Dirty Little Secret Ch. 02

"Lane, I know from experience how hard it is to talk about all this..." I said. "I'm exactly like you...I don't know how many people know your secret, but only four people -- including you now -- know my secret."

I saw his eyes narrow as a puzzled expression washed over his face.

"What do you mean by 'my secret'?" he asked. "I don't understand, John -- everyone knows you're gay -- it's common knowledge in the jock's dormitory."

It was my turn to wear a puzzled expression. Not only that, but I felt my face flush a deep red.

"I don't understand, I've never admitted to anyone on campus I'm gay," I said.

"John, everyone says you're Denny Johnson's boyfriend...I was really jealous when I heard that...but I don't blame you, he's a real stud, and besides, I've been a total asshole to you...I hope you can forgive me."

How weird is this? I thought. I've been 'outed' by a bunch of guys who never even knew for sure I was gay.

Then I was overwhelmed by that old, familiar, terrifying fear.

Oh my God -- what if Professor Van Dyke heard the rumor and told my father? I'd have to quit school and leave town -- or worse, I'd have to join a monastery or become a hermit or---.

"John...JOHN...."

The sound of Lane's voice snapped me out of my paranoid panic attack.

"You mean to say that you don't believe other people think you're gay because you've never admitted it to anyone?" he asked.

I blushed. When he put it like that it sounded rather silly.

"I really don't understand all this, Lane...it's all so complicated...." I said. "I had dinner with Denny one time, and now I'm the talk of the campus?"

"You've never, uh...done anything with him?" he asked.

"I haven't told him anything about me, and no, we haven't done anything."

"Well, he's told a couple people he really likes you -- A LOT."

I shook my head in amazement. I was both thrilled and horrified. I had never experienced such strong, conflicting emotions. I didn't want to deal with this anymore. I changed the subject.

"Lane, can I ask you how many guys you've been with?"

His blushed and turned away.

"Please, Lane, we are both totally screwed-up human beings and we only have each other to confide in...I have complete faith that you will never tell anyone what we do and say here...I promise I will do the same...I know you're embarrassed, but talking about it might help."

He faced me, but his eyes stared at the floor.

"I had this thing...I, uh -- it's hard to talk about...."

"Please, Lane -- trust me -- you know how messed-up I am -- I won't tell a soul. It might help you feel better if you told someone."

He coughed; I could plainly see he didn't want to tell me. Then he surprised me by continuing his story.

"One of my chores at home was to do the laundry -- I always got home a couple hours before my mom and dad so I had plenty of time to do it...well, my mother's underpants always fascinated me -- I loved the soft, smooth feel of them -- this is so embarrassing...."

He'd said enough -- I had an idea where this was leading.

"So you used your mother's panties to masturbate?"

He looked at me with a stunned expression.

"Did you do that too?"

"No," I said, "but I was tempted."

Actually I'd never given it a thought. I guess I didn't have that fetish, but I wanted him to open up to me.

I remembered the night in my car with Theresa, she suggested I get some 'pretty panties and lingerie' to wear for Donny.

I said, "Theresa, I'm gay -- not a crossdresser."

It never occurred to me you could be both.

Lane continued: "They felt so good I couldn't stop doing it...I mean, I was in charge of the laundry, so there was no way my mom would ever find out. I'd use them then wash them with all the other clothes...it was a perfect system."

"What happened? Did she catch you?"

Once again he gave me a look of surprise.

"No...she didn't catch me, but a neighbor of ours did...I, ah, it got to where I would put them on before I beat-off -- they felt so good...anyway, the neighbor was a few years older than me...he walked in one day without knocking -- he used to do that when he knew I was alone. We would play chess -- he'd taught me to play and I loved the game. Well, one day he walked in and caught me wearing my mother's panties -- I was standing before a mirror wearing nothing but her red panties...I was stroking myself thru the sheer fabric."

I watched as a single teardrop left Lane's eye, rolled down his cheek then fell to his lap. I didn't say a word.

"First he laughed at me," Lane continued. "I'd never felt so humiliated in my life. He called me a faggot then he said, "No, you're worse than a faggot -- you're a sissy-faggot"...then he became quiet; his eyes stared at my erection through the see-thru panties...then he said, "Alright fagboy, here's how it's going to be..." then he told me he wouldn't tell my parents as long as I did what he wanted...."

