Locked In

The shower water has long since run cold. Those laughing, jeering voices have echoed into nothingness. Still I stand here, shivering and cowering, hoping like hell I am truly alone. Soon I will climb out of this cold, thundering stream and run through to the changing room. Naked. Those bastards have taken my towel and my sweaty cricket gear, even my box, shoes and socks.

I flick the tap off, momentarily staring down at my pale, goose-pimpled body. I'm tall, around 6'3". Since I've gained height in a hurry over the last two years, I often feel uncoordinated. My wet arms are long and thin; lean, my Dad calls it. I'm like that all over. Sparse, black hair forms a triangle at the top of my chest and trails like ants to my pubes. To each soft, erected hair, a few tiny droplets of water cling, resisting the urge to run down my skin and join the rest on the floor. My nipples are blushing pink and have hardened in response to the cold air and water. Despite the temperature, the bruises are beginning to show on my chest. They sting a little as I move. I think the pressure of the shower has stirred them up.

I'm not the sort of guy that cries. No, I grin and bear this sort of shit, give some lip and a fist back where I can. But today, grinning and bearing it doesn't cut the mustard. It's kind of hard to grin and bear it when six guys are whipping you with towels, slugging you with their fists and finally kicking you while you crouch in a corner. Thank god, it was only for a short time. The bell rang about half-an-hour ago and they left pretty soon after that. I hate them. I hate them so much. I never had to deal with this shit at my old school. I wish I didn't have to board here; they never leave me alone.

Not a sound, except the last of the water splashing to the concrete floor. I breathe a sigh of relief and dart into the changing room. But I'm not alone.

As I stand, trying to cover my thin, shivering body with my grazed hands, I regard the guy who is seated on the changing bench. Blair's his surname, and 'cos of the sort of school this is, everybody calls him that. His hair is dark and unruly, the sort that you can't really stick down with anything, be it spit, gel or superglue. He has pale, washed-out looking blue eyes, which I've always assumed would look cruel up close. Don't get me wrong, he is sex on legs, gorgeous, god-like, everything that I'm not. His tanned skin encases broad muscular shoulders, a defined chest and strong legs that ripple when he moves. He has a square jaw and good looks that draw girls like raw meat draws flies.

To top that off, he's a prefect and great at any sport. In the first five weeks of school, he's been presented with over ten awards he earned competing in adult competitions during the holidays (triathlon, golf, discus, cross-country running). Where does he get the time to train for all these things? And how can he be brilliant at all of them? I bet he has a room just for his trophies. He could probably use his certificates as toilet-paper, he gets so many. Today the locker-room was abuzz with the news that he's made first eleven cricket captain. Everybody thought that he had left early, but maybe he was hiding. He doesn't talk much.

Blair has never had a go at me in the six weeks I've been here, but then, he hasn't said more than a few words to me, even though I'm supposed to be his Chemistry partner. I've tried to talk to him, but he goes funny after a couple of sentences and speaks to anyone but me. Maybe today's the day. I have a horrible feeling that he must have stayed behind to give me my final hiding, so I get in first. "What the fuck are you staring at?"

Oh yeah, and did I mention, my mouth gets me in trouble all the time here? If I shut up and let them push me around I probably wouldn't get such a raw deal, but it abrades my nature. Why should I let other people treat me like shit just 'cos I'm not so wonderful looking as they are, in their opinion? (I don't get this at all; I was popular at my old school. I always thought that I looked alright until I came here.)

Blair frowns. "Grayson... Your first name's Matt, right?"

"Yeah, so what about it?" I snap. As I glance around the room, my heart sinks. My bag's gone, along with any other clothing. "Where's my stuff, arsehole?"

"Wha-" Blair looks at me, properly. He takes in my nudity, the bruise from Paul Baker's fist that's rapidly closing my left eye, the numerous red marks on my chest, the blood on my knuckles and elbows from hitting the concrete walls and floor at high speed (and a couple of the guys as well, until Baker made them hold me back). "Shit- Who'd that to you, Grayson?"

"Like you don't know," I sneer. The toilets are to my left. I could lock myself in one of the cubicles.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, drop the attitude," Blair snaps back. "Do you want my towel? You look cold."

He chucks me the damp, faded blue towel he has draped on the bench beside him. "Thanks," I say, grudgingly. I carefully dry myself. It's awkward because I'm trying to keep as much of my lower half covered as I can. I'm embarrassed as it is about being naked in front of him, without having him look at my dick. His is probably bigger and not so white.

