Ian and Wes Pt. 01

I hate shopping.

I know, I know. A lot of gay guys live for it. Or so I hear, anyway... I don't really know any others in real life. I guess that's just one more stereotype I don't live up to: I've never enjoyed wine, I don't have a straight female best friend, and I'm pretty into sports.

I'm sure you'll tell me gay guys aren't all the same. Sure, fine. Like I said, I wouldn't know.

All I do know is that being stuck inside this godforsaken department store during the last few days of summer before senior year is the absolute last thing I want to do right now. Even worse since my mom is seconds from losing her shit.

"I just want to buy my only son some nice things before he grows into a man and leaves me, never to be seen or heard from again! Is that so wrong?!"

She's a bonafide professional at this Catholic guilt stuff.

"C'mon, Mom. I appreciate it but we've been here for hours... Can't you just, like, focus on your only daughter?" I'm grasping at straws here.

"Hmmph! You know darn well that Sarah is spoiled enough as it is!" (I do, and Sarah is, but who's fault is that? .... I damn well wasn't going to mention that right here right now) "Let's just head over to these hats and then we'll be done, ok?"

"Fine," I replied, resigned to my fate knowing she had made that same promise about 25 minutes ago. But I damn well wasn't going to mention that either.

We slowly, ever so slowly, ambled across the too-bright aisles of supposedly discounted "better" young menswear. Better than what, I certainly couldn't tell you. The colors all felt too bright, the labels too shiny. Everything in the whole place just seemed excessive.

Oh God, she's coming towards me with a pinstripe fedora.

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

(She was not fucking kidding me.)

I was attempting to legitimately wrestle this godforsaken piece of "fashion" from my mother's overly enthusiastic fingers when I heard a deep rumble of laughter. My face dropped and drained of all color when I suddenly realized that the only thing worse than enduring this torturous shopping excursion with my mother was having witnesses to it. I dropped the hat as if it were burning my skin and tried to stealthily scan the area.

There was that deep chuckle again. "Don't let me stop the fun," a soft bass voice rang out. "Though I have to tell you, store policy is 'You break it, you bought it.'"

I turned around to see a thick, visibly muscled arm reach down at my mother's feet to retrieve the offending fedora. My eyes tracked up the tanned arm speckled with dark hair, up to a broad shoulder, up to a face with dark brown eyes, full pink lips, and dark 5 o'clock shadow.

I made a guttural noise I'm not proud of. I truly couldn't help myself. I've read stories where guys are described as "sex on a stick" but I never grasped the meaning until right this second.

Holy shit.

My mother gave an embarrassingly high pitched giggle for a woman her age. "Oh, why thank you!! How kind of you!! We were just...um... Looking at all of your lovely...." My mom trailed off, clearly preoccupied with her own fantasy.

"Merchandise," I finished for her, my disgust from imagining my own mother sexually aroused giving me enough escape to get my thoughts together in an attempt to save our family's reputation. Who knew being "man of the house" includes stopping a grown woman from publicly salivating over young men?

"Oh, is that right? Need any help picking anything out?" Our handsome stranger replied.

Now, to be fair, this guy appeared totally sincere. No flirtatious air or anything. He asked the question as if he was asking what time it is. But damned if I wasn't immediately transported to my own personal porno where this musclebound hunk started stripping off his clothes and asking me if I see anything I like.

Alas, that is not what happened.

My mom did unleash another unhinged giggle though. "Ohhh, we're just back to school shopping! Trying to get all the essentials, you know... Things every young man needs in starting off a new year!"

It was almost cute, how pathetic she was acting.

"Right, right..." The store associate said seriously as he finally made eye contact with me. He gestured to the fedora, now with a clear humor in his dark eyes, "All the essentials."

The sound of my own nervous maniacal laughter hit my ears and reminded me that I am truly my mother's son.

God, kill me now.

"Well I'll leave you both to it. Let me know if I can help," the gorgeous stranger said softly as he mercifully began to back away.

"Thank you so much! It was lovely to meet you! Thank you!" My mom practically tripped over herself waving him off as if he had just rescued her lost kitten.

"No problem. See you, Ian." And with a small wave, our eye candy ran off.

A shocked expression hit her face, "Oh! A friend of yours?" She turned to me, obviously intrigued.

A small headache started to build just behind my forehead as my eyebrows pinched tightly together. "No. I don't know that guy at all."

How the fuck did he know my name?

***

ERRKKK ERRKKK ERRKKK

The sound of the alarm clock raged on, despite my willing it to die an immediate and painful death.

