Getting Caught Going Gay in PE Wrestling

I remember when I moved from the safety and comfort of elementary school to the terrors and horrors of junior high. I knew it would be very different, that things would be done in ways that I was not used to, but I really was unprepared for it. And to make matters worse, I had started puberty that past summer.

Let me start by introducing myself. My name is Jimmy Hanson, and back then I was what everyone would call a nerd. A total dork. My mom still had my straight brown hair cut into a bowl shape, right down over my ears and with bangs down to my eyebrows. My baby blue eyes would become my best feature in high school, when I was able to wear contacts, but back then I wore thick black glasses. I was in the middle of my second round with braces. And to top it all off, I was a real shrimp; by far the shortest kid in my grade at 4', I weighed a mere 78 pounds. But perhaps the worst of it all was the way my Mom dressed me. She would not buy me jeans, and wouldn't allow me to wear t-shirts or sweatshirts to school; it was always "dress slacks" and polo or button-down shirts. Not a day would go by where I wasn't verbally and physically harassed in the halls at school.

For most boys like me, PE was their biggest nightmare, the class they dreaded the most. This was not the case for me. I was miraculously fairly-gifted athletically. While all the other boys were stronger than me, I could hold my own skill-wise in sports like baseball, basketball, football, swimming, and running.

There was another reason that I liked PE so much: the locker room. You see, by then I had started to develop an interest in boys. I didn't know I was gay, not having the knowledge or the experience to be able to give meaning to my dreams, thoughts, and lingering looks, but it didn't really matter. I just enjoyed being in the locker room: watching the other boys changing, seeing them in their underwear (or naked during swimming block), and being able to hang out naked or in my underwear while surrounded by lots of other boys. Sure I noticed that I was smaller down there too, but at least I had started growing pubes (some of my bigger and better-endowed classmates had yet to sprout a single hair). And then there was the occasional hard-on that popped up in there. It was not that big a deal, it happened to many of us in there, so nothing bad happened because of it.

Until we started wrestling block. That's where my problems in the rest of school spilled over into this class. Because my lack of strength resulted in my easily being the worse wrestler in the class. And the harassment began here too.

Our school had a fundraiser each year in September to raise money for PE equipment. This year, they used some of the money to purchase wrestling singlets for PE and for the school wrestling team. Since we had to wear the singlet during wrestling block, they required us to wear jockstraps during PE (the only time during the year that we had to). Most of the boys hated wearing them, but I liked it; I liked the feel of nothing covering my butt under the uniform, and I liked how the pouch felt on my dick. Perhaps too much, though; the combination of the erotic feel of the jock, combined with the intense bodily contact of wrestling (with hands touching all over), caused me to have an erection during every wrestling match that I was in.

And this did not go un-noticed by my opponent (or by the other boys watching). All my matches ended the same way: me on my back after having been pinned, my opponent looking down at me smirking, and a chorus of giggles from the spectators as their eyes focused on the hard bulge in my crotch. I pretended it didn't bother me; I laughed it off and joked with them about it, so nothing ever came of it. Until one day near the end of January.

"TWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!" Coach Harris' whistle told us to stop running laps and gather round him. He was OK enough, but not my favorite teacher; looking back now, I realize that he was a stereotypical jr. high PE teacher who enjoyed bullying the weaker kids as much as some of the other kids did.

When we had all flopped down on the floor around him, Coach started giving out the first match-ups. When he came to me, I swear he looked at me with a smirk before pitting me against Randy Archer.

More than any other kid in school, Randy Archer loved to bully me. Plus, he had about a foot and thirty pounds on me. I knew I didn't stand a chance against him in wrestling; my only hope was to come out of it with nothing more than another loss.

"Come on, peewee, let's go. I wanna get this over with so I can wrestle a REAL guy." I looked up at Randy and followed him over to our ring. I should have been concentrating on how to best wrestle him, but I couldn't help gawking at his body; it was everything that I liked. He was one of the few that didn't wear a t-shirt under his singlet, as I think he liked showing off his toned upper body. His arms and shoulders were not overly muscular, but had definite bulges and a tone that mine sorely lacked. Where my chest seemed to be just a smooth expanse of white skin with hardly a wrinkle, his showed off his developing pecs. And in his armpits were patches of hair that would have made some high-schoolers jealous.

But Randy's best features, in my opinion, were in his face. His piercing green eyes drew me in and mesmerized me every time. He had full lips that I envied. And his upper lip already showed the beginnings of a mustache, something I would not have for another four years.

Randy's hair, though, was what I liked the most. A natural brown-haired boy, he had blond streaks through it that highlighted his good looks perfectly. He styled it in a way I wish I could have, kind of a mix of curls and a messy look.

Coach's whistle broke into my daydreams, and I found myself in the circle facing Randy. "OK boys, positions! First name I said (that would be me) is on the bottom to start." As Coach gave the instructions we got ready: me on my hands and knees, Randy squatting over me with one arm wrapped around me. I knew better than to await the starting whistle, so I readied myself right away. Sure enough, I felt Randy's body tensing to begin.

"OK, on my whistle: one, two..." Just as the word 'two' left Coach's mouth, Randy struck. He pulled up and back, attempting to throw me on my back before I was ready. But I was prepared. I swept back and out with my leg, knocking Randy off-balance, and as his grip around me loosened in his attempt to right himself, I was able to twist around and regain my feet.

I had earned a point. But this served only to fuel Randy's hatred of me, and he quickly regained the upper hand. We spent the next several minutes twisting around on the mat and each other, him repeatedly throwing me down and me squirming out again.

