Dirty Little Secret Ch. 02

I was thrilled when I saw the empty parking space immediately behind my living room window. It was the closest one to the side door.

I opened my back door and contemplated my next move. I wasn't sure I could carry the boxes myself, but I certainly didn't want anyone else knowing what was in the boxes.

The boxes were long, wide and heavy. They were resting on the back seat, but were long enough to be leaning over the front headrests, as well.

I struggled trying to wriggle the top box out of the car's back door. I turned it every which way until finally I could pull it outside. It contained the 'legs' and 'motor' and it was damn heavy.

I carried it a few feet then rested then continued until I reached the side door. I unlocked the door, held it open with my foot then grunted and heaved until I got the box inside the building. I propped open the door to my apartment, and dragged the box inside and laid it down on the living room floor.

As I walked back to the car I took deep, gulping breaths of air.

I had the same problem with the second box. I figured it would be easier to maneuver but I was wrong. I was bent over, leaning inside the car when I heard a familiar voice.

"John, let me help you with that..."

Oh my God -- it was Denny! I didn't want him to see what was inside the box.

"Oh, hi, Denny," I said, as I abruptly stood up to face him. "Ah, it's no problem -- I can do it -- thanks anyway!"

"Don't be silly," he said, "...that thing is almost as tall as you...here, let me help."

I felt his hand on my chest and he gently pushed me aside then reached into the car and easily pulled out the box.

The name of the massage table was stamped on the side away from him. He carried it into my apartment like it weighed almost nothing.

As nervous as I was that he would see what he was carrying for me, I have to admit his glistening, rippling muscles thrilled me. Perspiration covered his exposed flesh, and his beautiful, long curly hair was disheveled. I guessed he'd been jogging.

He set the box on top of the other one then asked, "Are you a masseuse?"

Damn, I thought, he saw the name on the box.

"No, uh, no, not really," I said, trying to sound nonchalant. "I've got some experience, but I'm not a professional."

"That's an expensive table for a non-professional," he said.

"I didn't pay for it," I blurted out, and immediately regretted I said it.

"Ah, a friend of mine is a swimmer -- he paid for it..." I said and wanted to slap myself for saying that, too.

Now I needed to do some damage control.

"He says I have better hands than the massage therapist he goes to now."

I couldn't believe I kept saying things I shouldn't be saying. I turned away from Denny as I felt my face redden.

He chuckled and said, "Yeah, I know what he means. I don't care much for the university's trainers either...maybe someday you could give me a massage -- I get awfully sore after a game."

"Ah, yeah sure," I said, as an image of him lying naked on the table came to mind.

"Are we still on for dinner tonight? Meet me at five and I'll take you to the 'jocks' cafeteria -- you'll love the food!" he said enthusiastically.

"That sounds great -- I'll meet you at five," I said, relieved that the massage table was no longer the topic of conversation.

After Denny left, I stared at the two big boxes in my living room. I pictured the assembled table we saw in the showroom and wondered, 'Where the hell am I going to put this thing?'

I looked around the living room; I imagined re-arranging the furniture, but there still wouldn't be enough room for the table.

I went into the bedroom. Right away I saw a possibility.

If I moved the bed closer to the door, and shifted the chest of drawers next to the bed, the table would fit near the back wall next to the window with enough space to stand on either side of it.

I dragged the boxes into the bedroom. I opened the box that contained the legs, and read the instructions.

I can do this, I told myself. I'd helped my dad on several occasions with his 'projects'.

After I retrieved the tool box from the trunk of the car (my father had insisted I had a full range of tools because "All men have tools"), I went to work.

It's amazing how quick and easy a project can be when you follow the instructions.

The last thing I had to do was install the batteries in the motor. After that I stepped back and admired my handiwork. The table looked great and it was rock solid.

I felt the same satisfaction that I experienced whenever one of my students understood what I was teaching them.

I had a strong hunch I'd be seeing Lane that night. I still had two-three 'sex toys' I'd used with Donny so I laid them on the counter beside the lotions and creams and the new dildo.

The table worked like advertised. I played with the buttons on the motor and learned how to set the table in some very risqué, and downright dirty positions.

It was easy imagining Lane in these positions, but when I thought of Denny I couldn't picture him as the submissive-type who would allow himself to be sexually manipulated this way.