Blair rolls his eyes. He digs into the adidas bag at his feet and retrieves a damp-looking polo-shirt. "You can have my practise gear too, unless you like standing there with your donger waving around. You're gonna need it. We're locked in."

I take his smelly, white polo, grateful for some measure of cover. The fight-or-flight beat that had lessened when he gave me his towel, starts up again in my chest. "We're what?" I exclaim.

"Yeah, I know. It fucking sucks. I've already yelled and banged on the doors, but nothing. Didn't you hear me?"

I shake my head. "No." Damn it, the towel he gave me isn't long enough to wrap around my waist. How does he manage? His hips must be wider than mine. Maybe he likes to show off his intimidatingly perfect body.

"Can I borrow your practise pants as well?" It's not a big ask, is it? Still, his eyes are shifting from mine, looking down my hairy, muscled legs. Cycling has bulked them up a bit; they're the only part of my body that's not 'lean'. "Yeah, I know, I'm skinnier than you. I'll just hitch them around the waist somehow. Come on, it's better than having me sitting here half naked, with my donger waving around." I can't believe I just said that. Well, he started it.

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Blair says, but I can tell he's not too happy about it. He wrinkles his nose as I come close to take his mud and grass stained white pants. As I lean forward, his fingers brush my bruised cheek. I flinch at his touch, and feel myself begin to blush. He hurriedly flicks his hand away, grinning slightly, as if he had done it in jest, or to test me or something. He presses his full lips in a smile. When he starts to speak, no sound comes out for a second, even though his mouth is moving. He smiles a bit more, baring perfect white teeth. His voice is slow and careful. "...Those bruises look sore..."

No, they're painless, moron.

"...And your knuckles... Who beat you?"

Who do you think? "Some of your mates."

I turn away from him as I feed my legs into the trousers. I don't want him to see that my pale cock has perked up for some unknown reason. The pants are really dirty. The butt-area is covered in mud and grass, the crotch has some red stains from rubbing the ball, pretty normal stuff, really. The insides are damp. They smell too, sweet, salty, pungent, sweaty. It's Blair's scent, only stronger than usual; manly, with a hint of deodorant. Not enough though, as always. Still, I figure he worked up quite a sweat on the field; he did have a century in the last match. He was out there for hours.

"What?" Blair asks. "Who?"

"Blonde, big, broken nose, plus cronies times five. You work it out."

"Baker?" he hisses. "He's no mate of mine... He always was a jealous bastard."

I roll my eyes. "What's he got to be jealous of? I'm not smart, I'm not good-looking and I'm not particularly good at cricket-" These are the thoughts that have been circling inside my head since the first time Baker had a go at me. It can't be jealousy; more likely, he has to boost his own self-esteem by chipping someone else's. However, the knowledge that your bully is an insecure individual really doesn't help when there's six of them bearing down on you.

He interrupts. "I don't know about that. You seem to know more than me in Chemistry. You're not bad-looking, and, you made the team."

"I what?" I snap, incredulously.

Blair's lips curve into a smile. "Didn't you check the lists when you came in from the last trial?"

"No- I-"

"Well, you made it and Baker didn't. In fact, given that only sixteen guys made the team of eleven, some as subs, a lot of guys missed out, and are going to be in lower ranking teams. Not so cool. You're not going to be a sub by the way, you're too good."

I'm shocked. Shocked isn't the right word – flabbergasted. I thought my performance was mediocre at best, certainly not up there with the way he plays. I was in the top team at my old school, but they only had fifty guys to choose from. Here, around three hundred have tried and been eliminated over the last three days. They held a proper game today, with the final twenty odd, half versus half. Okay, so I made it to the final cut, but I'm not as good as some of the other guys who were playing. My batsman-ship sucks. I even admit that Baker played better than me. "I don't get it. Why was I selected?"

"Cos you're a good pace bowler. I saw you bowl two guys today, and yesterday another guy, and the day before that two, no flukes. Not to mention your fielding. How many guys did you out?" Blair's grinning at me and I've got this strange warm feeling growing inside me. I can't help but smile back. I guess I'm kind of pleased that he's impressed. Maybe he'll talk to me in class now.

"But." There's always a 'but'. Story of my life. He continues, "You're batting was pretty bloody terrible. Sorry, but you'll be way down the line-up for that, probably our tenth or eleventh... The selectors think I can teach you something, get you a bit better. My first thought is that you need a longer bat, so I was going to lend you mine to try out."

