Aqua Phobia

Ok. So I'm scared of water. Do not laugh! It's nothing to laugh about. Not that I fear drinking water or looking at water, but being in any kind of water body scares me to hell and back. Needless to say, I don't swim. I have the body for it, but not the intention. I'm tall at 190cms, lanky, and toned. But outside the water.

A couple years ago, our phys ed coach put it in his mind to teach me how to swim since I always remained on the bench watching the other boys splash and have fun. I refused. Categorically. After much cajoling and pressure from my parents, I finally thought what the heck! It was just fucking water, and all my friends were having such a grand time.

I sat on the pool edge and dangled my legs down. It was ok. Coach was standing in the pool, goading me to slide down. I did. Slow. Water reached my waist and my breathing started to speed up. I held and closed my eyes. I felt coach's hand in the small of my back, applying some pressure. I slid a bit further, felt the water at my nipples. I panicked. Feet thrashing. Head thrown back. Mouth wide open as if in a horror movie scream but without sound except the inhaling and exhaling of air. Arms flailing. Two strong hands grabbed me by the armpits and pulled me out, laying me on my back.

It took a couple of minutes for me to calm. I was sweating and my breathing was still faster than it should have been. As I finally managed to open my eyes, it was Grif's face looking down at me, concerned, thick eyebrows knotted. Griffin was a kind of a neighbor, two blocks away from my home. Our two mothers are buddies, sharing recipes and gossip. Grif and I were not that close but our relationship was friendly and courteous. We moved in different circles at school, me with the nerds, and Grif with the jocks.

"You ok, buddy?" Grif's voice floated down.

I nodded, my breathing slowing down, the pain in my chest receding.

"What the fuck happened to you, bro?" He settled back on his haunches, still looking concerned. Coach was standing on the other side looking down, and I felt he had a look of guilt on his face.

I pulled myself up into a sitting position. "I'm fine," I managed to croak.

"You fuckin don't look fine, dude," Simon, another boy who had strode over to see what the commotion was all about, said with a smirk. Grif glared at Simon, who shrugged and strode away in a not-my-fucking-business-anyway manner.

Coach visited us at home that evening. He told my parents about the incident. My mom was stoic and said that I would eventually grow out of it. Nothing serious. Dad was glum. I felt he thought I was a sissy. Who the fuck was afraid to dip himself into a shallow swimming pool? I was confused and scared. At my age, what did I know? My body reactions did not occur according to my will. And I had tried. A late bloomer academically, at 18 I was still a senior.

"It could be caused by some kind of trauma?" Coach wanted to know.

"Not that I know of," Dad said gruffly turning to Mom, who shook her head.

"Perhaps seeking psychiatric help is in order?" Again, Coach threw his statements around as questions.

"The boy is no psycho, Coach," Dad retorted. I could tell he was moving from upset to angry.

Coach must have felt the tense atmosphere. He pushed back his chair and rose. "Anyway, folks, Asher here is a good kid. He does all the activities, except for the swimming part, and I can't complain. Have a nice night, now." And he exited as gracefully as he could manage.

A period of awkward silence ensued. I felt terrible that I was the cause of all this, especially since it didn't feel as if I had done anything wrong. Mom moved next to me, her arm around my shoulder reassuringly.

"Boy," Dad glared at me. "Has this happened to you before? Like in the shower or something?"

"No, Dad. Um... well... once last year when the showerhead in my bathroom broke and Mom said I could use your bathtub? I couldn't bring myself to get in there. I was afraid I would slip and break something."

"Yes, I remember," Mom snickered. "I had to towel clean you and you kept hiding your privates with your hands."

I blushed, of course.

"Honey?" Mom finally addressed my father across the kitchen table where we sat. "Maybe we should consider what Coach suggested."

"You mean a shrink?"

Mom gave Dad "the smile."

"Fuck that I know." Dad's way of not committing.

Mom's immediate look of horror that Dad was using profanity in front of her boy must have pierced through his head like an arrow. I snickered inwardly. At 18 I could use as much profanity as my dad!

"Ok. Whatever," the appeasement from Dad now that he was in the shithouse with Mom.

"It's called aqua phobia," the shrink declared a week afterwards.

The short of it was that after the first visit to the psychiatrist recommended by the school, the three of us decided that it wasn't going to work. The whole session was filled with banalities and theorizations. Nothing practical or meaningful, really. "Aqua phobia"? Fear of water? Seriously? That was what we got from the scheister, and we all fucking already knew it. Giving it a highbrow name didn't change anything.

