___________________

I sat, slumped over, head in my hands.

“Nice way to fuck up the game, asshole!” I heard, then felt a wet towel smack into my head.

Footsteps slapped away. I pushed the towel off onto the locker room floor and went back to my self-loathing.

I have no idea how long I sat there. Then I heard shoes approaching. I waited for the assault, but nothing happened. Finally, I looked up.

“That was a catchable pass.”

Miserable, I stared at the quarterback who had thrown the game-winning pass to me – only to have it bounce off my chest and fall, incomplete. Finally, exhaling, I looked down and nodded. “I know.”

I waited for the abuse that was bound to come – and didn’t. Finally, I looked up.

I was surprised to see him smiling slightly, leaning fully dressed against the lockers. “Get up,” he said.

I stood slowly, clutching the towel around my waist.

He looked me up and down, then said, “Follow me,” and walked away.

I stood for a moment, wondering what the fuck? Then mentally shrugged and walked after him, feet smacking on the tiles.

And found him leaning against the entry to the showers. “Get in. You need to shower before you go home.”

I just looked at him – until he gestured towards the open shower room, that same, small smile on his face. “Go on.”

Tentatively, I walked in. The floor was still wet from the showers the rest of the team had had. Then I noticed that I didn’t hear anyone else. I looked up at the quarterback, startled.

His smile broadened. “Drop the towel,” was all he said.

I could feel the pulse pounding in my throat, but stood, frozen.

He just waited, unmoving, the smile now a challenge.

I let the towel drop, standing naked in the shower. For some reason, I didn’t try to cover my dick. For some reason, I didn’t want to.

For some reason, I wanted him to look at it.

And for the same reason, I wasn’t surprised that I was getting a hard-on.

He stood there, his gaze fastened on my rising prick, his smile taking on a dreamy quality.

After it had come to full attention, he sighed, then said, “Jack off for me.”

“What?” was all I could croak.

His eyes lifted to mine, “You heard me. Jack off so I can watch you.” And the smile hardened into a line.

I swallowed, then lifted my right hand to my dick and tentatively grasped it, then started to pump, moving my hand slowly up and down.

He reached in and turned the water on the nearest shower, tested it, then put his hand on my shoulder and pushed me gently into the warm-hot water stream.

“Keep going. You’re doing fine.”

I closed my eyes, letting the water sluice down me, moving into it, letting it run over my hair and head while focusing on the sensations of my now-throbbing dick.

My mouth opened, and I shuddered, then started breathing faster.

I could feel it cumming…I could feel it building, I was getting close, getting so close…

“Stop.”

Shocked, my eyes flew open and my hand opened and dropped to my side.

He reached in, getting the sleeve of his shirt wet from the shower, and grasped my cock, pulling me slowly towards him, eyes fastened on mine.

He put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer, resting his forehead against mine, looking deep into my eyes. I could smell his aftershave. English Leather. It smelled heavenly.

I could not have torn my eyes away if I had wanted to.

But I didn’t want to.

Then his hand started to pump my meat, slowly at first. It felt hot.

It felt good.

My eyes fluttered, then closed again, and now I could feel myself approaching the point of no return…closer…closer…

…then impossible to stop, I came…

Crying out, I bent forward as the cum spurted from me – once, twice, thrice, and…

He pulled me towards him and whispered things in my ear. I can’t remember what. I’m not even sure I properly heard them.

My knees wobbled, and I slowly collapsed to the floor.

I was breathing hard, then opened my eyes…and found I was level with the bulge in his pants.

He smoothed my hair with his hand – and I knew what he wanted.

Hand trembling and breathing shaky, I reached up and unzipped his pants, revealing Jockey shorts underneath, with his bulge straining towards me through the white cloth.

I took a deep breath, then slowly pulled down his shorts, releasing his cock, which sprang toward me.

My hand was shaking so hard that you’d think I was freezing, yet my body was hot and I was perspiring. I had never had sex with anyone before – except my right hand. And now I was face to … well, face to cock with someone I’d idolized. And he seemed to be enjoying it.

His hand moved to the back of my head, and he applied just the tiniest bit of pressure.