Lane took a deep breath then finished his story. I didn't want to stop him. I thought it would be good for him to tell someone.

"He walked to me and said "Get on your knees, fagboy, and open my pants -- I have what you want".

"He blackmailed you? What an asshole," I said.

"Well, kind of --it was pretty strange...I'd had a crush on him for a few years...I thought he looked like a Greek God...whenever I masturbated I fantasized about him."

Not so strange, I thought.

He wanted to tell me everything so I shut up.

"I'll always remember that first time...I had a hard time opening his pants...when I finally did he told me to pull them down his hips...he had wide hips and I had to tug and pull at his pants and underwear to lower them...when his penis sprang into view I almost came in the panties...I was already hard, and I thought his cock was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen...it was at that moment my worst fear became reality: I knew right then he was right -- I was a faggot...anyway, he said, "Open your mouth and suck it."...the most degrading and embarrassing part is I came in the panties before he finished in my mouth. I can still hear his laughter in my ears..."

Lane finally looked at me. The horror was gone from his face. He looked relieved he was unburdening himself to me.

"So at least three times a week he would come over, pick out a pair of my mom's panties from the laundry basket for me to wear...make me get on my knees and suck him off...he was very demanding how I did it -- he taught me how he liked it...after a while, he told me I was the best he'd ever had and I actually felt great when he told me that."

I didn't want to be insensitive, but my curiosity got the better of me.

"Were there more guys after him?" I asked.

He didn't seem to mind my question.

"No, you're the second. The night we met at the park -- that was my first time there..."

"And you wanted to suck me, but I beat you to it," I said smiling trying to lighten the mood.

He laughed. I was relieved to hear his laughter and see the tension leave his face. It made me happy he was able to open up and talk to me.

"Yeah, I didn't know what to do...is there some sort of protocol when two guys hook-up? How do you know who likes what?" he asked with a smile.

I laughed and told him I wasn't sure.

We sat in silence for a couple minutes, but it was a good silence.

"Do you like Denny?" he finally asked.

I wasn't going to lie to him.

"Yeah, I like him."

"What about us? Will I ever see you again?" he asked with a worried look in his big, brown eyes.

The next day at the stadium I sat safely ensconced in the section where the players' family and friends all sat. I'd been nervous up until I found my seat.

My father had season tickets for many years, and I prayed I wouldn't see him; he would ask questions like 'why was I there?' and 'how did I get a ticket'?

When I saw that I'd be sitting across from him in the big stadium I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

He'd taken me to several games when I was younger. He tried to get me interested in something besides my schoolwork, and computers. It didn't work. I enjoyed watching the games, but I didn't display enough 'enthusiasm' in his opinion. He quit taking me.

I kept my eyes glued to Denny when he was on the field. My father had taught me what to look for in each position, and it was easy to tell that Denny had a special talent.

He caught passes with ease, he had 'soft hands', and made catching the ball look effortless. I also studied his blocking skills; he excelled in that, too. He opened a few running lanes for the running back who took full advantage.

This was a much better team than the ones I'd seen when I was younger. The defense was solid, and the offense seemed to move the ball at will.

Just before halftime, the quarterback launched a long bomb down the right sideline. Denny was in full stride, he easily had five yards on the defensive back but the safety was quickly running at him from the center of the field.

The safety and the football converged on Denny at the same time. Both men leapt high in the air with their arms reaching for the ball. Denny caught the ball with one hand at the five yard line, and both he and the safety fell backwards into the end zone. Denny held onto the ball for a touchdown.

The crowd went wild; everyone stood and cheered as Denny got up and nonchalantly dropped the ball and raised his arms high in the air in triumph. Several of his teammates rushed to him and almost knocked him to the ground in their celebratory frenzy.

It was one helluva catch, and when it occurred to me the guy who caught it was my friend, I felt a burst of satisfaction and pride.

At halftime I followed the throngs of people into the concourse and waited in line to buy a hot dog and coke. The people had been energized by Denny's touchdown. I listened to the talk all around me. Two guys behind me in particular.

"We gotta a good shot at the national championship with DuPree, Johnson and Adison," one guy said.

DuPree was the running back, and Adison was the quarterback. Johnson, of course, was Denny.