Around two weekends after the incident, Griffin dropped by our house on his running route. He sometimes did that, especially since my mom would always have a glass (or three) of her specialty lemonade that he loved.

"Hey," the Griffin normal greeting as he stepped into the kitchen. Now I must admit that Grif had a killer body. Not only that, but he loved to show it. Narcissistic as well as exhibitionistic. For running, he wore those thin, nylon, running shorts which you could almost see through, sneakers without socks, and a tank top midway down his chest revealing his lower belly, rippled abs and all. In short, he look fucking great.

"Oh, Griffin," Mom smiled and immediately moved towards the fridge for the lemonade. "Some refreshment?'

"Hey," I mumbled, jealous.

"That would be great, ma'am," he gave her his wide white-toothed jock smile. I was turning green.

Griffin sat at the table next to me and started sipping the iced lemonade slowly, which surprised me since he usually gulped the first glass in one shot.

"Ma'am, I was thinking," he started.

"Yes?" Mom sat across from us. I could tell she had eyes for Griffin. Not that my mother was a baby snatcher or a sex fiend, but I guess a woman had the right to appreciate a beautiful male body like Griffin's.

Grif suddenly put his arm around my shoulder. "I think I have a solution for Asher. In the water, I mean."

"Oh?" Mom exclaimed. I moved a couple of inches away but liked the way he chummily grabbed my shoulder.

"Yes, Ma'am. I done some research. About what they call 'phobias'? Like when someone is scared of something?"

Mom nodded. "Yes, Griffin. We know what a phobia is."

"And I discovered that there is a thing called aqua phobia, which means..."

"Fear of water," I cut in. Who did he think he was, this Grif? "Also referred to as hydrophobia, in case your research didn't show it," I added, knowing that there was a difference between the two phobias, but needing to put Griffin in his place.

Griffin glared at me uncomprehending my attitude. He was there to help, wasn't he? His eyes told me.

He turned to my mother and said without looking at me: "I'd like to try something with Ash, if you don't mind. I think it might work." As if I wasn't in the room. But I was starting to mellow out. Griffin was a friend. And he was willing to go the extra mile and do research on this fucking thing. Besides, Griffin was hot as fuck.

I had never had sex with another person yet, unless you consider masturbation as sex. My porn experience centered on pussy fucking, watching those man cocks plunder into wet and stretched cunts. A few times, I came across some butt fucking, too. Looked too tight, which I thought would be amazing squeezing on a hard cock.

Griffin's research told him that in order to get rid of a phobia was to face it headlong. You're scared of cats? Then you should own one, according to my friend.

I had to quip: "So if you're scared of heights, you're supposed to jump off a skyscraper?"

"Don't be a douche... Excuse me, ma'am, I didn't..." he blushed and dropped his eyes to the floor not daring to face my mother. Shockingly, my mother who never hesitated to admonish my dad for profanity, giggled. "Oh, Griffin, I've heard of these things, you know."

So the plan was that I should get into my parents' bathtub. Nancy, my ten-year-old sister was all excited about the experiment and I had a feeling that she was going to use it for her "show and tell" at school.

Undressed down to my tighty-whities, I waited for my mother and sister to leave the bathroom.

"Mom? Nance?"

"Oh, yes, of course. Leave you boys to it, then. Come on Nancy. Help me bake a cake."

With the womenfolk away, I sat on the edge of the bathtub and watched Griffin turn on the tap and test the water temperature.

"I have tried this before, Grif," I said. "Didn't work."

"You have to use technique, bro," Griffin preached. "Research says a little at a time. Not to force it."

"Yes, sir," I smirked at Griffin's seriousness, and I kind of loved him for his care for me to go so far as to do this.

Quarter-filled, the tub looked ominous already. I dipped my feet in the lukewarm water, wiggled my toes, and told myself that I could do it.

"Ok, dude, get in."

I shook my head.

"Come on, Ash. Couple inches of water scare you?"

I shook my head again, my chest starting to constrict.

Griffin stepped behind me, placed his forearms under my armpits, lifted me and lowered me slowly down. I didn't resist. I wanted to beat this. But as I sat down in the water, up to my crotch, my breathing started to hyperventilate. As if by magic, Griffin produced a plastic bag out of his shorts back pocket and placed it on my face, covering my mouth and nose.

"Breathe, Ash. Breathe into the bag, bro."