I looked up at him, and he nodded. I swallowed, licked my lips, opened my mouth, then licked the underside of his now throbbing cock. It tasted…odd, slightly salty. I didn’t know what I expected. This was all strange, exciting, and new to me.

And I liked it.

I put my lips around the tip of his cock and licked the hole at the tip, whatever it’s called. He shivered, which made me feel like I was doing something right. I started to eat my way along his cock, moving my lips forward, then extending my tongue, inching his cock into my mouth.

I never expected to do this, and I’ve never seen anything like this in any of the Playboys I’ve snuck peeks at, so I was kind of feeling my way. I stopped for a moment, then exhaled – and felt his hand pressing the back of my head again.

I worked my mouth to get more saliva, then started to move forward, following the pressure of his hand, until his cock reached the back of my throat and I gagged. He immediately released his hand, and I moved back – until his hand stopped me from letting his cock drop from my mouth.

He started to push my head forward again, and I slowly let him guide me until I gagged again. This time he held me there briefly, then released again.

Then he took my head in both hands, moving his hips and working his cock in and out, just barely touching the back of my throat each time as I suppressed the gag reflex. He was moving his hips slowly at first, then faster – and deeper.

I was trying not to gag but was doing so as he got wilder, moving harder and faster. I reached up for his hands, but he batted them away. Tears started rolling from my eyes, and I felt that my nose was about to start running.

He was panting now, and starting to moan, which suddenly rose to a shout. His cock tensed, then suddenly my mouth was streaming with salty, gooey cum. It filled my mouth, then spurted out, dribbling down my chin.

He held me hard, cock deep inside, then jackknifed over my head, panting. “Oh God – that was…just beautiful!”

Carefully, he slipped his cock from my mouth, slowly at first, then all at once, knelt down next to me, panting.

He leaned back, looked into my eyes, and said, “Swallow.”

I gawked at him, then swallowed. It was like a lump in my throat, but it went down. I had a momentary feeling that I was going to throw up – but it passed.

He smiled at me, hugged me hard, stroking my naked back, calming me, praising me.

After a while, I sucked in a deep breath and opened my eyes…

…to see him smiling at me.

“We’re going to be great together,” he whispered. And kissed me on the mouth.

It started as a peck on the lips – then deepened into an urgent, passionate oral groping. His hands traveled up and down my naked back, to my ass, squeezing, then back to my shoulders, and pulled me close.

When we broke, I dropped my head to his collarbone, breathing hard.

Finally, confused, I looked up. “What did we just do?” I asked, wonderingly.

He smiled warmly at me. “We became lovers, Jamie. And we’re going to be great together. Trust me.”

I did trust him. I don’t know why, but I did. Perhaps it was because he was the quarterback and my leader. But perhaps it was because we both knew, without needing to say, that we were meant for each other.

I do know that he made me happy. And I think I made him happy, too.

After that, he had me work with him, one-on-one. He talked to Coach and told him he thought I had much more potential than we had seen, and that he wanted to work with me. So, Coach set it up so we could practice together.

We would stay after football practice every day, then he would drive me home since we had missed the late bus. We practiced during and instead of gym class. And we would run plays before school started in the mornings. We made sure we were warmed up and ready, then he had me run routes: Q-left. Blue-22. B-Max-Curl. And all the other plays in our book.

I ran every route we knew – and he always threw the ball at me.

Badly.

He threw it too high. Too low. Too far left or right. Right at my face.

Never on target. Never at the letters. Always challenging, always forcing me to make a difficult catch, never an easy one.

At first, I was awful, dropping everything that was in my area code, and batting the ball away, even if I could get my fingers on it.

But Lee never complained. He always had me pass it back to him, then told me to run back to the huddle, shouted out a play, backed off, waited for me to set, then called “HUT” and rolled out to pass it to me, sometimes faking left or right, or pedaling back – then firing it in my general vicinity.

And then he had me pass it back to him, running as if he were the receiver, and I was the q-back. I was erratic, but he would stop, show me how to place my hands, how to cock my arm, how to use my legs when throwing to get power, how to deek out the defense, and how to see my receivers without tipping who I was going to throw to.

But mostly, we focused on my receiving.

