Fuck Around and Find Out

This is my first attempt at Male/Male erotica. I almost hesitated to put it in the Gay Male category because it's one of those "previously straight guy's first time" stories where the main character struggles with reluctance and shame. But that's my own personal perspective from my youth. Thanks to RSchwuler and donaldelliott for their advice and assurance that these kind of fantasies are more common than most men realize, and not necessarily offensive to readers who are unreservedly gay. If you like these kind of stories, check those writers out. If you don't, well, you've been warned.

All characters are at least 18 years old.

***

What the fuck had I done?

How had I ended up on my shoulders and knees on the thin futon on the floor of a high school's theatre prop storage room, pinned down by an all-state defensive tackle's gigantic hands spread out on my back, with his menacing cock nudging against my ass?

I felt my own tears on my face. I was crying from both the fear, and from the sudden clarity that my near-nakedness had brought -- the reality of what I was doing, what I was letting Luke Wallace do to me.

What was I doing? Why had I thought I wanted this? The fear of the discomfort of a huge foreign object inside my body wasn't the half of it. The reality was, that foreign object was a living, pulsing appendage of another young male, who was about to fuck me in the ass. I was letting him make a cock sleeve out of me. And now I couldn't take it back. It was too late.

I wasn't gay, I kept telling myself, even now. I liked girls ... even though I was too shy, or too afraid of rejection, to do much about it. It was girls that I wanted to date, to kiss, to have sex with. I wasn't romantically interested in boys. I didn't want to kiss them.

At least, I dimly realized, at least he knew what he was doing. He hadn't been all bluster. Mine wasn't the first ass he had penetrated.

He had brought lube. Of course he had! I wouldn't have had the nerve to carry a tube of lubricant to the cash register, for fear of being confronted by some stern adult asking for my ID. Luke had probably tossed it on the counter and announced to everyone in the vicinity that he was going to be deflowering someone tonight.

He had used that lube to wordlessly and purposefully prepare me with his fingers -- rather aggressively, but effectively, skillfully even. I was surprised, actually, at how easily I had accommodated his fingers, properly lubricated. What was going to come next, I was afraid, would be a different story.

It didn't surprise me to think that he had fucked girls in the ass before; but I had suspected his bragging about turning boys into sissies was bullshit. I had called him on it. He had told me, "Fuck around and find out."

Now, I suspected his boasts were based on experience.

And that made me wonder, who were the other boys at Glenview High School who had been prostrate beneath Luke, writhing and groaning with his cock up their ass? Who were the other members of this Hall of Shame I was about to join?

The fact that I didn't know their names wasn't proof that they didn't exist. My current situation rather implied that they did. But at least, I was lucid enough to realize, it meant Luke didn't fuck and tell. Or at least he didn't name names.

God, what had I gotten myself into? I dropped my forehead onto the mattress, and bit my lip. I just had to wait for this to be over. I had fucked around and now I was about to find out.

***

I was late getting to lunch. I had had student council business in the principal's office, only for a few minutes, but now I had to get in line with all the freshmen and sophomores. And by the time I got my tray of mystery meat and over-salted green beans, most of the gang I normally sat with were finishing up their meals and heading out to grab a few minutes of spring sunshine.

So I was briefly alone at a table in the cafeteria. But not for long. A minute later, I heard the "ah-OOO-ga" sound of a vintage klaxon horn, the kind you might hear coming from a 1928 Packard in a Marx Brothers movie. It was Luke Wallace, the star defensive end from the football team, making a juvenile mouth sound to announce his presence, along with his entourage, as he so often did.

I turned and greeted them with a resigned grin as they helped themselves to the empty seats around me.

"Hey, Marty," he greeted me, using a nickname that no one else used. My name is Robert Martin, and I go by Rob.

"Hi Luke," I replied, and then to his cohort: "Guys."

The fact is, I got along with Luke just fine, even though sometimes his relentless teasing got on my nerves. But Luke teased everyone. In truth, we weren't as different as first appearances would suggest.

Yeah, Luke was an All-State football player. He was six-foot three and well-built, and annoyingly good-looking to boot, with a broad cheerful face and a mop of dark hair. He was of course popular with all the girls, and, according to rumors that he encouraged, a couple of the younger female teachers as well. But he wasn't a dumb jock; that was just a role that for some reason he enjoyed playing. In truth he was a very good student. He was going to the Naval Academy.

