Fuck Around and Find Out

I laughed out loud at that. The Plug Uglies were the guys on the offensive line on the football team. And they were all big. And ugly. Some of them were as tall as Luke; some of them were substantially heavier. None of them were the athletes he was, however.

"So?"

"I'm just sayin'. If you're not going to ask a girl to the prom, I could set you up with one of them."

"Uh huh," I responded. Rather than, "Fuck you." Sarcasm was more my style. Plus that, I was a little surprised to have felt a tiny shiver at the suggestion. He just looked at me with a lop-sided smirking grin.

"You know, you could carry it off," he added. "The prom dress, I mean. Andrea would kill for your legs.

"And anyway, it's not gay if you're actually a girl."

I realized that my mouth was open. I realized that I still hadn't said "fuck you." Instead, I was running in my mind down the offensive line. Hulking, lumbering dudes with the beginnings of potbellies. Charlie. Alan. Steve. Bruce. And at right tackle, Truck. Mack, actually, but since sixth grade he had been Mack Truck -- bigger and taller than Luke, but with his weight already around his middle instead of his chest; and with bad acne and one eye crossed. I shuddered.

He pulled into my driveway, and stopped the car but didn't turn it off. I just thanked him for the ride, and got out and went inside, conscious of the fact that he wasn't pulling away as I walked up the steps.

That night, I traded bodies with Tammy and masturbated furiously to the thought of me being her, on her on her back underneath Luke, her thighs up around his waist, feeling him thrusting up inside her; no, face it, inside me, making me feel delightfully full. Arching my back so he could take my heavy breasts into his wet and dangerous mouth, closing his lips, his teeth, around my nipples, each in turn.

But as my orgasm approached, in the seconds where I reached that point where it was inevitable, where I could no longer control my thoughts any more than I could stop my imminent ejaculation, I suddenly had a different, disturbing image.

I was on my back, all right, but I was in the back seat of Truck's Monte Carlo, in a shimmering prom dress that was bunched up around my waist, my long legs in stockings, wrapped around his clumsily-thrusting, fleshy torso as he jack-hammered a fat, ugly cock up into my guts.

My cream-colored silk panties already dangling as a trophy from his rear-view mirror.

I looked down to where Truck's pelvis was slapping against my bottom and the backs of my thighs. And I didn't see the neat triangle of Tammy's golden pubic hair. I saw my penis, desperate and hard, flopping helplessly against my belly with each thrust of Truck's hips.

And then I was spurting into the kleenex.

And then I was done, and awash in shame.

***

The next day I got a ride into town and back, patched my spare tire, and got home at the usual time. And found that the day's mail included my scholarship offer.

The school guidance counselor had been notified the same day. She stopped me in the hallway, congratulated me, and got my permission to include it in the morning announcements.

I spent the rest of the day getting congratulations. From teachers. From girls. Even from the Plug Uglies. And from Luke, grudgingly.

"Thanks, Luke," I said, as the other guys dispersed and we were left standing alone by my locker. He lingered a moment. I felt a little uncomfortable, as if he was looking at me with resentment, viewing me as a rival. Like the Southfield running back.

It felt weird, unsettling.

"You had to go and do it, didn't ya?" he muttered.

What, I thought? Get a scholarship to a top school? Take one trophy that wasn't ending up in your loaded trophy case?

We were friends. Not best buddies, but certainly, two guys who comfortably co-existed in the overlapping top social circles in our school. He had certainly been friendly enough two nights ago when he helped me with my flat tire, gave me a ride home.

Rescued me. Like a damsel in distress.

I was getting angry with him for making me feel this way. I was also feeling a strange, nauseating compulsion to placate him.

"Don't worry, big guy," I told him. I couldn't believe what I was about to say. "The biggest dick always ends up on top."

He glared at me, but I managed to maintain eye contact. "That's right," he said.

"So?" I offered, as a follow-up. Not, "So prove it." That would have been too much. I was into subtlety. Luke wasn't; but he was smart enough to know it when he saw it. I was going to fuck around and find out.

He leaned in to me and whispered, "Theater prop storage room. After practice."

***

And that's how I ended up on my hands and knees on the thin futon on the floor of a high school's storage room, pinned down by Luke's gigantic hands spread out on my back, with his cock buried in my ass. Finding out.

