“No,” he said.
I felt disappointment, but I nodded. I understood if he didn’t want to take things further—
Then he lowered his hand to my pants, slowly, his eye contact unbroken. “I want to see yours.”
Joy and disbelief rushed through me.
Did Jon have… was he trying to even the score? Was I lucky enough to get a blowjob from his virgin mouth? I mean, I was pretty sure Jon Preston had never had a dick in his mouth before, and the thought of being the first one…
Excitement pulsed through me and my cock strained against my tight skinny jeans.
God, it felt like a log trapped tightly beneath plastic wrap. It was fighting to get out so it could breathe—
He grazed the ridge of my cock and my eyes fluttered closed.
I let out a hiss of pleasure.
It had been so long since someone else touched my cock that I forgot how amazingly divine it felt. The sensation shuddered through me, and I arched my back again.
I couldn’t see much of Jon’s face in the darkness, but I saw how he smirked.
He smirked like he’d gotten away with something; like he was using my body as an experiment.
Something uncomfortable swirled around in my chest, but I didn’t pay it much attention. Wasn’t I happy being just an experiment? Wasn’t I using him as an experiment, too?
An experiment for power.
Then he moved his fingers deeper along my ridge, teasing me.
All of my thoughts and doubts scattered as he played with me.
Yeah, I liked being a toy.
And I wasn’t the least bit ashamed of it.
Finally, with shaking fingers, he unbuttoned my pants and pulled my zipper down.
Relief flooded through me as my massive cock found its way free from the tight fabric.
His mouth came open a little as he looked at it.
This was it. This was the moment I’d scare him away.
This was the moment a lot of guys got scared away.
I watched his eyes widen in the darkness as he realized.
He took in the girth, still hidden under the thin fabric of my boxer-briefs.
I saw the way his face changed.
“You don’t have to touch it,” I offered, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
“I want to see it,” he said, his voice low and hushed in the darkness.
I swallowed, hard. “Fine. Pull it out, then.”
It was a dare.
I knew a jock couldn’t turn down a dare. His pride wouldn’t let him.
A fierce determination crossed his face as he slipped two fingers into my waistband and gave it a tug.
I didn’t need to look down. I already knew what I looked like.
But nothing could have prepared me for what his face looked like.
His eyes widened with horror, then shifted to confusion.
“Y—you’re huge,” he breathed.
I nodded and threaded my fingers behind my head. “Yeah.”
He put my waistband back up where he found it. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“It’s okay,” I said, feeling another wave of disappointment wash over me.
Jon flopped on the ground next to me.
We were both staring up at the stars.
Then he tipped his head toward me. “Does this happen to you a lot?”
I nodded, feeling my erection ebb.
I knew the moment had passed. It had crested in a fiery, watercolor wave of passion, then spilled over everything and left me alone on the beach again.
I was used to being alone on this beach.
Then I felt something in my hand.
Jon threaded his fingers through mine.
I tipped my head toward him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his dark eyes shining in the night.
“I get it,” I said. God, why did I have to be cursed with such an enormous cock?
“I mean, I’m not sorry for you. Christ, how do you even walk with that thing? I wish mine was…”
“No you don’t,” I said. “It’s a curse. The media makes you think that if you have a big dick, everything you ever want will be yours—”
“Don’t you have everything you want?” Jon asked.
I tipped my head right-side-up and looked at the stars, taking a few seconds to think about it. Then, “No.”
He squeezed my hand.
This couldn’t be real. I couldn’t be laying here on the dirty ground next to Jon Preston. Jon Preston couldn’t secretly be gay—let alone gay for me.
But I knew it wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare, because my giant dick had ruined everything.
Again.
“I know you probably feel pressured to do something to it,” I said. “Don’t. I understand.”
“But I—”
I tipped my head back toward him. “No. Don’t. You’re not ready. And honestly, I’m not ready either.”
I meant more than physical. I knew the meaning went out in the air, did a little cursive loop in the air, and landed in his ear.
He squeezed my hand, and I knew he understood.
It felt like we were in a hammock of darkness, just the two of us, hidden from the eyes of the world—our very own cocoon, keeping us safe from harm.
I could only stay here for so long. I could only hide from the eyes of the world for so long before I got hurt.
And just like that, the same familiar thoughts began to batter at the inside of my skull:
What do you think you’re doing here, wasting time with this jock?
He’s closeted. You’ll go to sleep and wake up tomorrow, and he’ll act like none of this ever happened. He has to.
You pretend like it doesn’t bother you, but it does. It does so much.
You’re repeating history, won’t look at the writing on the wall—
I shook my head, trying to unclog my thoughts.
“Time to go,” I said.
“What? But—”
I tipped my head over to him, trying to see him as Jon Preston instead of just Jon.