A minute or so, I settled. My breathing returned to normal and I could even feel that my chest wasn't hurting too much.

"You ok, man?"

I nodded.

"How are you boys doing in there?" My Mom's voice came through the door.

"We're doing great, ma'am."

Griffin turned on the tap for more water. I watched the stream. I watched the level go up and my chest started to constrict again. Halfway up my abs and I began to thrash. Griffin returned to hold me from behind, his arms around my chest.

"I... I can't... b... breathe," I moaned, my legs kicking at the rippling water.

"Easy, buddy," Griffin held me in place, his palms pressed on my chest.

"Hurts, Grif... chest hurts," I groaned.

Griffin started massaging my chest, up and down my abs, my pecs, my nipples. I boned.

To my horror, shock, amazement, in the middle of my torment and scare and pain, my dick erected. And it showed. Just under the water level, my cock knob stretched the wet cotton fabric outlining the slit, the contours, the veins. Chest pains receded. Griffin's hands kept on massaging. My cock throbbed.

Sometimes, when I would prepare myself for a jack-off session, I would let my dick push through the waist of my undies, wet my index and middle fingers with spit, and work the under ridge. I would leak like a faucet. Now, as I looked down at my stretched whities, I was tormented that my cock would suddenly peak through, right under the eyes of my friend.

There was a snicker. "Dude, your dick is braver than you are."

"Oh God," I moaned, squirming.

"My therapy is working, Ash," Griffin sounded happy and impressed. "Hey, man, I can leave and you can go ahead and deal with that hard business of yours down there."

Griffin walked out. I jacked off. My squirts almost hit the ceiling. My chest pains were gone. My breathing started to settle, and I loved the rippling water around my nuts.

As I lay back against the tub, basking after the most satisfying load I have ever shot, Griffin walked back.

"Whoa... not done yet?"

I quickly covered myself with both hands.

"Dude, don't be shy. I'm proud of you, man. You beat the phobia. It was your dick." And he laughed, sitting on the edge of the tub.

I smiled, relaxed, and slid down a little to show him that I sure did beat the phobia, or at least the few centimeters of tub water. I let my flaccid cock float out on my belly.

"Fuck, Ash. That's a big dong you got. And it's not even hard."

That was true. I don't go limp after I shoot a load. My dick stays in a semi-hard erection and sometimes it maintains its hardness for me to go for another round. But Griffin calling my dick a "big dong"?

I didn't have any experience with other men to be able to compare. My porn data bank told me that I was kinda normal since most of the men in the flicks had bigger tools. I had used my mom's measuring tape once when I read that the average male member size was 6 inches, and mine measured 6 inches all right, limp. Erect, it went over 8. So yeah maybe I was endowed, but for my jock stud-like friend to make a "big dong" comment about my penis, even when I was not fully hard, excited me.

"I'd think that we all got big dongs once we're hard, Grif." This sounded to me a bit infantile but what would you say when your friend tells you that your dick is big?

Griffin's facial expression was that of awe as my cock started to elongate for another erection. "Fuck!" he exclaimed. "That fucker must be bigger than 8 fucking inches, dude. I had no idea you were this hung."

"As if you're not?" I fisted my shaft and stroked it slowly. Griffin was hot and he was turning me on by complimenting my cock size but more by his studly build. Why wouldn't he have a big dick?

Without taking his eyes away from my crotch, Griffin pulled down his nylon shorts. My eyes went wide as I gazed at my first man penis. Griffin started to stroke and in no time erected. His cock was nowhere near mine in size. Probably half? I was amazed. "Fucking horse dick," he mumbled as he stroked.

"It's not that big, Grif," I had to comment trying to avoid using "small".

"Measured at 6.5 inches, man, and that's bigger than most of the guys in the swim team. But yours? Fuck!"

Suddenly I felt proud. So I was scared of water. So I didn't have a killer swimmer bod. So I wasn't a hot jock. But I had the biggest cock. For a young virgin male, that was the epitome of pride.

What ensued was a session of masturbation, each of us bringing ourselves to ejaculation in minutes, splashing cum all over the bathroom.

We hurriedly wiped off the jizz with tissues before Mom could find out.

"He's cured," Griffin beamed as we returned to the kitchen where my mother and sister were checking on the cake in the oven.

"Really?"

Nancy stared: "Is Ash sick?"

We all laughed, and my groin tickled as I recalled how excited I had been with Griffin propping me and massaging my bare chest.

"It might take a couple more sessions, I think," Griffin smiled and discreetly winked at me. My balls tingled.