"Today? Aren't you tired? That why you're here so late?" I ask.

Blair's eyes avoid mine for a second. "Yeah... Um, well, I had to go and talk to the coach. I came down here and waited around, but I thought I'd missed you, and then when I tried to leave, I found that someone had locked up."

"There's no way out?" Shit.

"You're a suspicious bastard, aren't you? Don't answer that, it's just an observation. Nah, I checked everywhere. There's wire over all the windows and the door is definitely locked. And I can't find my stupid cellphone. I wish they wouldn't make them so small; I'm always dropping it or leaving it behind 'cos I don't see it. We've just got to hope that someone comes looking for us."

"Great," I say, with sarcasm. "So what are we gonna do while we wait, count sheep? Pray? Today's Friday!" I sit down beside him, careful not to be too close, in case he thinks I'm odd. He must be sweaty, his shirt seems to be sticking to his chest. Either that, or he wears it tight on purpose. I haven't seen him in street-clothes before. The jeans and blue polo-shirt make him look heaps older than eighteen.

"Don't panic," Blair replies. "Your parents are bound to miss you, right?"

No. They're in Cyprus, having the time of their fucking lives, on their way to Turkey to see the ruins of Troy. "No. No-one will miss me. I board at school and I'm written down as gone home for the weekend, only I was going to hitch back to my old city and see friends, nothing definite. No-one'll be looking for me. What about you?"

"Parents are away for the weekend at some conference. Shit. The athletics team is scheduled to practise Saturday afternoon... You think we can hang out 'til then?"

"Do I have a choice?" I groan. I'm sure I'm going to do something stupid if I stay here. I've already got a stiffy. He's going to hate me.

Blair keeps talking and I've only just tuned in again. "My first name's Theo, by the way, but everyone calls me Blair."

Yeah, I know you're called Blair, I sit next to you in Chemistry, haven't you noticed? Am I just not worthy of your attention until now?

"Theo?" I ask, wondering whether the smirk on my face is going to get me punched.

"I know... Short for Theodore. It's sort of an inherited thing..." He grins. "Parents, ay? Never think of the kid when they hand out the name." Then he just shuts up and stares at the door to the toilets. This is what he does in class. It pisses me off. He blocks me out, like I'm not even there. I should say something, but what? Normally, I get in trouble because I don't shut up. I can't understand why I'm so tongue-tied and embarrassed. This is so uncomfortable...

I study Blair's face. The beautiful contours created by his nose, cheeks and chin. His tanned, lightly freckled skin. And those eyes. They are such an icy colour, so cold in tone, yet surprisingly full of life and warmth. I notice his black pupils, surrounded by a corona of sky blue, then a sea of pale blue ice. His eyelids are slightly lowered, so that his eyes emerge from beneath the short, black brim of his eyelashes. I think it's called 'bedroom eyes'. Whatever it's called, it's damn sexy. That's an observation, not a... okay, yeah, I've got the hots for him bad. I don't get it, I don't think of guys like that, I've got a girlfriend for God's sake!

My heart's jumping like a toddler on a trampoline, god knows why. There's a strange, pleasant sensation of warmth running over my skin. Suddenly, a shock jolts through me as I realise that his head has turned to mine. He's smiling at me. For a moment, I can't breathe, then I have to gasp to catch up on oxygen. Oh Shit. What must Blair think? Blushing like crazy, I let my gaze drop my hands.

Even worse, the pleasant, tingling sensations that I've been trying to ignore are getting stronger. Shit. Shit. Shit. My cock is tightening and filling, growing hotter and harder. I can see it partially raising the fabric in the groin area of the pants Blair's lent me. Moving my shirt to cover my erection will only bring his attention to it, especially since I'm staring down there now. Maybe he won't notice it. I probably only know it's there because it's my cock. These pants should be loose enough to render my stirrings unnoticeable.

What the hell is wrong with me? I don't find guys attractive. Maybe I do, a little, but I've never gotten hard over a guy in public. Neither do I do that in private, mind, just sometimes people enter my thoughts when I'm playing with myself. Okay, sometimes I think about guys, but just body parts that I would like to have, like a long, red, burning cock in my hand instead of my white piece. And well-developed chest muscles that I can feel moving beneath their tanned skin. And a really muscular, tight ass. One like Blair's perhaps. Something firm, yet soft and smooth to the touch. Oh shit. Kylie's going to kill me, if Blair doesn't do it first.