Ten minutes earlier, I had taken one last deep breath and turned the handle on the storage room door, halfway hoping it would be locked. It wasn't. I stepped inside and closed it behind me.

"Over here," I heard Luke rasp. He was at the far end of the darkened room, beyond a couple of rows of shelving units and racks of theatrical costumes, barely illuminated by a flashlight on the floor.

I still half-expected three of his henchmen to step out of the shadows to beat me to a pulp for being a faggot. But it was just the two of us, and Luke was keeping his voice low. He didn't want to get caught, either. I guessed that was a good sign.

My heart pounding, I stepped toward him. I could barely see his lopsided grin, or his eyes, which seemed to have a certain wildness to them. He held up a paper bag. "Here," he said. "Put these on."

I took the bag and looked into it, but couldn't make out the pile of fabric inside. So I reached in and pulled out ... a cheerleader's sweater. I flinched a bit, knowing that the next item I pulled out would be a cute little pleated skirt. Well, it didn't surprise me. He had as much as told me that he was going to make me a girl.

I unbuttoned my shirt and dropped it on the floor, and pulled on the sweater. It was a little tight around the shoulders, and didn't come down to my navel. "Good, good," Luke chortled. "Go on."

So I unbuckled my belt, kicked off my sneakers, and dropped my jeans. Nervous as I was, I could tell that I was nevertheless tenting my briefs. Luke could tell, too, and he snickered a bit. "Those too," he ordered.

So I stepped out of my underwear, looking down at how my penis was arching up away from my body, pale and pink in the flashlight's glow. Then I pulled the skirt up my legs and over my small, round ass. The elastic waistband hung low around my hips, and my erection was still making the front of the skirt jut out ridiculously. Still, I suddenly wished I had a mirror.

Meanwhile Luke had undone his pants, and had shoved them down his thick thighs. And there it was. In contrast to my prong -- smooth and rigid and childishly enthusiastic -- Luke's manhood was a slab of meat hanging between his legs, marbled with veins, just now beginning to extend and thicken.

I was flushed, and intimidated, and embarassed. It was obvious that my entire body was sexually excited to have been naked in front of him. His body was more laconic, as if his interest in this encounter was based on something other than sexual gratification. Or, as if his schlong was waiting for tribute before showing engagement.

"You make a pretty cheerleader," he croaked. I just gulped in response.

"Now get on your knees."

He placed a hand on the top of my head and pushed down. Not very hard. It didn't take much.

It's where I wanted to be; I just wanted him to put me there.

I was face to face with another penis for the first time in my life; and not just any penis, but the most legendary one in Glenview High School. I could feel the heat radiating from it as it rose to meet me. Semi-flaccid, it was as long as mine was, hard; and I felt a shiver of fear and awe as I contemplated it doubling in size like mine did.

I put one hand around it and felt it twitch and stiffen. It was hot, five degrees hotter than the skin on my palm. I gave it a slight squeeze and his knob flared. Fortunately, Luke was a shower, not a grower. He was bigger than me, no question, but not some monster.

"Lick it," he ordered.

I extended my tongue, tentatively, and touched it to the soft, wrinkled flesh beneath his knob. A little pearl of pre-cum appeared at the tip, and I didn't have to be told to lap it up.

"Good girl. Now suck it."

I opened my mouth and leaned forward, feeling the crown of his head pushing past my lips and onto my tongue; closing my lips around the shaft. It was warm and fleshy, at least on the surface. Iron hard below that. I drew it in as far as I could and then pulled back, lips sealed, instinctively. Just like in my shameful fantasies.

"Yeah," Luke growled, with satisfaction in his gravelly voice. "That's good."

It was good, I thought, ashamed to be pleased. But, Luke would know.

"Look at you, down on your knees, sucking cock."

I hummed an affirmation around the rigid pole of flesh that was slowly moving in and out of my mouth.

"You're a real cocksucker, now," he grunted. "Aren't you, Marti?"

Marti, I processed. Marti with an "i," dotted with a heart. I hummed again.

"AREN'T you?"

I nodded vigorously, feeling how that made the head of his cock press against the roof of my mouth.

"Say it," he demanded.

I opened my mouth to let him slip out, and surprised myself with how much saliva slid out with it, coating my chin. I looked up into his leering face, swallowed hard, and replied, "I'm a cocksucker."