:Yeah, they're gonna go a long way -- hell -- they're already ranked number twelve in the country," said the other guy.

"Johnson's got such soft hands he can catch anything thrown at him."

The other guy chuckled and said, "He should have soft hands with all that sugar in his pocket."

His friend exclaimed, "What? You gotta be shitting me...Johnson's a fag?"

"You didn't know? He's not even afraid to admit it...it's like he's proud of it or something."

"And the other players don't beat the crap out of him?"

"Are you serious? He's their meal-ticket to the championship. You know what that means, don't you? A shitload of national television coverage, and a boatload of money when they turn pro -- a lot of the seniors are already secretly lining up agents for the NFL draft."

"For crying-out-loud, so Johnson's queer, huh? Who would have ever thought it?"

"Yeah, my boy goes to school here and has heard a lot of interesting stories...now he says he heard that Johnson has a new fuck-toy -- some little computer-nerd -- the other players call the kid 'cutie-pie'."

"Well, I hope 'cutie-pie' likes bending over and taking it in the ass -- we wanna keep Johnson happy through the season."

My skin crawled at their laughter. I'd never felt so dirty in my life.

I knew what my relationship with Denny was -- we were friends, and that was all there was to it; me being his 'boyfriend' was just a rumor. But I also knew that if people heard a rumor often enough, they would believe it as fact.

I got out of line and looked around for the nearest exit. I couldn't leave the stadium fast enough.

It was a half-mile walk to my dorm room. The September sun shone bright and warm. The leaves on the trees were brilliant oranges, reds and yellows. I normally loved afternoons like this; I enjoyed long, slow walks, soaking in the change of seasons.

Not today. The wide sidewalk around the stadium was busy with vendors, buyers and people who casually strolled with their friends, talking and laughing. Their laughter burned my ears.

Every time I passed a group of students and heard them laugh I thought they were laughing at me. I stared down at the sidewalk careful not to make eye contact with anyone.

It was the longest walk of my life. It seemed like I had to pass every student who lived on campus, and everyone was laughing and having fun.

WHAT THE HELL ARE THEY LAUGHING AT? WHAT IS SO GOD-DAMNED FUNNY?

The words I'd heard reverberated in my mind over-and-over-and over....

"...Johnson has a new fuck-toy -- some little computer-nerd -- the other players call the kid 'cutie-pie'."

I was embarrassed -- ashamed -- humiliated -- mortified. Tears clouded my eyes.

HOW DID THIS HAPPEN? WHY AM I THE OBJECT OF PUBLIC RIDICULE AND SCORN?

My hands trembled violently as I tried to unlock my apartment door. I managed to open the door just before I was going to kick it in.

I collapsed on the sofa; my heart pounding; my chest heaving. I concentrated on controlling my erratic breathing. I stared at the wall. I didn't move a muscle.

I could hear my brother's voice booming in my head over and over again: "If we ever find out you're queer, first I'll beat the shit out of you -- then dad will kill you!"

I stared at the wall until a beam of sunshine crept thru a split in the curtains and invaded my space. The brilliant light in my eyes shook me from my catatonic state.

I glanced at the clock and guessed I'd sat there for two hours.

Now what do I do? I wondered while sipping soup and eating crackers.

I can't go outside -- people will stare and laugh at me. Should I quit school and move to another town? Maybe I'll find a girl who will go out with me -- that'll stop the ugly rumors.

After dinner, I immersed myself in schoolwork. Studying always had a calming effect on me, and it was no different tonight.

I was deep into advanced algorithmics when I thought I heard something outside. I stopped to listen. There was definitely a light tapping sound on my window. Someone was out there.

I carefully opened the curtain just a crack to peek outside and it startled me to see Lane's familiar ballcap almost pressed against the window.

I must have had a scared look on my face because I could hear him thru the glass repeat the words "It's just me -- it's just me."

"I'm coming out," I said to him. The irony of those words struck me as I went outside.

I crept into the small opening in the bushes by the side of the building until I found Lane.

"Hi," I said. "I'm glad you're here."

"I wasn't sure if you wanted to see me," he said with a relieved look on his face.

"Don't be silly," I replied. "Let's go inside."