At least I hoped not. It wouldn't be much of a relationship if we were both submissive.

Stop thinking like this, I scolded myself. Quit getting your hopes up for a guy you are pretty damn sure is straight.

There wasn't much time until I was to meet Denny for dinner. I showered, and shaved again, even though my light stubble was barely visible. I carefully dried my hair so it would come out just right.

I had butterflies in my stomach. I wondered why I was so nervous.

You're not going on a date, I told myself. Relax -- it's only dinner.

I was ten minutes early and was pleasantly surprised to see Denny waiting for me.

He smiled before he said anything. Oh my God what a beautiful smile!

Seeing his freshly washed golden, curly hair, his big, bright blue eyes and his six-foot two solid, manly body, I broke out in my own wide smile.

When I got close to him he stood awkwardly, kind of swaying back and forth until he unexpectedly thrust his hand forward. I was momentarily surprised by his gesture but quickly recovered and reached out and shook his hand.

That was odd, I thought. He seems more nervous than me. Is there something going on here?

We only had an hour for dinner, our tutoring sessions started at six.

I walked beside him and listened as he pointed out various rooms and items of interest on our way to the dining hall.

He hadn't exaggerated. The building where the athlete's lived was much bigger, the rooms more spacious, and the quality of the furnishings much more elegant and expensive.

I remembered Professor Van Dyke saying with some resentment "...it is a crying shame these oversized glandular cases receive special treatment while real students, the ones who are here for the purpose of learning and growing intellectually, are treated like second-class citizens...oh well, these 'special needs' kids do finance our department and most others on campus...that's why it's so important to help these kids pass their classes."

To say the jock's cafeteria was great would be an understatement.

There was a prime rib station where a uniformed employee sliced-off however big a slab of meat you desired; a grill where you told the cook the type of steak and the temperature you wanted; a buffet line with at least five kinds of potatoes, and various veggies and side dishes. There was a pizza oven and a kid who was busy kneading dough.

I counted six employees, aside from the cooks, whose main job was to replenish the buffet --it was steady and fast work. The jocks ate like there was no tomorrow.

It appeared the entire football team was there. I'd never in my life seen such huge men all in one place. I was staring in awe as the biggest guy I'd ever seen walked by our table carrying two trays overflowing with meat and potatoes.

"That's Brutus, our left guard," Denny said. "They have him on a 7,500-calories-per-day diet...he can eat six steaks at dinner, a pizza, and a ton of potatoes...at breakfast he eats a dozen eggs by himself."

"That's incredible," I said.

"Hey, Goldilocks," I heard someone call out. I looked up and saw someone Denny's size staring down at us.

"No self-abuse tonight -- I don't want you dropping my passes tomorrow," he laughed.

"There isn't a pass you can throw I couldn't catch," Denny said to the guy.

I knew enough about football to understand the guy was the teams' quarterback.

I saw him take a quick glance at me then he winked at Denny, and said, "Oh, pardon me -- looks like you found someone to give you a hand tonight...awfully young, isn't he, Goldilocks? Be careful -- he looks like jailbait to me!"

I felt my face redden from the crude inference, but at the same time my heart raced with excitement and exhilaration. My questions had been answered. All doubts had been erased. A rush of adrenaline coursed thru my body. My happiness and joy soared to new heights.

OH MY GOD, my mind shouted with glee. DENNY IS GAY! HOW FREAKING WONDERFUL IS THIS??

Denny chuckled at his words then turned to me and said, "John, I'm so sorry -- these guys are pretty rude...."

We ate in silence for a couple minutes before Denny cleared his throat and looked at me with a serious expression on his beautiful face.

"I, ah...I probably should have told you I was gay...I hope...I hope that doesn't change things between us," he said.

I stared at him but didn't see anything. I was preoccupied with my mind screaming and shouting at me to 'TELL HIM—TELL HIM—TELL HIM YOU'RE GAY TOO -- COME OUT OF THE DAMN CLOSET AND TELL HIM -- YOU LIKE HIM -- YOU WANT TO GET CLOSE TO HIM -- NOW IS THE TIME TO ADMIT WHO YOU ARE -- TELL HIM -- TELL HIM -- TELL HIM....'

"No...no, that doesn't bother me...." I said.

I felt the bitter bile of self-loathing and hatred rise in my belly and stick in my throat. I hoped I would choke on it.