But it was impossible. We’d already shared a connection.
We’d already shared… this.
I had to do my best to yank myself away. “Look. We’re from different worlds, you and I.”
“We are,” he agreed. “But this… this feels real to me. Does it feel real to you?”
“It does,” I said. “But at the same time, it doesn’t. You know?”
His eyes shone in the darkness, but it was enough for me to understand that he didn’t understand.
I was alone. Again.
And he was just a pretty boy jock, concerned with his future. I did not have a place in it. So what was I doing wasting my time here? We would inevitably part ways; all I was doing right now was procrastinating.
“Did you drive here?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Are you sober enough to drive home?”
Please say yes, please say yes, I prayed.
I needed alone time to process everything. And I knew if I drove him home, he would try to kiss me again.
I couldn’t handle another one of his kisses. I couldn’t bear to be teased like that again; have everything I wanted dangle within my reach when I knew it was nothing but a mirage.
It was nothing but false hope.
I untangled my fingers from his and sat up.
The fire had gone out.
I felt cold.
“I’m sober,” he said in a flat tone.
It came across as disappointed. But I knew he wasn’t disappointed in the fact that I was emotionally pulling away; he was only disappointed that he felt the sensation of loss.
Jocks were sore losers, through and through.
I got to my feet and brushed the dirt off of me. “I’ll see you tomorrow at school then.”
When I turned to make my escape, Jon said “Victor! Wait…”
I stopped and turned around, clinging to hope yet again. There was
something in his voice that made me think there was something real there. Maybe we did have a chance, if we kept things secret. If we both respected one another, if we moved slowly—
But the way he looked in the moonlight right now told me I’d gotten my hopes up yet again. He was the cardboard cutout jock again. And what he said didn’t feel like real words; it felt like a speech bubble surrounded by a membrane of fear.
“You’ll keep this secret, won’t you?”
My shoulders sagged and I let out a sigh. “Yeah. I’ll keep it secret. I’ll never out you, Jon.”
He let out a sigh of relief and it fogged in the air in front of him.
I shuddered in the night air and zipped my hoodie all the way up to my neck.
As I turned and headed through the trees, I tossed back over my shoulder, “Thanks for the Memories.”
I couldn’t resist.
“Huh?” he said.
I shook my head, disappointed. “Never mind.”
The next day at school, I was ignored. Things seem to have gone back to surface-level everything.
But the bullying stopped. His friends left me alone.
I could only wonder what had happened after that scene I’d witnessed at the campfire. Honestly, the fact that all the biggest douches in the school were having secret meetings didn’t surprise me. That must have been where they did all their evil plotting to keep everyone else in the school miserable.
In fourth period, I sat right in front of Jon.
I knew he was checking me out; I could feel his eyes paint lines on my back, and then move down to my ass.
Hm. That was funny. I suddenly noticed that my lower back ached.
It sure felt good to arch my back a little and stretch, pressing my ass against the back of the chair.
I couldn’t see him, but I knew he noticed.
There was no way he couldn’t notice.
The teacher droned on about compounds again, but I couldn’t make myself pay attention.
I was too busy wondering whether Jon was a top or bottom.
Even though he pretended to be such an alpha dude-bro, there was an inkling in the back of my mind that told me, without a doubt, that Jon Preston was built for taking it up the ass.
6
Jon
Weeks passed. The basketball season dragged on.
Though on the outside, I still went through all the motions and everything, partying with my friends, paying attention to girls, and generally acting like a giant douchebag to anyone who got in my way.
But that was the thing—it was all acting.
And I began to feel this dissociation with who I was and who I really was; like pulling Velcro apart with a stark ripping sound.
Still, though, I couldn’t stop.
I couldn’t stop pretending.
It felt like the entire world hinged on the fact that I acted like this; it was the only way I could keep power. It was the only way I could maintain a semblance of control over my life.
In the idle moment when I was on the bench, I wondered if this was how politicians felt. You needed to work on the image. Project it. Make everyone believe you fit in with their molds.
As the sneakers squeaked on the gymnasium floor and I dabbed a cool towel to my forehead, I thought about what my mold looked like. Sure, I was one of the douches at this school. It felt natural for me to fall into this crowd.
But did any of my friends actually know me?
Sure, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that we were all locked in our own dances, trying to figure out who we were. But was that genuine friendship?
I thought of that night at the bonfire. How Phil shut things down with Kyle the instant he started going on one of his stupid anti-gay rants.
Were we really friends? Sure, we’d hung around each other since we met on the bus back in fifth grade. But now, it felt different.
It felt like we were coming into who we really were; all taking off our masks at the same time.
And that night at the fire? Kyle took off his mask and showed his real face.
His real face was homophobic as fuck.
It made me question our friendship…
Well, whatever. That wasn’t something I had to think about right now.