Along with Randy's legal wrestling moves were a mixture of illegal arm twists, elbows and knees to my groin, and slaps to my face. Plus and endless display of verbal jabs. "C'mon ya little punk, fight!" "What are you, a sissy? Knock me down!"

Before long, the match had resulted in the usual for me: I was completely hard in my jock. For once, though, Randy seemed not to notice, and said nothing about it. However, I soon noticed a change in his wrestling technique: he had me in such a position that I could not get loose, in fact I could barely move, and one of his arms was twisted around my thigh so that his wrist was right on top of my throbbing erection. But to my confusion, Randy was not moving much either; he didn't seem to be trying to move me into the pin position. His ONLY movement that I could detect was his wrist pressing against my hard dick and moving up and down against it.

Despite myself I liked the feelings his wrist were causing in me, and I soon realized that I was thrusting my midsection against his arm. I looked around at those watching us in alarm, afraid that they could tell what was going on, but Randy's body hid that part of me from their eyes. Twisting my neck I looked up into Randy's eyes, but they were staring off into space, unfocused, a slight smile on his lips.

I soon realized that, if we continued our actions, I was going to have a big problem. I had started shooting sperm several months ago and knew that it wouldn't be long before that happened here, and this was NOT a good time or place for that. So, reluctantly, I stopped my thrusting motions; however Randy did not stop rubbing his wrist against me down there, and I began to panic. What could I do? It's not like I could have told him to stop, or said something like "Coach, Randy won't stop jerking me off!"

My breath started coming out in short gasps, and my whole body was trying to thrash about in Randy's grasp. It must have been obvious to him that I was getting close; his wrist was rubbing even faster and pressing harder, and I felt the familiar stirrings of am eruption. What was I going to do? What COULD I do?

I tried pushing Randy's hand away from me with my leg, but he was too strong. The room turned kind of fuzzy and I felt my balls throb and pull up, the signal that I was almost there. Maybe I could hold it in like I hold it when I have to go pee really bad! My middle tensed up as I tried to do just that, but it wasn't working; I felt it starting to come up through my erection, and knew I couldn't stop it. Still, I held it in as long as I could (mere seconds). Then, the inevitable happened.

My whole body jerked spasmodically, and I sucked in my breath. I let out a soft groan as my hard penis throbbed and tensed under his wrist (which was STILL rubbing and pressing against me). Finally I couldn't hold it in any longer, and I let go. I felt light-headed as my body was racked by my strongest orgasm ever. Three hard blasts of cum shot out of my dick into my jock. I was sure everyone could hear the squishy noises caused by Randy's movements against the wetness surrounding my dick. Thankfully, he then stopped rubbing.

Until I realized what he was doing then. Randy's hand now gripped my dick through my uniform and jock, squeezing. I could feel it working through the wetness, and was sure it was now seeping through my clothing. Now everyone would think that I had wet my pants, or worse, would know what HAD happened!

That's exactly what went on then, with some help from Randy. As I came down from my high his grip on me relaxed, but I was too drained to move away on my own. He removed his arm from around me, and my legs straightened out. This gave both of us a clear view of my crotch, and the darkened area around my softening dick. I looked into his face, now sneering at me.

"Hey guys, look what gay boy here did!" Randy shouted this loud enough for everyone in the room to hear while still staring into my eyes, then he turned to look at the other boys watching us. I heard a collection of gasps and remarks.

"Oh-my-god, the pansy wet his pants!"

"No, the little fag CREAMED his jock!"

Soon, everyone in the room (including Coach) was surrounding us. Randy and I both lept to our feet, Randy pretending to push away from me in disgust and me trying to hide the evidence of my shame. Hands were pummeling me as I tried to break through the circle and get away, pushing me back into the middle where they could continue to stare and jeer at me. I looked down, and I swear the dark, damp spot had grown. Definitely, I could see streams of cum dripping down.

After several minutes I gave up trying to get away. I merely stood there with my arms crossed, tears streaming silently down my cheeks. Finally I looked over at Coach, standing in back of the circle laughing at me like all the others.

It felt like hours that I stood there, surrounded by dozens of boys (and one "man") laughing hysterically and chattering on and on about what I had done. The whole time I continued to stare at Coach, wishing he would step in and help me. At last, he did do SOMETHING. He stepped in the middle of the ring of boys and pushed a few aside, creating a slight opening, and nodded his head towards the locker room. Putting my head down I pushed my way out of the circle and ran, not stopping until I was standing in front of my locker. I opened it and pulled out my underpants, then walked over to the sink.

After stepping out of my shoes and pulling off my socks, I took off the singlet and t- shirt. My cum had already dried and hardened, causing my penis to stick to the inside of my jock. Knowing it would hurt if I simply pulled the jock off, I decided to get it wet. I walked into the shower room (which was never used, all of us wondering why it was there in the first place) and turned one on, stepping under it just enough to drench my midsection. This worked, enabling me to take my jock off pain-free. After washing off my crotch area real well to remove my cum, I went back and dried off with my t-shirt, then put my clothes on. The clock showed that the dress-down bell for PE would ring in another 2 minutes so I grabbed my clothes and walked out into the hall, leaving my jock and singlet behind. I knew I would never use them again, at least not here.

This incident resulted in the rest of my sixth grade year being a nightmare. I convinced my counselor to transfer me to a different PE period with a different Coach, thinking that would help me escape the memory of this embarrassment, but my classmates wouldn't let that happen. The next five months were an endless blur of hazings, harassment, and bullying. Over the summer I convinced my parents that problems with this school caused me to fail most of my classes (I never told them about the wrestling incident), and they were able to get me transferred to a different school in September.

I never heard anyone mention this again. And I never told anyone about it. Until now.

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written by wldcrazy