I was sitting across from a wonderful man who obviously lived an open and honest life. A football player, no less, who everyone knew to be gay, and it didn't bother him in the least. He even took their jokes good-naturedly.

I'm a coward, I thought. Worse -- a gutless, spineless, cretin-of-a-boy who would rather live his life in misery and shame than admit his dirty little secret.

I don't deserve a man like Denny, I thought. I'll forever be hiding in the shadows, on my knees, sucking-off faceless, nameless, anonymous men whose only interest is to use my mouth as a receptacle for their pleasure then discard me like some cheap cumslut.

"John, are you alright?" I heard Denny say thru the haze in my mind.

I focused my eyes on Denny and returned to reality.

"Yeah, ah, sorry...I kind of drifted-off into space," I said with nervous laughter.

"I hope it was a nice journey to a pleasant place...." he said with all sincerity.

I think it was those simple words that caused me to fall in love with him.

It turned out Denny and I must have been the main topic of conversation that night in the dining hall. The three football-player-students I tutored that evening all had a comment or two about us.

"You two make a nice couple," said Pork Chop. He was called that for obvious reasons. When he walked by us earlier that evening he must have had seven pork chops on his dinner tray. "You remind me of my folks...my dad is six-foot-five and my mother is four-feet-ten -- what are you -- five-one -- five-two?"

"Five-feet-seven," I corrected him.

"Same difference," he said.

Later, Killer, the middle linebacker on the team said, "You know, if you're gonna be a fag you might as well be one with Goldilocks -- he's gonna make a ton of money when he turns pro."

Even Fatty had something to say: "Hang on to that guy, cutie-pie...he's a helluva catch!"

Then he broke out in mindless laughter and said, "Get it? A helluva 'catch'? He's a receiver so I said 'catch' -- get it?"

I smiled and said, "Yeah-yeah -- I get it."

For some strange reason all of these comments made me feel good. For the first time in my life it didn't bother me that people thought I was gay.

Here I was: A gay guy who no one knew was gay, with people assuming I'm gay because I had dinner with a gay athlete who was not ashamed to admit he's gay.

All these people wishing me well on a non-existent relationship gave me a warm glow inside. It made me feel like I had an actual boyfriend and everyone approved.

Get a grip on reality, John, I told myself. Denny is not your boyfriend so quit living in fantasyland.

I finished with my student before Denny so I waited patiently outside the room. He and his student came out a few minutes later. When we were alone we spoke.

"I want to thank you again for dinner tonight -- you were right -- that is one great cafeteria...you spoiled me, I don't know how I can eat the slop in my cafeteria ever again!"

He smiled and said, "You don't have to -- you can eat with me anytime you want."

We slowly walked to the exit. I was aware that he was going out of his way to walk with me. We made pleasant small talk, comparing our tutoring sessions. Conversation came easy between us. We never had any awkward pauses or silence.

"We have a game tomorrow, and I was wondering if...well, I don't know if you like football or not, but if you want to go to the game I could leave a ticket for you at will-call," he said rather shyly.

His question took me by surprise. A warm glow spread over me. "What's 'will-call'?" I asked.

He laughed and said, "Next to the main ticket booth is a window that says 'Will Call' -- that's where people pick up free tickets that players and coaches leave -- all the athletes in every sport are allowed two free tickets a game -- if you want to go I can leave you two tickets."

My heart was racing. It felt like he was asking me out on a date.

My face reddened at the thought, but I quickly replied, "I'd love to go -- I only need one ticket though...."

On the way home I was floating in the clouds with all sorts of ridiculous fantasies about Denny and me. I pictured us going to movies and restaurants; holding hands in public; being invited to parties as a couple; living life unashamed.

I was reaching for the keys to my building when I heard the hissing noise again.

"Pssst...pssst...."

:Damn," I said out loud. "My tires have sprung a leak."

"Very funny," I heard Lane say from the bushes.

I looked around; no one else was within sight so I waved to him and whispered "C'mon, it's safe."

When he scampered out of the bushes I saw he was wearing the same ballcap with the bill pulled low over his face. He frantically looked around to make sure no one was near. I quickly opened the outer door then deftly switched keys and opened the door to my apartment.

Safely inside, with the door bolted closed, he removed the cap and I saw the look of relief on his face.