And after enough failures, I gradually started to catch the football.

Sometimes.

Then more often.

Then – one frosty day in early December, on the empty football field while the rest of gym class was warm and indoors – every time.

Every. Single. Time.

It was like I had glue on my hands. Or a string to reel the football in.

It was magic.

And when the bell rang, and we turned to go inside, Lee clapped me on the back, and said, “I told you we’d be great.”

We started by going to each other’s homes, “to study.”

And we did study, because if we wanted to be on the team, we had to keep our grades up.

Lee was an A student – of course – whereas I had been scraping along with C’s and an occasional D.

“Not good enough,” was all he said when he made me give him my report card. “We’re going to have to teach you how to study.”

He dragged me to Student Counselling, handing me off to Dr. Pellegrene, one of the counselors. “He needs to be taught how to study,” was all Lee said, before turning on his heel and leaving me there.

Pellegrene looked at me and smiled – and I felt a tingle in my balls.

But he was completely professional, and never made a move on me, even though I am more than sure he was tempted.

He did teach me how to study. He taught me SQ3R as a reading method – why running my eyes over a chapter while pretending to read was a waste of time. How to assess what the chapter was telling me, set it up to read it by examining all the headlines, graphs, illustrations, and photographs beforehand, then reading it before reviewing it again at the end.

“It takes more time this way,” he said, “But you will learn it, and won’t have to try to re-read it later while cramming for the exam.”

And he was right.

He also taught me how to write. Organizing ideas. Creating an outline. Writing topic sentences. Creating a new paragraph for each idea.

How to budget time so that studying didn’t eat up my life, but I still got things done. How to prioritize if I don’t have time to do everything. How to talk to teachers, get them on my side, and work with them instead of fighting them and hiding from them.

And gradually, my grades started to rise.

No more D’s for me. Solid C’s – then B-minuses, then B’s.

I didn’t quite make solid A’s, but I did get the occasional A, and none of my grades were C’s anymore.

My teachers even started smiling at me.

And my parents were delighted that the quarterback, the school hero, and Homecoming King, was so interested and supportive of their son.

They eagerly herded us to our basement and plied us with snacks, soda, and anything else we wanted. I only had to hint that something would be helpful, and it would appear.

And they left us alone.

To study.

We did study, as I said. And then, when Lee was satisfied with my work – we made love.

He taught me how just as he taught me everything else.

How he liked having his cock sucked. How he liked sucking mine. He introduced me to anal, giving, and getting – although he preferred giving while jacking me off.

How he would sometimes tease me, stripping me, piece by piece, making me pose on my knees until I was naked and panting, cock throbbing while he used his hands, lips, and mouth to bring me close – then back off again, all while insisting that my hands remain behind me as if bound.

Next, he introduced me to my new steady girlfriend.

The school was shocked. Colleen was light-years above me, socially –  a cheerleader and lead in the school plays, and widely thought to be one of the sexiest and most beautiful girls in the school, with dusky skin and raven hair and eyes, great fashion sense, and a throaty laugh. No one, including me, would ever have imagined that she and I would go steady, that she would wear my sweater and ring, and that the teachers would have to warn us not to make out in the hallways.

But we did all of that.

Meanwhile, Lee had a steady as well – Michelle. Homecoming Queen. Blonde chatterbox, friendly with everyone, popular with the teachers, a figure that even I could appreciate. A sparkling laugh. An infra-red smile that warmed you to the bottom of your toes. And beautiful, white teeth that could have been featured in a toothpaste ad.

We double-dated, riding to the hamburger drive-in, listening to that new group from England singing “Please, Please Me,” or “Love, Love Me Do,” or one of the other hits that Dan Ingram or Cousin Brucie played on 77 WABC in New York.

But when we got to Lover’s Lane – which happened to be Lundy’s Lane, although no one called it that – Michelle would eagerly slip out of the front seat to snuggle up next to Colleen in the back while I slid into the front to neck with Lee…

Sometimes I resented that we had to hide what we were doing. But in 1964 America, being queer was something that could get you hurt.

It could get you dead.