I had to focus on basketball. On my future.
I’d scared a scholarship to play for the state college, and had a celebration party with all my friends and family.
Still, though, it felt like there was something missing from it. During the whole thing, I was tense. Touchy. In a bad mood. I snapped at people.
And I wondered why I wasn’t happy.
I told everyone I was just feeling off. That I was stressed about the next steps in life.
I mean, that much was true. But no one knew the real reason.
No one could ever know the real reason.
No one except Victor, who was the real reason.
I wanted to talk to him more. Get to know him. My mind had latched onto him; developed a fascination with that emo kid.
I wanted to know everything about him. Why he wore so much black. Where he lived. What he thought about when he couldn’t sleep at night.
But most of all, I wanted to ask him more questions about his monster-sized cock.
“Preston! You’re up!” Coach bellowed.
“I’m on it,” I said, jumping off the bench.
Finally, I didn’t have to think about Victor for two seconds. I could zone in and get my head in the game.
Even though this was just a scrimmage—shirts and skins, I treated it like a real game. And since my little gay exploration with Victor, my head was clearer. My focus was sharper.
Everything I was trying to do on the court just… it just came easier.
I knew he was in the stands, lingering with his group of friends after band practice.
I knew he was watching me.
And it took every fucking ounce of effort within me to not check to see if he was there.
I’d hold up our end of the bargain. I’d keep my distance.
But then, an unwelcome little voice snuck into my head and whispered, There’s a lot of guys around here without their shirts on.
So? I fired back, dribbling the ball and ducking under my opponent’s arm. I’m not attracted to any of them.
Of course not, the unwelcome voice agreed. But Victor might be.
I took a shot from the free-throw line.
The ball touched the hoop rim and bounced off.
I gritted my teeth.
I never missed.
The scoreboard buzzer made it’s ugly, intrusive sound, signifying the end of time.
“Preston!” Coach yelled. “Get over here. We need to have a discussion!”
My eyes flicked up to the stands to check for Victor.
I didn’t mean to do it; it was automatic.
And they found him, all right.
Sitting next to…
To some guy I didn’t recognize.
…
Well, good for him, then. He had a friend.
I jogged over to Coach, then chanced another glance at them. Something didn’t feel right…
A green monster woke up in my chest. I knew on some instinctual level that the guy next to him wasn’t a friend.
There was some kind of energy there…
Coach tried to imbue me with one of his motivational talks, asked me why my play was sloppy today, but I could only half pay attention.
My thoughts were focused on Victor.
Again.
This was a problem.
Why couldn’t I just hook up with him and forget about him, just like all the women I’d been with? What was it about that guy that had my thoughts so stuck on him?
Why couldn’t I stop thinking about his giant cock?
“Now get back out there and do it better, let’s get rocking and rolling!” Coach yelled.
He blew his whistle a few times to get us to hurry out into position, then blew it again to restar
t play.
This time, I played even worse. Whenever I had the ball, I threw it a few feet to the left or right of my teammate.
I kept glancing over at Victor in the stands among the rest of the band kids.
Why were they even there after their practice, anyway?! Didn’t they understand this was the athletics domain? They had their room; their own world. Why couldn’t they just stay out of mine?!
Every time I looked over, Victor looked like he was having a better and better time with this guy.
Shit, I even saw a flash of bright white teeth when he smiled once.
The ball landed in my hand; I caught it automatically.
I took it down the court, dribbling like a machine.
You better be watching, I thought menacingly, aiming the thought at Victor.
But I knew he didn’t care.
He didn’t care about me anymore or any of my stupid games.
And dammit, fuck me. I wanted him to.
I wanted to matter to him.
I paused at the free-throw line, stopped, turned, and took a shot.
Only I wasn’t aimed toward the hoop at all.
I was aiming at the stands.
Time slowed down. Everyone in the gymnasium seemed to take a collective breath.
The basketball sailed through the air.
Then, almost surreal, it knocked Victor’s notebook right out of his hands.
Then all eyes in the gym turned to me.
I shook my head.
I could feel my cheeks heating. Not from embarrassment.
No. I wasn’t embarrassed.
I was angry.
Coach was yelling something at me, but I didn’t care.
Something inside me had snapped.
Then all at once, my hearing came back.
“Preston! You’re done for today! Hit the showers!”
I scowled and locked eyes with Victor.
He wore a how-could-you-do-this sort of expression, and I felt something twist in my gut.
I hated this. I hated everything. I hated him, but I hated the guy next to him most of all.
…who was still fucking next to him.
I ripped my gaze away from them and stormed across the court to the locker room.
If it had a door, I would slam it. Everything was pissing me off, but especially those squeaky noises of the sneakers on the gym floor.
Jon From High School Page 6