pulled back a bit, heard a harsh laugh from the other end, and doubled his effort, pushing his head forwarding and taking the dick down his throat until his nose pressed against the graffiti covered wall.

The man on the other side grunted is approval as Trent held himself there, cock down his throat as long as he could, unable to breath, eyes beginning to water. Then the Man on the other end was pulling out, back through the hole. Trent got a breath of stale bathroom air through his nose just as he thought the man would pull the cock out of his mouth completely and back through the hole in the wall. Then it was pushing back into his mouth, past his tonsils and to the back of his throat again.

Trent, calling on all the grit and fortitude he'd used on the field, held his face up against the wall as the man pulled his cock back and forth through the hole, harder and faster each time, each time reaching the back of Trent's throat, squeezing tears from his eyes and gooey snot from Trent's nose. The wide-receiver fought to get a quick breath each time the fat cock slipped out of his throat.

From the other end, the man was grunting and groaning louder and faster to go along with his pumps in and out of Trent's mouth. Between guttural groans he had taken to whispering hoarsely "fuck yeah, faggot!" repeatedly.

The words encouraged and fueled Trent, and he didn't even notice that his own hand had fallen to his crotch, that he was rubbing it frantically over the bulge in his pants.

The man's thrusts through the hole and into Trent's mouth had become so forceful that his hips slammed into the wall on the other end, shaking the partition. As it reached a frantic pitch and Trent realized he was no longer able to get any breaths between thrusts, the man forcefully jammed his pelvis against the wall, froze with his dick at the back of Trent's throat, and began to splirt glob after glob of thick cum down Trent's throat. Trent swallowed as much as he could, but nonetheless still more oozed out around the man's cock and down Trent's square chin.

Finally the cum-onslaught ended, and the cock popped out of Trent's mouth with a wet slurp and disappeared through the hole. Trent leaned backwards, sitting on his own heels and realized that in the fervor of it all, he had blown a huge load of his own inside his jockeys. A wet spot was already forming in the crotch of his pants.

He sat transfixed like that as he heard the man on the other end grabbing toilet paper, shuffling about a bit, and then flushing the toilet. The stall opened, and the man left quietly, all out of gay-bashing remarks. He was probably embarrassed and ashamed at what had taken place- not nearly as ashamed and embarrassed as Trent felt, however.

Eyes blurry, cheeks crusted with dried tears, nostrils and mouth joined by a mix of snot, saliva and semen, cum dripping down his chin, pants and underwear soiled with his own seed, Trent sighed and cursed himself inwardly.

Then he was compelled by the need to quickly clean-up any evidence of the dirty misdeed via a towel in his gym bag. He changed his pants and underwear, and hurried out of the stall. Washing his hands and splashing his face with water at the sink, he made it a point this time not to look at his handsome reflection in the mirror. He zipped the hoodie, pulled up the hood, and left the bathroom. Thankfully there was no one outside; the man in the other stall had gone.

As Trent walked to his truck- parked a few streets away from the park- he was already feeling better. He no longer hated himself; that feeling seemed to fade quicker and quicker after each deed.

As he got behind the wheel of the truck, what he mostly felt was frustration. His ideal male encounter was not in a dirty restroom, through a glory hole, sucking off a complete stranger. Circumstances forced Trent to go that route. What he really wanted was an attractive young guy from school, any one of his teammates would satisfy him. The problem was, he knew that even if he could find a willing participant on the team- which he thought unlikely- word would get out fast.

What Trent needed was someone off the team, someone of lower stature among the social hierarchy of Meadville high. Someone he could be sure to control. Trent was always on the look-out for just such a guy. But every band geek, every A.V. club member and every social outcast didn't appeal to Trent physically. All the attractive guys were popular and dating like Trent. There was no way to sniff one out and be sure they wouldn't announce a pass at them by the star wide-receiver to the school.

Indeed Trent was stuck between a rock and a hard place. The out-of-the-way rest-room in Shady Grove Park was the only place he could keep his dirty secret safe.

As he pulled away from Shady Grove Park that sunny fall afternoon, the fact that he really had forgotten his science book at school was the furthest thing from his mind. He had a girlfriend to go satisfy, dirty laundry to be cleaned, and a dirty desire to keep a secret. He had no idea that the forgotten lab-report would be exactly how he'd end up finding Joey.