And I wasn't quite the nerd that he liked to tease me about being. Yeah, I only carried about 145 pounds on my five-ten frame, but I did play sports -- I ran cross-country and had played baseball. Because I wanted to fit it, and so I did what it took to earn a letter jacket. It was good for my college applications, like all my other extra-curricular activities. Yes, I was also a straight A student, and President of Student Council. So I knew I wasn't unpopular. I knew I wasn't bad-looking, although I was resigned to being thought of as "cute," rather than strikingly handsome.

I could tell myself -- and sometimes I told others -- that all this activity was the reason I didn't date. Had to build that resume, get a scholarship. But the real reason was that I was shy around girls. I could give a speech in front of two thousand people at a convocation, but put me alone with a pretty girl and I was tongue-tied.

It certainly wasn't because I wasn't interested in girls, or attracted to girls. Indeed, I seemed to have moved through a cycle of crushes on some of the prettiest, most popular girls in school -- girls that my presence in clubs and classes gave me the opportunity to chat with, but never work up the nerve to ask to a movie or a dance. I would idolize them, put them on a pedestal; and I would refrain from sullying them by even masturbating to thoughts about them. And then they ended up "going steady" with somebody else, someone with more confidence and a less fragile ego.

So at the same time, I worked my way through the yearbook, jerking off to the images of other girls ... bad girls who I imagined might seduce or trick me into sex. That way, I could have guilt-free orgasms, without defiling my image of the girls I wanted to date. Although I felt guilty anyway, afterwards. No, I was plenty interested in girls. I just lacked the confidence to act on it.

Meanwhile, back in the cafeteria Luke was taking up half of his side of the table, holding court. Apparently, the topic of conversation was that a star running back from a rival school was getting a scholarship to a Big Ten school. The guys weren't happy about it.

Suddenly Luke noticed something on Jeff's tray, and reached over to grab a Hostess Ding Dong off of it. "Where'd you get this?" he asked.

"Grabbed it from one of the freshman over at the brown bag table," Jeff replied. "Why?"

Luke was turning the snack over in his hands, examining the wrapper. "Just seeing if it's one of mine." He looked at me and winked. "I've got a night job over at the snack factory, ya know.

"I fill about a thousand of these a night."

I rolled my eyes as Luke's entourage cackled, but I also allowed myself to smile along. Calling these guys sophomoric was an insult to underclassmen.

"Speaking of snack cakes, I'll bet Jameson is a twinkie," suggested Bill, who was one of our linebackers, changing the subject back to the Southfield running back.

"He can suck my dick," grumbled Jeff, who played safety for us.

"He DID suck my dick," Luke pronounced. "Every time I tackled him behind the line."

They all laughed. I rolled my eyes again.

"Yeah, and what about their quarterback?" added Bill. "Man, we hogtied and buttfucked him!"

"Squealed like a pig!" Luke agreed, as the two of them high-fived. "Hogtied and BUTT-fucked!"

"What a bunch of sissy bitches," Jeff snorted.

"What?" Luke suddenly demanded, and I realized he was looking directly at me. I must have been letting my bemusement show.

"Nothing," I said, taking a bite and chewing before deciding to push my luck. "I just think it's funny."

"What's funny?"

"I just don't get how this insult works," I heard myself saying. What was I doing? "Doesn't butt-fucking another guy make you gay, too?"

Luke scowled.

"It's only gay to suck dick. It's gay to get fucked."

"Uh huh," I replied, skeptically.

"Anyway, the fact is, they all secretly want it.

"I don't know how it is in cross country, Marty, but in football, the biggest dick is always the one that ends up on top. The guy on the bottom of the pile is the guy that belonged there in the first place."

His buddies were nodding in agreement, as if Luke was reciting his own personal catechism.

"Fuck around and find out, dude," he continued. I hoped no one saw me flinch; or realized that I had heard that as something more ominous than standard bluster.

"You'd be surprised how many guys just can't wait to be turned into pussies," he continued, "And I got just the tool for the job."

Luke gestured as if he was grabbing his crotch. "Yeah, I call it the Pussifier," he cackled. "'Cause they may have assholes when I put it in, but by the time I'm done, they've got pussies."