I felt sorry for him. He was so embarrassed and guilt-ridden by his feelings for men my heart went out to him. I knew exactly what he was experiencing.

Then I thought: You're like that, too, John. You act just as silly as him.

"Were you able to, ah, I mean, did you have time to set-up the massage table?" he asked, without so much as saying 'hello'.

"Yeah," I said, "and it looks great and I learned how to operate the motor."

I saw his eyes glaze over. He was so eager to lie down on the table his breathing was already irregular.

"C'mon," I said and he followed me to the bedroom.

When I switched on the light, he gasped when he saw the table. I'd left the legs of the table bent upwards and spread wide apart.

I moved close and put my arms around him. I tried to hug him, and at the same time, I leaned in for a kiss. His arms remained at his side and when my lips came close to his he turned his head. Out of embarrassment, I went ahead and kissed his cheek.

So this is how it's going to be, I thought to myself. I was disappointed and my feelings were hurt. It appeared this was going to be a one-sided relationship and it would all revolve around him.

Strange thoughts began filling my head; ideas that were foreign to my nature, but appealed to me nonetheless.

I quickly undressed until I stood before him in my string, bikini briefs.

I looked at the skimpy gym shorts and tee shirt he was wearing.

"I, ah, I told my roommate I was going running -- he hates running so whenever I want to be alone I tell him that," said Lane.

"Well c'mon, baby -- STRIP!" I said.

My forcefulness surprised both of us.

He quickly yanked his tee shirt over his head exposing his smooth and sleek swimmers torso. I took a deep breath; I loved his physique; my prick began moving in my briefs.

I saw the bulge straining against the front of his shorts. I wasn't sure, but the material of his shorts seemed to be made of silk, or some other soft and smooth fabric. I noticed what appeared to be a stain on the front of his navy blue gym shorts.

Good grief, I thought, he's already leaking pre-cum.

He seemed hesitant about removing his shorts so I grasped the waistband with two hands and pushed them down his hips and legs until they were bunched at his feet. He wasn't wearing underwear.

He gasped as his cock stood straight out. He was definitely excited; I saw more pre-cum oozing from his slit.

"C'mon," I said, and grabbed his hard cock and pulled him to the table.

I pressed a button; the legs lowered so they were flat, but I left them wide apart.

"Lay down on your tummy, baby," I said, wondering where the 'baby' came from; I never talk like that.

I stood between his spread legs and squirted some lotion on his back and buttocks and began massaging and kneading his smooth flesh.

"Aren't you going to, ah, you know, use the leather cuffs?" he asked in a small and rather whiny voice.

Ohhh, I thought, so that's his game. He's a submissive who needs to be restrained; that way, he can receive his pleasure without guilt.

Afterwards, he can say "Yes, I liked it, but I was tied down -- what could I do?"

"Oh yeah, baby," I replied. "That will come soon enough -- just lie there and enjoy the massage."

I was going to use the restraints, alright, but first I wanted to get him ready. I'd developed a plan and was going to stick with it.

I loved the feel of his silky flesh beneath my hands. His sleek and powerful swimmer's shoulders excited me. I felt his tenseness and gently, but firmly, kneaded his muscles until I felt him relax.

He groaned when I started to massage his buttocks. I didn't spend much time on the round globes themselves, but rather I oiled my fingers, squirted more oil between his cheeks, and concentrated my efforts from his perineum to his anus.

His moans made my prick stiffen.

I squeezed more oil on my hand and reached below the table where his hard cock and scrotum were dangling in mid-air.

His body jerked and spasmed when my oily hand stroked his cock; I rubbed oil on his balls and massaged them one at a time. His moans grew louder. I was afraid my neighbor would hear us thru the thin walls.

His arms, legs and torso were thrashing about making it difficult for me to focus. I decided it was time to use the cuffs.

"Turn over, baby," I whispered. "Show me that beautiful cock of yours."

He groaned loudly at my words. I'm sure he didn't expect 'dirty talk'.

I marveled how solid the table was as he flipped over; I congratulated myself on doing a good job.

His cock was fully engorged; a throbbing, purple pole of steel. His cockhead was covered with pre-cum.

I wasted no time attaching his wrists and ankles to the table. He whimpered and murmured "Oh my" thru-out the process. He tested the restraints and they worked beautifully -- his arms and legs were locked into place.