I try to take my mind off that train of thought by focussing on the thick, white fabric of Blair's pants, but that doesn't help. All I'm doing is reminding myself that an hour ago, his cock was where mine is now, and that it's his damp, sticky sweat clinging between my arsecheeks.

"Cat got your tongue?" Blair asks.

"No," I shoot back. Where are all my jokes and come-backs?

"Geez, you don't have to be so prickly. I'm sorry you got bashed up, really I am, but if you're like this with everyone, I can sort of understand why some people-"

"Might feel the urge to punch me?" I can't help but be defensive. I don't want him to know how I really feel.

"I didn't mean it like that," Blair protests. "I just- I'm sorry. My tongue runs away from me sometimes."

The entire situation is so bizarre that I suppose I'm going a wee bit hysterical. In an hour, I've been punched up, got into the top team, and been locked naked in the changing shed with a guy I've just realised I'm attracted to. It had to be me, didn't it? I start to giggle, uncontrollably, as I stare at his worried, handsome face.

"What's so funny?" He must think I'm insane. (Maybe I am! I never imagined that this would happen when I got up this morning. Perhaps I'm concussed?..) At least he doesn't know that I'm hard over him.

"Oh- ah, nothing," I stutter. "I just thought it was kind of funny, your tongue running away, like the dish and the spoon." Oh, god, what the hell was that? He's got this 'what the fuck' look on his face. I get up. "I'm just going to use the toilet."

Without looking at Blair, I bolt to the toilets. I ignore the urinal and slam myself into a cubicle. My face is so hot I think that it must be glowing. Any chance of forming a friendship seems to have been scrapped by my stupid mouth. Maybe he was right not to talk to me before. It must be obvious that I'm lusting over him as badly as any of the girls. I bet I've got that puppy adoration in my eyes; that's why he was smiling at me. I'm coming off so badly. How am I going to survive on his team if this keeps happening? What am I going to do now?

I drop my pants, causing my cock to flop out. It stands almost horizontally from my body, curved downwards from a point just below the head. My cockflesh is as white as milk, except for the blushing tip emerging from beneath my soft, wrinkled foreskin. I'm not at full mast, but getting close. What is wrong with me?

What am I supposed to do? Thinking about things that don't involve sex doesn't work; every time my mind strays, Blair's tanned fucking perfect face and pale blue eyes pull me back. And if I jerk off? Well, either he'll hear me or he'll come checking up on me because I'm taking ages. And he'll know for definite then that I fancy him. I can already feel the sharp ridicule and embarrassment. This year's going to be hell...

Back to my dick. Fuck, it feels so good to touch its hot skin. I flick my hand away, as the curve starts to stretch upwards. The head is bulging outwards, forcing my foreskin to roll down. Exposed is the shiny, pink flesh of my head, sensitive and aroused even by the cold air. I can only ever think of it as Rudolf's nose, courtesy of Kylie, since it's so bright in comparison to my pale shaft. My trembling fingers give in to temptation, delicately stroking the thick vein on the underside of my length up and down a few times, causing a delicious jolt of pleasure. I'm dying to grab my cock hard and rub an explosive orgasm out. The thought of it makes the head twitch and drool in anticipation. I groan loudly, forgetting where I am as my fingers begin to pump precum from the head along my thickened shaft. My groan brings me back to earth. I can't jerk off here! Blair's in the other room, only metres away. I slap my hand down on the box, willing it to stay there and not give into lust.

Reluctantly, I pull the pants back up and draw the drawstring as tight as I can. Looking down, I can see my cock bulge the white fabric. Tucking in the shirt helps disguise it enough, I hope. I shoot out of the cubicle and straight to the taps. In the mirror, I can see Blair hovering in the doorway. His face is burning red, and his eyes won't meet mine. Okay, what? He's embarrassed... I don't know whether I'm horrified, horny, or curious...

"Um- I, ar- What's the matter?" Blair asks. His flushed face is creased with worry and his eyes try to follow mine in the mirror.

"You tell me, Captain." Damn, that came out seedy. I flash a grin at him. He frowns back.

Why did I just do that? I'm going to get my arse whipped.

Slowly and deliberately he treads across the room to stand inches behind me. His heavy breathing is blasting hot air on my neck. His closeness makes me feel really uncomfortable, but he's sort of wedged me in and I can't get out without touching him. Why won't he say something?