The guys all laughed, uproariously. I grinned and laughed along. But underneath the table, I realized, my penis was getting alarmingly hard inside my pants.

***

That night I was eager to get to bed early.

I had a recurring masturbatory fantasy involving my friend Tammy. Tammy lived down the road from me; our families had both moved here the same summer, almost three years ago; we met on the school bus on the first day of school. We became friends easily enough; but she had started dating an upperclassman (who had a car, of course) almost immediately, and so I precluded myself from ever developing a romantic interest in her. Which isn't to say I didn't have a sexual interest in her.

Tammy was quite pretty, with shoulder-length blonde hair, big brown eyes, and a very nicely shaped body. It was no wonder the older boys targetted her for acquisition from day one, and Mark Fletcher was the lucky winner. But I had ample opportunity to chat with her, without the need to worry about asking her out.

So in my fantasy, Tammy and I were what I would later call "fuckbuddies," but with a twist. We had a magical ability to trade bodies. Tammy wanted to know what sex felt like for her boyfriend; so I could allow her to experience the sensations through my body. And of course, I wanted to know what sex felt like for a girl ... even though at that point, I still didn't know exactly what sex felt like for a young man.

I didn't even know what sex felt like to a guy, why was I leaping ahead to wondering what it felt like for a girl? But I thought I had an idea of how good sex would feel for me with a girl. I knew how good my well-lubricated fist felt, stroking up and down the length of my dick, squeezing and releasing. Stroking in and out of a girl's pussy would feel something like that, only better, I assumed.

What did it feel like for her? Maybe the intense sensitive sensations of warm wet friction felt similar. But what did it feel like to have something big and hard moving inside your body, pushing your internal organs out of its way? It was intimidating to think about, but surely it didn't hurt, not after the first time; or else so many girls wouldn't do it.

Yeah, I worried a little bit about this fantasy. Did it make me gay? I certainly couldn't ask anybody about it. So I indulged myself in anonymous silence.

Tonight, I was picturing Tammy shimmying out of her jeans and panties to service Luke, the loud arrogant guy from lunch. I had to admit, the two of them would make an attractive couple -- perhaps the two most perfect physical specimens in the school. I would pay to watch them in a live sex show.

And I was sure that Luke would jump at the chance to gather Tammy's heavy breasts up in his gigantic hands and suck each of them in turn into his greedy mouth; to get her well-toned thighs wrapped around his long trunk and ...

But first Tammy had to drop to her knees and pay homage to Luke's famous cock, the doubtlessly huge, veiny tool that he like to brag had been up inside so many girls, and women, at Glenview High School and in the surrounding towns. Not to mention, based on his ridiculous boasts from today, in the willing mouths and asses of various young men that he saw as rivals to be subdued.

I envisioned Tammy undoing Luke's belt and zipper, looking up into his smug face with her big doe eyes as she fished the monster out of his underwear. Then my perspective changed, and I was no longer watching Tammy. I was Tammy.

And Luke was filling my mouth -- no, not my mouth, Tammy's mouth!, I tried to convince myself -- with his bulbous, spongy head, and with the thick, veiny shaft behind it. Thrusting rhythmically, working purposefully toward filling that mouth with spurt after spurt of thick, gooey cream. Enough to fill a thousand Ding Dongs.

And that's as far as I got before I was ejaculating myself, uncontrollably, helplessly, into the Kleenex in my hand. A quarter of a Ding Dong's worth.

***

Luke and I had three classes together the next day -- there weren't that many options for college prep classes in our small school -- and I found myself unsettled and squirming in each of them, glancing over at him all too often, wondering whether he had somehow sensed my strange, inexplicable arousal during lunch the day before. He gave no such indication.

Then there were the athletic fields after school. Luke was on the track team, throwing the discus and shot-putting. I was the student manager of the baseball team. I had actually played the two previous years, and the coach of the team, Coach Hall, had become my mentor and sponsor. But I couldn't hit a curve ball, and I was merely serviceable as an outfielder. I clearly wasn't good enough to earn playing time over more talented underclassmen, and so after last season Coach Hall and I had had an honest conversation, and he had asked me to help him as an assistant for my senior year.