Yet, Lee was the school hero. He could do no wrong. And he played the part to the hilt, all the while teaching me how to do likewise. We were manly men, interested in girls, football, and fun.

Publicly.

Behind the scenes, the four of us – Lee, Michelle, Colleen, and me – supported each other, encouraged each other, and backed each other up. No one would even consider thinking that we might be anything other than we all proclaimed ourselves to be. No one would dare.

So we had fun. And love. And sex, which to horny teenagers like us was like water in the desert.

The next football season, when Lee was a senior, Lee and I were an unbeatable combination. I could plow into a clutch of defenders, back towards Lee, leap – and know that Lee would hit me in the letters when I turned, just as he knew I would catch and keep the ball.

Defensemen sometimes batted the ball away from me, but we were never intercepted.

We went 8 – 0 that season, and won the county championship, beating our hated rivals, Nyack, 27 to 25 as Lee and I connected for a Hail Mary pass in the end zone with nothing left on the clock. I jumped between two defenders and just managed to gather the ball into my hands – then collapsed, clutching the ball in the end zone. Touchdown! Game over!

The team carried us off the field on their shoulders after that game – and Lee and I held hands as we rode their shoulders. Publicly, in the sight of God and the cheering crowd, we held our hands high.

It felt good.

It wasn’t until the next morning that I realized we had played our last game together.

Don’t get me wrong. The rest of Lee’s senior year was wonderful. Lee and Michelle and Colleen and I double-dated all year long, and had fun all the time, laughing and goofing around. No one caught on – or, if they did, kept their mouths shut for fear of bringing the wrath of the entire football team down on them.

Lee and I kept practicing, but now he was emphasizing working with me as the quarterback. “The team’s going to need a good quarterback, and Robbie boy ain’t it,” Lee said on more than one occasion. I know he told Coach the same thing.

Robbie was a junior, and had been our backup quarterback all year – and never made it onto the field except as a tight end. But he had the seniority, and Coach felt obligated to give him his turn.

But Lee told me to be ready as the backup for next year – and we worked hard together to hone my skills.

Summer came, and it was even better. Lee’s family had a backyard pool, so the four of us hung out together. Both of his parents worked, his Dad as a salesman in tool & die-making equipment, which kept him on the road, and his Mom was a nurse, which meant she worked shifts. As a result, we were often alone in the house as Lee was an only child.

We would often start by swimming, then the bathing suits would come off, and sometimes we would make out in the open air, which was a thrill. But we usually moved indoors, with Lee and I taking his room, and the girls using the guest room.

It was almost heaven.

Yet heaven doesn’t usually end, and the Summer did.

I drove Lee to the bus station. We chatted away, joshing back and forth, but really it was just whistling in the dark. We were both broken up about him leaving and me staying, but Lee had an athletic scholarship at the state university, and I had to go back and do my junior year.

We got to the terminal and just sat in the car, silently, looking at each other. I couldn’t tell if he did, but I had tears in my eyes.

Finally, Lee said, “Gotta go,” then leaned forward and kissed me on the mouth. In public.

Then left suddenly, grabbing his suitcases from the backseat and hurrying away into the station.

I drove quietly back home, and sat in my room, staring out of the window.

The school year seemed to drag. Colleen and I were still “going steady,” but it was as much to keep members of the opposite sex from hitting on us. We actually tried kissing once – but while I truly appreciated and liked Colleen, my dick didn’t care for her. And I could tell from her expression she felt the same way. Or at least, her pussy did.

I kept my eyes open for someone to date, but it was difficult. I couldn’t just walk up to some guy and say, “Hey, you wanna suck my dick?” That way lay real danger, of which ostracism was the least worst result.

Somehow, Colleen found another “best friend” – Marie, who was a sophomore, petite, red-headed, and – if I were that way inclined – really cute.

Maybe girls are more open about it than guys. Certainly in the locker room, fairy, faggot, and queer jokes were popular and cruel, while implied violence frequently hung in the air.

I, of course, joined in the joking, but occasionally, my blood ran cold – and my temper ran hot. Why couldn’t I just be who I was? What the fuck business was it of theirs who I loved, or how?

But I couldn’t say anything. I knew it was dangerous – very dangerous.