"Damn straight," he muttered.

Without being told, I reached up and cupped his balls, heavy and potent in his loose sack. I couldn't believe I was doing this. I shouldn't be here. But as long as I was, I couldn't deny that it was thrilling. Sickeningly thrilling.

Maybe, I thought, the best thing that could happen now was for me to bring him off, let him cum in my mouth, give him that victory, and get out of here with my anal virginity intact. But I also wasn't completely disappointed when he wrapped his own fist around his rod and withdrew it.

"Turn around," he rasped. And I did, still on my knees, knowing intuitively how to position myself. I knee-walked up onto the futon, and lowered my hands and shoulders to the mattress.

I squeezed my eyes shut, sensing him moving behind me. Then I felt the cool gel of the lubricant that he had brought along; the blunt but bearable pressure of a finger opening me up, then two, less bearable, twisting and scissoring to open me up. That was unexpected but I would soon realize how much I appreciated it.

Because when that sticky hand moved to grab me and hold me by my hip, the next thing I felt against my sensitive puckered anus was the fat, fleshy knob of Luke's cock. The Pussifier. And when he started to push that in, I felt an explosion of sharp, bright pain.

Pain can be dull, round, hollow. It can feel as deep as the E string on a bass guitar. Getting punched in the balls feels like that. Or pain can be the high E string on a Fender Stratocaster, played at the 15th fret. This pain was like that, and it would have been worse if Luke didn't hold still for a moment and then sink into me extremely slowly.

That's when he applied more lube, and pushed until I felt his pubic hair against the crack of my ass. Then he pulled back out, just a bit, and eased back in, promptly reclaiming the vacated territory. And again. And again. Fucking me. "This. Belongs. To. Me." The initial penetration had been a violation. This was fucking.

My brain was scrambled, failing to process the explosion of sensations and thought fragments that were cascading through it like a jar of marbles spilling down a stairway. Those instants of lucidity, the realization that Luke did indeed know what he was doing; that the rumors and boasts were true; that I was the newest member of a shameful secret society; bouncing around in my head with absurd similes and strobe-lit images of heaven and hell. Mostly hell, but an alluring, captivating hell. I wasn't sure which way was up or down or front or back, until finally Luke's harsh raspy whisper seated me back in reality.

"God, if only Coach Hall could see you now, huh?"

I moaned at the awful thought, and Luke took notice and laughed. "Yeah. Just imagine what he would think. Just imagine him standing in the doorway over there right now, watching you get fucked in the ass."

I did. I opened my eyes -- I hadn't realized I had them closed -- and looked toward the door, which of course remained closed. But I couldn't help myself; my mind was conjuring an image of my baseball coach, my Physics teacher, my college application sponsor -- standing in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth agape, watching my defilement. Disappointment. Disgust. The image made me clinch, which Luke obviously enjoyed.

I realized that he was now starting to move in and out of me faster, and my body was now ready to find it pleasurable. His hips were moving, not deeply, but steadily, and I was pushing my own back against him. He was truly fucking me now, and my body hadn't just given up its resistance, my body was welcoming it.

With Coach Hall watching.

He pushed me down so my chest and shoulders were on the mattress, as was the side of my face, with my head turned to one side. My hands were still splayed open on the futon on either side of my shoulders, my elbows bent, as if I might try to push myself back up on all fours.

Luke was having none of that. Without changing the rhythm of his hips thrusting steadily, purposefully, in and out of me, he moved his right hand from my shoulder blade to my wrist, and pulled my arm back so it was across my lower back. I didn't resist. I had a vague sense of what he was doing, and something inside my head made me want to comply.

He took my other wrist and pulled it into place, crossing my hands behind my back and then wrapping them up in one of his large, strong paws. The position made me feel ... even more taken.. Like a hostage now. Somehow, the thought actually relieved me, relaxed me. He was thrusting ever more vigorously now, but it was causing me less pain. The stretched-to-the-point-of-tearing sensation at my anal ring was feeling more now like an irritation, an itch that was, in fact, getting scratched. The blunted, blurred sensation of fullness beyond that was becoming something more than tolerable.

Something terrible was happening. Something horrible. It was starting to feel good. Shit. I was surrendering myself to powerful and exciting sensations that I couldn't deny and couldn't resist.