Our second session progressed to mutual jerking off. Griffin wanted to try feeling a big cock in his hand. And I let him. It didn't feel gay or anything. Just pulling on each other's dick until we shot our loads. It was a bit awkward at first, grabbing another guy's dick, but once we got into it, it was more pleasurable than doing it solo.

"Ever tasted cum, Ash?" Griffin asked, a smirk on his face. We had both shot our loads and were leaning back against the tiled wall on the bathroom floor, legs stretched, cocks limp, chests and thighs and crotches smeared with globs of cum.

"Mine, yeah," I admitted.

"Other dudes?"

"Hey, man, I haven't been with other dudes, or other dudettes for that matter. Besides I'm not gay."

"Eating cum isn't gay, asshole." He wiped a glob off his chest with his forefinger and offered it to me. I hesitated. Fuck! It was gay to eat another guy's jizz, wasn't it? I licked off the cum, anyway. Bland. A bit bitter. Nothing special about it. But it made me horny again, for some reason.

As I erected, I watched with shock Griffin kneel between my spread thighs, fist my cock and start to lick around the cum-covered head. "Taking it from the source," he commented before he went down on me.

I was struck silent reaching the orgasm of orgasms inside the slurping and sucking mouth of my jock friend. The blow session was over way too fast. Just like that. No words or comments. Avoiding looking at each other. Awkward for me, not knowing how to behave, trying not to moan gay-like, stifling my grunts as the slippery and warm mouth worked my knob and halfway down my shaft. Still I was ecstatic. My first blowjob by my hunk friend. Again, was that gay? Fuck it! I didn't care. A mouth is a mouth. It was heavenly, and if it was gay then I want gay any day.

The therapy never really worked. I was still phobic. Aqua phobic. But my now-boyfriend, Griffin, made up for the lack of swimming pleasure. It took us more than a year or so to admit that we loved each other and that we were gay. Up till then, our lovemaking included making out, lots of kissing, massages, with and without oil, stroking, sucking cock. I often spooned Grif with my cock between his ass cheeks, but there was no anal action, even though I would hump and slime his crack with my cum.

It was late in our relationship that Griffin made this comment as I rubbed my cock inside his crack: "Dude, if you need to fuck ass, I can arrange something for you, but not mine."

"You been fucking ass, man?" I was shocked.

"Not this guy I'm thinking of. He's virgin. I couldn't get him to open for me. But maybe when he sees you and your dick, he might be tempted."

I laughed. "He got scared of your dick up his ass and would take mine? Dude, you fucking with me, right? Who is it? Someone who used to be in the swimming team? Sheridan? You been playing around behind my back, Grif?" I added accusingly.

Sheridan was a fem boy, and he never hid his attraction towards other boys.

"Sheridan is good for throating a dick. But we never fucked. I wonder if he could throat yours though. Besides, Ash, I love you to death and back but we're not exclusive, are we? I mean if someone wants to suck my dick, who am I to say no?"

I slapped Grif's butt and kissed him. "Who is it?"

"Not a student."

I saw the smirk on Griffin's face.

"Fuck, man. The janitor?"

We chuckled at the idea of fucking our school's ten-thousand-year-old janitor.

"A professor?"

The smirk.

I ran the list of male profs through my mind. Not one came to me as candidate for cock-up-the-virgin-ass or down-the-gobbling-mouth dude. Besides, it was risky.

"So who the fuck is it?"

"Think history."

"No fucking way. Hist 101 prof? Isn't he like even older than the janitor?"

"Well, he's old, yeah, maybe 70-something, but you have to admit that he's cute for an old guy."

The following day, I made it a point to freeball to class, wearing my tight jeans. I thought it looked too obvious when I studied my crotch in the mirror before leaving. My dick was outlined sideways. I thought I could manage covering it most of the time with my bag. The idea of luring our old history professor was very tempting even though I was concerned about possible negative consequences.

I waited until the class emptied, Griffin winking at me when he saw me still in my seat as the others left the room.

Dr. Freeman noticed that I was still in my seat in the second row, and that my thighs were spread out, my bulge now quite apparent. He regarded me from above his glasses, his eyes dropping down to my crotch for a second.

"Well, young Asher. What can I do for you?"

I stood up and slowly sauntered over, making sure to give him the opportunity to feast on my crotch, hoping that he wasn't a prude, that he would think all of this as vulgar and infantile rather than erotic, and kick my ass out.