My name is Andy and I am 20 years old right now. A brief background to clue you in to who and what I am. I am a student at one of the nation's top universities studying a very difficult major. I am, according to friends, a very sensitive and extremely intelligent individual who enjoys either a night on the town or a relaxing evening at home with equal fervor. I have a girlfriend who I enjoy very much - the sex is great and she has no idea of my real desires - and, to the public eye, I am one of the most straight, all-American guys that my school has to offer.
I hate to be cocky, but I also am a pretty good-looking guy. I've been likened to Abercrombie and Fitch models - I have dirty blond hair that's cut short but not too short, green eyes, and am 5'11". I'm lucky enough to have worked out throughout high school and continue the regime - right now I maintain a washboard stomach, well-developed pecs, strong legs, and, according to rumor, the best ass east of the Mississippi. I'm lucky enough to not be very hairy at all - just a bush around my cut cock (soft at 5", hard at 8.5") and under my arms - although I'm considering growing some facial hair. And, in the mood of telling all, I'll clue you in to the fact that, like the Greek hero "Nick" of the big pecs stories of several years ago, I also have relatively large nipples. Girls marvel over them - as do guys, as I later found out - and they have been the source of unbelievable pleasure to be from showing them off "inadvertently" to people on the beach.
The following account takes us back in the past several years - back when I was a junior in high school, a more liberal place than most public schools (maybe because it was only about an hour outside of one of the country's most liberal and crazy places). At that point in time, my body was a little less developed than today, although I was still far beyond my classmates in body image. I had, at this point, had very few sexual experiences, although was not a novice at performing and receiving pleasurable acts. The story centers around my incident with a fellow athlete on the track team. Being a moderately tall and well-muscled guy, I was asked by my coach, Jim, to do the shot put and the high jump events (Jim and I also engaged in other events, but more on that in another account). For quite a while, it was only me that did the jumping, and I was forced to stay pretty late after practice ended working out to heighten my abilities. But, as time passed, I began to check out the other guys - both for their bodies, and for their bodies...
My eyes continually came back to one particular sophomore, someone by the name of Dave. Dave looked a lot like me actually, with blond hair, brown eyes, very light freckles, a very slight frame, and strong-looking legs. Our school had showers, but, as I was kept late working on the jumping, I never got a chance to look at Dave in the buff. During the day, he was a very dapper-looking gentleman, always dressed well and with his hair gelled up. He had a girlfriend, a cute little brunette with huge breasts, but according to rumor, they weren't having sex. `Hmm, clue number one,' I thought. And, his best feature, in my opinion at this early point, was his smile. He had sparkling white, even teeth which, when he smiled, shone and penetrated into your inner core of being. The corners of his mouth crinkled up into the hottest dimples I've ever seen. For some reason, he also was able to make his face look like it was perpetually with a five o'clock shadow, but nothing more - the dirty blond hair running around his face in the form of little stubble turned me on to no end. I remember hearing one of my friends commenting to another about the sexiness of Dave's smile; maybe that was what first even turned me on to him (although I could never have told any of them that).
or So, during some quality time that Jim and I were spending, I broached the subject of inviting Dave to try out the high jump. Of course, Jim, knowing me and my interests, asked whether it was to "try out the jump" or to "try out the rump." I blushed, admitting that Dave did seem quite attractive to me. We decided to invite Dave to stay after to try out the high jump; I told him that his legs looked strong enough to clear the low bar.
The next day, when I asked him, Dave was flattered and said that he would be honored to learn a little from one of the best jumpers in the county. Jim offered to stay out and help us as well - something which didn't particularly thrill me. Nonetheless, I didn't want to make Dave uncomfortable and assented to Jim's presence.
The day was nice, not too cold, and would be warm enough for us to take off our sweat- suits after warming up. We had run a pretty light practice while the rest of the team did a grueling work-out (several laps on the track versus a 5-mile timed run). But, when the others finished, they went directly back to the locker room whereas we were to wait until Jim had returned.
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Dave and I sat there in our sweat-suits, relaxing and just feeling the warm sunshine after a particularly cold winter. We did some light calisthenics to limber up our muscles but decided that, to really stretch our muscles, we should remove our outer shirts and pants, leaving us in our running outfits. Dave must have misunderstood me when I told him to wear appropriate jumping clothing - rather than wearing out his normal running clothes, he wore the team uniform underneath his clothes.
A word about team uniforms for those who have never been a part of high school athletics - they fit awkwardly, and the tank top almost never matches the shorts. With most people, the tank is very tight, accentuating bulging muscles and pointy nipples while the shorts are loose and allow the legs freedom to run. Dave was the complete opposite - the tank top was pretty loose - letting me have a nice glance in through the large armholes to a respectably muscled chest on a smooth body. His shorts, on the other hand, were so tight that I thought that they would rip because of their constriction. In the front, to my surprise, his cock was barely contained - it looked as if it would bust loose at any moment. I could practically see the hairs on his balls, the shorts were that tight. I wondered whether or not he even could wear underwear under such tight drawers.
Coach Jim came over to us and brought the two of us over to the high jump apparatus. I demonstrated a few times while Dave and Jim watched me intently. After completing several perfect jumps, we lowered the bar so that Dave could jump. Dave tried - on his first try, he cleared the bar. The next two times, he was unsuccessful. So, Jim walked over, trying to show Dave the correct starting stance. He gripped him below the waist, around his ass. His hands must have sneaked around to Dave's front, and with the tight shorts, Jim's hands must have immediately felt the jackpot. I watched as Dave's cock started to harden, something which Jim must have sensed as well. He moved his hands back to Dave's ass while winking at me and started to grip the young globes of his ass tighter and tighter. Dave suddenly squirmed away, calling Jim a "fucking queer" who should never "work with kids ever again." He ran into the locker room, with me trailing behind.