Mondays. The worst of all days. Made somewhat better by the fact that this would be the start of my senior year. My last year to live out my desperately average teenage years in this desperately average town. I'm not sold on where I'll be headed for college, but anywhere would beat this sorry excuse for a hometown. It wasn't quite big enough or important enough to be a city (certainly no nightlife to speak of) and yet it was just too big, just too impersonal, and lacked any semblance of small-town charm. I don't know what I want out of my next destination but it sure as hell isn't this.

I threw on a tight fitting navy blue shirt and some medium wash jeans that gave my ass a nice hug. I've been playing sports almost all of my life and my body shows that. I'm not linebacker or bodybuilder material by any means, but I've got some definition that I'm proud of. I ran some styling pomade through my dark blond hair. Hey, I may not have any gentleman callers, but a guy can still give a damn about his appearance.

So, here's the deal. I'm not "in the closet" or anything. Like, my mom knows I'm into dudes and I'm sure people at school have figured it out since I've never had anything remotely close to a girlfriend. I just don't advertise my sexuality. Its never really come up. Sure, my friends talk about hooking up with girls, I just never joined in. I just stick to listening and they've never pushed it. But they know. They have to know.

Wait, they do know, right?

I was still coming down from my mini existential crisis as I approached Jared, Kevin, and Steve, my closest friends since we started soccer together at age 4.

"Listen man, I heard tryouts this year are gonna be nuts. Lots of fresh talent coming up and Coach doesn't want us taking our spots for granted," Jared was discussing the rumor we'd heard about the start of the soccer season. Coach could be a pain in the ass on a good day, so if he was really insistent on sending the upperclassmen a message, this could be downright brutal.

"Yeah, yeah. Well lets see what these freshmen got! Im not scared of any toddlers taking my spot! Lets see them take on these guns!" I spoke with a false bravado as I flexed my biceps jokingly for the guys. I actually wasn't bad at soccer. Or swimming. Or tennis. I just didn't make any of them my whole life. And I certainly wasn't cocky enough to think my spot on the team was secure without some honest hard work.

"Jesus Christ, speaking of guns, have you fucking seen Wesley Houston?!" Kevin spat excitedly.

"What? Wesley Houston? You mean that kid that moved after freshman year?" I struggled to gather a mental picture of the skinny awkward kid from my freshman English class.

"Yeah dude. Well he moved back and the guy is fuking jacked! They moved in a couples houses down and my dad made us go welcome them to the neighborhood. I couldn't even believe its the same guy." Kevin rattled off the latest news like he was running a tabloid. "I mean. Seriously. His arms are like--"

Steve cut Kevin off by slapping my shoulder and pointing across the school's lawn.

There he was. My Department Store God. Wesley fucking Houston. No shit.

Who woulda thought?

"Must've been eating his Wheaties..." I half-joked as my eyes once again scanned the young man's broad chest and sculpted arms. Pull yourself together, Ian. I tried to get myself under control as quickly as possible. I told myself I didn't want to make it weird for my friends (even though I've probably sat through hours of them describing the perfect breasts. Still...) I promised myself a very nice jerk off session later if I could just make it through Wesley's trek up to the building before the morning bell without popping a boner.

Who was I kidding, I was already well on my way to a sizeable erection.

Wesley wore a black polo today. Khaki shorts showed off his meaty calves. I don't even normally notice a guy's calves but I would've stopped and licked Wesley's calves right there if I thought he would let me. The dark hair on his legs matched the hair on his arms and the thick, perfectly messy hair on his head. His hands looked about as big as my head and well... You know what they say about men with big hands...

What can I say, I'm just a horny 18 year old.

This kid was doing it for me. Big time. See, I love a masculine guy. One that can hold you up and give it to you good without breaking a sweat.

Well, thats what I imagine I like, anyway. No experience with other gays, remember?

Wesley checked every single one of my boxes. Big muscles? Check. Deep voice? Check. Air of confidence and power? Double check. He even looks like he smells good.

God, I bet he smells good.

I was half-seriously imagining the most believable excuse to sniff my newly returned classmate when Wesley turned his head towards me and gave me a quick bro-nod. My eyes widened and I quickly turned back to my friends, hoping my lust wasn't plastered all over my face.

"Wow, you weren't kidding. Hope he doesn't try for the soccer team. Then none of us would have a chance in hell," Steve laughed.

Whew. At least I was good for now.

How was I supposed to keep my cool for the next year?

***

Turns out I only had a couple hours to brainstorm ideas. Wesley (or Wes, as he politely informed the teacher he preferred to be called) happened to be in my AP Biology class. He sat in the back row with some of the guys I recognized as football players.