He was not just thrusting now, but rocking; gyrating his hips, making the column of flesh with which he was plumbing my depths stab into me at new angles, boring me out like the cylinders on the 350 engine of his Camaro. Like scraping the insides out of a pumpkin. But despite the violence of these mental images, it didn't hurt. I was too excited to hurt.

And then he found a way to excite me even more.

"Who ya goin' to the prom with now, Marti?" Luke panted into my ear. I was in no condition to answer, of course.

"Not Beth Davis, I don't think. Girls don't go to the prom with sissies."

Somewhere in my brain it occurred to me that this banter must excite him as much as it did me -- why else would be be doing it? And, why wasn't it pushing him over the edge? I mean, it was almost pushing me over the edge, and I wasn't the one with a well-lubed tight virgin ass milking my cock.

He could certainly tell that I was pushing back against him now, fucking him back.

I felt him now pushing me forward, off my knees, flat down on my stomach now, trapping my penis against the mattress. He released my wrists but I just let my arms flop to my sides. And then I felt him following me down, his thighs inside mine, his body against my back. He had pushed the sweater up under my armpits, and the skirt was bunched around my waist. His hipbones were bracketing my entire ass, that's how much wider his body was than mine; and his long flat stomach was hot on the small of my back. I felt one of his forearms snake around my shoulders, pressing up against my upper chest, pulling me back against his own shuddering pectorals.

Something had clicked in him, too. I was no longer an ass to be fucked with his cock. I was a body to be owned, possessed, by his entire being.

I couldn't tell now whether my eyes were closed or not; whether the storeroom door was closed or halfway open; whether the images I was seeing were real or imagined. But what I was seeing was every girl I had ever had a crush on ...

one by one ...

appearing in the dim light from the open door ...

one replacing the other, or entering the room one after another, making room in silence for the next one around the perimeter ...

Pretty girls, in their faded jeans and pastel sweaters, stopped in their tracks ...

stunned looks on their faces ... eyes wide, jaws dropping open ...

some raising their hands to cover their gaping mouths, others biting their lower lips ...

shocked ... appalled ...

aroused.

I felt a sudden, ludicrous wave of regret I couldn't see myself as they saw me. Prone, naked from the waist down, a ridiculous cheerleader skirt bunched around my waist and a sweater pushed up under my armpits, covered by the All-State defensive tackle, his own tight t-shirt riding up on his back, his jeans still around his ankles, his muscular ass clenching and unclenching as he rode me, obviously burying his unseen cock in my ass. And my ass, pushing back against him, having surrendered to him, now willingly, eagerly accepting his violation.

I had never witnessed, let alone participated in, another person's orgasm. But I could tell his was coming.

And then he was there, plunging one final time and holding still, and I could feel him pulsing inside me, discharging his lethal payload, that warm slippery potent goo that could make girls into mothers and boys into sissies. I couldn't actually feel the spurting semen itself, but I knew it was there, spreading up and inward and throughout every inch of my bowels, coating the walls of my intestines, diffusing through the thin membranes on its mission to irrevocably alter my nature, to "pussify" me.

And my degradation was amplified by Luke's exhaltation of his victorious, glorious climax. I couldn't see Luke's face, but I sensed his posture of celebration. I remembered seeing him on the field after sacking the quarterback -- standing over his conquest, dropping his shoulders, extending and flexing his arms, tilting his head back and bellowing at the sky. It seemed to me that Luke was doing that now, proclaiming himself the dominant silverback of the rainforest, reveling in his triumph and his orgasm.

And it was me, my body, specifically my delicate asshole, the tightly-stretched flesh around my anal ring, that had given it to him. Luke, the champion, the alpha, the stud who loved to brag that he had deflowered so many girls, satiated so many adult women. Cumming in little ol' me. In my delirium I felt I should be proud.

I could feel his heart pounding against my back. And I could feel the moment when his rigid cock began to relax, and he began to deflate inside me. He took his forearm from around my chest and pushed himself up, and a moment later I felt the thick heavy fullness that I come to accept as part of me, sliding back out of me. I felt empty even before his corona caught briefly against the grip of my sphincter, and then pulled free with a plop.

He managed to give me a slap on one ass cheek and rasp out, "Good girl."