Dave sat down on the bench in the locker room, ripped off his oversize tank and threw it on the floor. He told me that he wanted to quit the team, that he didn't need any homosexual overtures from a nasty old man like that. After much talking, I convinced Dave not to quit the team, and definitely not to tell anyone about Jim because "after all, he IS a good coach." Dave agreed not to, but said that he still didn't want Jim with us anytime that we worked on the high jump. Jim brought in our sweat-suits; I brought them back to our lockers.
Over time, Dave and I began to develop a closer and closer friendship because of working on the long jump. Jim wouldn't bother us on the field - Dave still didn't know about our relationship, and soon we started spending time together off the field, hanging out together, going out on double dates with our girlfriends, etc.
Soon, Dave was eligible to compete in the high jump. Although the first few meets were not too good, he started to place in the rankings and, by the second month of the season, was winning trophies. After his first trophy win, I had him over to my house, where we often hung out watching TV.
My bedroom was ideal - a big-screen TV, a queen-size bed, and a lock on the door. We got back late from the meet, and didn't get back to my house until about 10:30 at night. The two of us sat down on the bed to watch some television - nothing good was on. I left the room to get us some beers from my hidden stash, and when I got back, Dave was lying on his back on my bed. In that moment, I told myself that I had to do something to bring about some hooking-up, regardless of the level, that evening.
I turned the station to HBO - my luck, there was a "Real Sex" special on. For those of you who have never seen "Real Sex," it is a show that focuses on sex, displaying everything, and I mean everything to the viewer. I saw that Dave was starting to get hard watching the show, and I figured that it was my job as host to make sure that he felt comfortable. I told him that it was perfectly normal to relax and jerk off when watching a show like that, that I had no problem with that if he wanted to do that. He was uncomfortable at first, but when I said that we could leave our shorts on and that I would give him a sheet to cover and hide himself, he was a lot more amenable to the idea. I had other ideas in mind, though...
Dave started jerking within his shorts, as did I. But, to speed things up, I faked an orgasm and ripped off my shorts, shouting that I had cum into them and didn't want to feel so sticky. Here I was, in just my shirt and track socks, not sure how Dave would respond.
"Andy, if you didn't have a girlfriend, I would think that you were trying to come on to me," Dave said.
"Dave, even with a girlfriend, I might be trying to come on to you," I responded.
Dave blushed and removed his shorts. I wasn't sure what to make of the situation, but all of a sudden Dave flipped over onto his stomach, with his ass sticking up off of the bed.
"Come on, then, fuck it. I didn't know you were fucking queer, you sexy stud; I should have known that you were a homo."
Certain words really piss me off regardless of said in jest or to goad the other party on or what. I told Dave to close his eyes and went over to his bag and opened it. I removed his trophy - not particularly large but still appropriate for what I thought he deserved. I went briskly over to him, lifted up the tail of his shirt, and spread his asscheeks wide. It was surprisingly soft and devoid of any hair, but his hole still looked like it was anticipating something. Not wanting to let him down, and really angry, I shoved the tip of the trophy in as far as I could, not with too much force but enough to show my displeasure. He groaned loudly, enjoying it, until I started to wiggle it around, jostling it a little roughly. He looked behind and saw that it was not my cock, but rather his trophy, and his look went from one of pleasure to one of disgust, to one of pain as I worked it harder and harder. Tears began to stream down his face while he begged me to take the trophy out.
"You want me to take it out, you nasty whore?" I asked.
"Yes, please, Andy. I can't take it," he whimpered.
"OK, here goes."
I ripped the trophy out of his ass - blood dripping off the very tip but not all over his trophy. I knew I had hurt him but not done irreparable damage. Without any lubrication or anything (I was pretty dumb back then), I rammed my cock up his ass. He groaned again, but when he realized that it was all me, he didn't complain. I rode him hard for about two minutes until I came shooting into his ass. I withdrew and lay back onto the bed, only then turning to look at him. He was surprisingly hard, demonstrating his 6" uncut cock in front of my face. It was dripping pre-cum and I knew that he was expecting a blow job. Instead, he growled at me to turn over so that I could feel the pleasure he had just given me.
Instead, I stood up, grabbed his shorts, threw them at him and told him to get dressed. I picked up the phone, called his mother and told her to come pick him up. He put on his clothes, looking dejected. I threatened him, telling him that if he told anyone "what happened, I would ruin the rest of his life - make sure that he didn't get into a good college, stay on the track team, or even finish the year out in one piece. Besides, no one would believe you anyway, you dumb fuck." I shoved him out the door to his mother's waiting car, letting him think I was really angry at him.
I went back inside the house, sat on my bed, jacked off a little bit watching the rest of "Real Sex," and then called him to see whether he wanted to come over the next day.
Readers, I hope that you enjoyed this episode of the Chronicles of Andy. It was further back in my past, so I am not as clear on everything that happened verbatim. Please let me know what you thought, maybe I'll tell more about my high school experiences, or maybe I'll move into the college years again. Until then, sleep tight. Let me know which you'd rather read.
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