He followed me. Before I stepped into the illumination of the outside light, I looked all around. There was a guy and girl, holding hands, strolling slowly on the sidewalk close to the entrance of the building.

I waited until they passed then quickly unlocked the door and ushered Lane into my apartment.

I offered him something to drink but he politely declined. We settled on the sofa; some distance between us.

He asked me how I liked the game; he said he watched most it before he had to study. I fumbled for words. I didn't know what to say.

"Denny had a great game," he said softly. "Some of his catches were amazing -- especially that one before halftime."

Suddenly my cell phone rang. It startled me enough that I visibly cringed.

I assumed it was my mother reminding me I was to have Sunday dinner with them.

"Hello," I said.

I received another shock when I heard Denny's voice. I wondered how he got my number then I remembered we exchanged phone numbers a few days earlier.

"Hi. John," he said in his usual upbeat tone. "I was sitting around bored out of my mind when I thought about going to a movie...ah, I was wondering, if maybe, you'd like to go, too? I mean, if you're not busy, that is...."

"I thought you'd be out celebrating with the other players," I said.

I saw a crestfallen look on Lane's face when he figured out who was on the phone.

Denny replied, "Well, no...I generally don't go out with those guys...."

I don't know what came over me. I was suddenly filled with anger and rage.

"You know, Denny," I said in a harsh voice. "I don't appreciate you spreading rumors about me -- about us...I don't care if you're gay, it doesn't bother me, but I'm not that way and I don't think it's right other people think I am!"

"John, please -- I've never said anything to anyone -- please, we need to talk about this -- we should---"

I cut him short and said, "I have someone here -- I have to go."

When I ended the call my heart ached so much I wanted to cry. My chance at happiness with the man I loved was gone forever.

I'd forgotten Lane was sitting beside me. When I looked at him his facial expression was one of astonishment. He'd clearly heard me lie to Denny about my sexuality.

We sat in silence until he asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

I looked at him and knew he was sincere. He moved next to me and put his arm around my shoulders.

"Last night was the first time I ever told another human being about my feelings for men...you didn't laugh or criticize me, and you weren't judgmental...you listened to me and understood where I was coming from...I feel better about myself because of you...I know I can talk with you about anything...I want you to feel the same way with me -- everything you have kept hidden inside you -- you can say to me...."

Tears flooded my eyes. He stroked my face and hair. I pressed my head against his chest and sobbed. He gently soothed my tormented heart and mind.

I opened up and told him my life story. I felt our common bond of shame and guilt. We were one and the same.

When I was finished I felt better. I thanked him for listening and kissed him on the cheek.

We gazed into each other's eyes, and much to my surprise and pleasure, he kissed me on the lips. I threw my arms around him and kissed him back hard.

I unbuttoned his shirt and caressed his chest, and he did the same for me. We kissed and stroked each other like school kids in the front seat of their parent's car.

We stood up together and I took his hand and led him to my bedroom. Still standing, I pulled off his shirt then he pulled off mine.

I went to open my slacks, but he gently slapped my hands away. He wanted to do it for me. We opened each other's pants, snaked our hands inside and pushed our slacks and underwear to the floor.

We embraced and kissed. Our erections pressed against each other's belly

When we were naked I took his hand and guided him onto the bed. I lay down beside him and we held each other, kissing and caressing until our passion became too much.

He instinctively tried to go to his knees between my legs, but I stopped him. I smiled and turned around until we were both face-to-cock.

"Now we both get what we want," I said softly.

He took my entire cock into his mouth; I took as much of his as I could into mine. Our lips and tongues were busy doing what they do best -- we were both Masters of the Art of Fellatio.

Our hands were busy kneading, caressing and massaging. I would initiate a particular caress or touch and he another; we would imitate each other's movements.

When he massaged my perineum I massaged his; when his finger toyed with my anus I pressed my finger to his. I caressed his full and swollen balls. When I felt his hips begin to jerk, and his balls contract, I pushed my finger inside his asshole. He did the same to me.

I grasped his cock in one hand to prevent it from escaping my mouth. He tightly held my buttocks to ensure my cock wouldn't slip from his mouth.

We groaned into each other's flesh as we savored and swallowed each other's discharge of lust and passion. Our lips greedily clung to the cocks in our mouths until the last drops of cum leaked from our slits, and our pricks became flaccid.