The sun was setting and the parking lot was almost empty by the time I left the gym. I had stayed after practice to organize some equipment and update the team statistics on Coach Hall's computer. I was perturbed, but not alarmed, to realize when I got to my car that I had a flat tire.

I sighed and opened the trunk. We all carried jacks and spares in those days. I put the jack in place, then grabbed the tire iron to start removing the lug nuts.

And, shit. They were locked solid, virtually welded in place by a winter's salt and moisture. I tried standing on the tire iron, but it just popped off the nut.

So I was relieved when Luke pulled up in his Camaro. It figured that he would also be the last person on campus tonight; he often stayed after track practice to lift weights. In fact, his coach had even given him a set of keys so he could train on his own.

"Flat tire, Marty?" he asked, jovially but sympathetically.

"Yeah," I replied. "I've got a spare, but I can't get this one off."

"Here, let me try," he said, getting out of his car. "I'm an expert at getting off."

I rolled my eyes, but instead of coming directly over, he opened his trunk, and pulled out a three-foot length of galvanized pipe. He inserted the pipe over the end of the tire iron and with one jerk, the lug nut moved.

"Just gotta have the right tool for the job," he explained with a wink.

I gratefully let him loosen the other four nuts as well, then started working the jack while he went to grab the spare out of my open trunk.

"Jesus, Marty, your spare's flat, too."

Well, hell.

He stood up straight and looked around the empty parking lot. "Eh, just leave it here tonight. I can give you a ride home, and we can go into town and get your spare patched tomorrow."

That worked. I would be riding the bus tomorrow morning, but I was happy to take him up on his offer.

Streaking past the beanfields on the way to my home, he asked me, "So, you decided where you're going to school yet?"

"Not yet," I replied. "Still hoping to hear about a couple of scholarships." Everyone knew I had been accepted into Cornell, but my family wasn't going to be able to afford it without financial aid.

"You'll get it," he assured, with more than a bit of a grumble in his voice. "You always do."

"Jesus, Luke," I responded. "Don't sound so happy for me."

"Eh, sorry," he acknowledged. "But I do get pissed off a little bit about how you're always right, always first. In class, I mean."

I arched my eyebrows in surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah, really! It's like in chemistry last year. Solomon grades on the curve. If you had gotten a 92, you still would have had the highest score, but my 85 would have been an A-. But, no, you had to get a 98, and so I got a B."

Hmm. That had never occurred to me. But then again, Luke, you got into the Naval Academy. You're still ticked off about a B in junior chemistry?

"I'm just trying to do my best," I said, meekly. Then added, "Just like you do."

"Yeah, well, I don't like finishing second." That was Luke, I figured. I thought back to his comment the other day about how in his world, the biggest dick always ended up on top, and felt a little shiver.

He wasn't being rational, though. "Well," I countered, gingerly, "Maybe you ought to play football a little less hard, and then maybe I could make the team."

He stared at me wide-eyed for a moment, then burst into laughter. I laughed too, in relief. "Touche," he said.

I smiled. I wasn't surprised that Luke knew the word, but I was a little surprised that he used it. He wouldn't have done so in front of his entourage. It wouldn't have fit his "image."

He changed the subject. "So, who are you asking to the prom?"

"I'm not even sure I'm going," I replied.

"Jesus, guy, you've got to go to prom. Only losers don't go to prom."

I knew Luke was taking Andrea Godby, one of the cheerleaders. They had been an item for at least a year. Andrea was a hottie, all right, but I had never been attracted to her. Partly because of the way she tolerated Luke's bragging, real or imaginary, about all the girls he fucked on the downlow.

"I'm not dating anyone right now," I offered, weakly.

"So what?" he snorted. "It's not like you've got to marry your prom date." Although, actually, I thought, it kind of was, at least around here. I'll bet half the seniors in this high school married their prom dates within a year.

I shrugged, so he continued. "Anyway, you're never dating anyone. What's up with that? Makes people think you're a fag."

I looked at him in dismay. "People think I'm a ... fag?" I didn't like using the word, but it was his word.

He looked away for a moment, then looked back at me sympathetically. "Nah," he said. "I mean, not really. And no one who matters."

He was actually being nice to me. But not for long.

"Hey, I think most of the Plug Uglies are still looking for prom dates."