There had been a report recently in The Journal Daily News about a kid found beaten to death by the side of Route 303, near Tappan. Police suggested that it might have been because “he was queer.” I also gathered that they weren’t looking very hard for the killers.

Fuck.

So I stayed under wraps, and Colleen and I kept up a very active pretense. Meanwhile, I helped her with Marie, with the three of us “studying” together. Well, I actually did study, and tried to close my ears – and my nose! – to what they were doing.

But I missed Lee, badly.

And looked forward to the Thanksgiving holidays. I expected to have him let me know when he was arriving, and I’d pick him up at the terminal – but didn’t hear anything.

Then he called to say he was home. I slammed the phone down before he could say anything more, jumped in the car, and drove over to his place.

But I knew as soon as he opened the door that he had found someone at college. He couldn’t meet my eye.

I didn’t say anything, just turned and started to walk away.

“Jamie, wait!” I heard him call – and my heart leaped.

He walked slowly towards me. “Jamie – I’ve met someone, someone that I think I want to be with forever.” He looked down, hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Look, Jamie – you’re an amazing person, and I will always have a place in my heart for you. But it’s time for you to move on…”

“What the fuck do you think I’ve been trying to do, Lee? But how am I supposed to find someone – someone like…”

I couldn’t go on. I turned to go – but he grabbed me, and wrapped his arms around me, then whispered in my ear, “You’re too gorgeous to stay single. Trust me – you will find someone.”

He pushed me back, still holding onto me, kissed me on the lips, then turned, shoulders hunched, walked back to his house, and quietly shut the door.

Fine, I thought to myself. I have to move on.

I just didn’t know how…

The football season was a bust. Robbie boy wasn’t Lee. Worse – he made it a point not to throw to me. I think he wanted to show that he had the magic and that he could do it without me.

He sucked.

We were 3 – 4 on the season, and playing Nyack for our final game. They were 7 – 0, and looking to go undefeated.

Then Robbie was sacked most of the way through the second quarter and got his arm broken.

We were down 3-11 with about three minutes to go in the half when Coach tapped me on the shoulder and said, “You’re in for Robbie. Take control, Jamie. Go get ’em.”

And I was on the field.

I knew who the good receivers were, and I had practiced with them when they weren’t on the field with good ol’ Robbie boy.

I started hitting them with quick-outs and slant plays.

Then I tried something I had seen on TV, but we had never tried – the shotgun formation that the San Francisco 49ers had been using. The guys stared at me, but went along with it – and it worked! The defenders had no idea what to do.

We marched down the field and scored, Tiny kicked the extra point – then the defense held them, and we went into the locker room at the half trailing 10 – 11.

The second half was war. I was sacked twice – but we still eked out a win, 27 – 25, just as Lee and I had the year before.

We didn’t win the championship, finishing the season at 4 – 4, but we fuckin’ screwed Nyack’s quest for an unbeaten season, and that was good enough for us. We celebrated as if we’d won the title!

What’s more, Coach announced that I was the starting quarterback next season, no question.

It felt good.

The year dragged on after that – until I saw a sophomore in the locker room the next Spring. He’d been in my gym class, and we were playing touch football on the field. He had broken through the line, and intercepted the ball on a lateral play from their quarterback to one of their tight ends – then turned around and ran the wrong way down the field until one of his own players caught up to him and tagged him.

We all laughed about it – but later, after I had showered, dressed, and was ready to head up to class, I noticed him sitting, alone and miserable, in the locker room, wearing just a towel.

The scene struck me as familiar – and then I looked at him, and my dick stirred.

Only this time I was the quarterback, and my position in the hierarchy of students was unassailable.

I sat down next to him and said, “Listen, I know how you feel. I’ve been there.”

I put my hand on his bare back – and he shivered, but didn’t pull away.

I looked around – everyone else had gone. The locker room was empty except for us.

“Stand up,” I said, “and come with me.”

I held out my hand. He looked up at me, then slowly rose – and took my hand. We both felt an electric shock, and I smiled.

His eyes opened wide. He knew something had just happened, but wasn’t sure what.

But I knew exactly what it was.

It was Lee’s forward pass.