We don't really have "jocks" and cliques like that at my school. Like I said, we're exceedingly average. To the point where theres no real bullies or popular crowd-- everyone just kind of hangs around other kids with similar interests for the most part. One of the wide receivers on the football team is actually our most likely valedictorian. So seeing Wes with those guys gave me a pretty good indication that he'd joined the football team. Football practice started weeks before the first day of class and Wes appeared to have already bonded with his teammates.

I could just imagine him in those tight little pants...

I decided to grab a seat in the middle of the room quickly before I embarrassed myself.

Throughout class I had the distinct impression that I was being stared at. I couldn't prove it or anything, but those hairs on the back of my neck were on high alert.

All I know is I "casually" glanced behind me three times that class and made eye contact with Wes two of those times.

Did I mention how much I want to fuck him? Or, more to the point, how much I'd like him to fuck me? I may not have any real life experience, but one look at Wes and I'm certain I'm a bottom.

The bell rang and he was whisked away by his gang of teammates and groupies.

It was a nice enough day to eat lunch outside. Jared was sizing up the perceived threats for soccer tryouts and Kevin was blabbering on about some hot girls in his math class. I ate my lunch quietly but I kept a close eye trained on the table in the corner where Wes sat, surrounded by a throng of what could only be described as admirers. Girls near him were blushing like crazy, and the guys seemed to be hanging on his every word as he told some story about his old school. At one point Wes let out a loud and hearty laugh and I was hit with a maddening pang of jealousy.

Jealousy? Whoa, I barely know the guy. Actually I DONT know the guy at all. And that's not me anyway. I don't get jealous. I'm not phased by anything. I'm cool as a cucumber.

I know what I want to do with his cucumber.

"Jesus, you need to get a grip," Steve said loudly.

"Huh?" I turned to him, confused that he suddenly had the ability to read my mind.

"Jared, you'll be fine. Stop worrying about tryouts," Steve pointed at Jared, who must've been continuing his downward spiral of soccer anxiety.

"Yeah, it'll all work out," I added, attempting to be reassuring.

"Good old Ian, always the calm one," Jared laughed, shaking his head.

If only he knew. Since the moment I'd laid eyes on Wesley Houston, I was anything but calm.

***

The good news was, I wasn't preoccupied with worries about any of the newbies at tryouts. The bad news was, football practice was happening the next field over.

Remember my fantasy of Wes in those shorts? Yeah, the real thing was even better.

"McNair, get your head out of your ass!" Coach's voice grated on my ears as I stumbled through another drill.

C'mon man, I told myself as I shook my upper body in an attempt to loosen up. Even in my lust-driven teenage-hormone-filled state, I knew that losing my spot on the team over some side of beef (fucking gorgeous side of beef, to be fair) would be a huge mistake.

Miraculously, I managed to refocus for the remainder of tryouts. I was familiar with Coach's style and his usual drills so I managed to recover pretty well after all of my missteps from the early rounds of the tryout. But Coach did throw in a few curveball drills that almost threw my confidence. Almost.

By the end of things, my hair was slicked with sweat. My lungs were burning and my legs felt like Jello.

I'll be feeling this tomorrow.

Some of the new blood was actually really good. I recognized a lot of them from travel teams I'd been on over the years. Our roster was looking to be pretty stacked.

Coach seemed to feel the excitement too. At the close of the tryout, we all took a knee, surrounding the older man in a circle. "Nice work out there today, men. Really good hustle. With a little fine tuning, West Alexander wont even know what hit 'em." The group cracked a smile at the thought of dominating our fiercest rival school. Coach cleared his throat and continued, "Not all of you are gonna get the news you want to hear today, but remember there's always next year.... for most of you." I gulped and shot a nervous glance a Kevin and Steve. Jared was too in-the-zone to notice. "I want to thank you all for your time and effort. We're always looking for help in the athletic office, if any of you who don't make it are interested."

A couple of the scrawnier freshmen looked relieved at the chance to save a little face even if they don't make the team.

"Alright, alright. I've dragged this out enough." Coach continued, glancing at his clipboard. "The roster will be posted on my office door just outside of the locker room. Let me know if anyone wants to talk more about how they did today. Now go get cleaned up. You all stink." Coach waved us all towards the locker room with a stern look, though his eyes glinted with humor.

No one spoke on the way to the locker room. The trip that was probably a couple hundred feet at most now felt like miles upon miles.

I was lost in my own world as I made my way into the locker room and my eyes adjusted. My eyes were looking around but not really seeing when I heard it. That beautiful, magnificent, melodious rumble of deep throaty laughter.

Ok, maybe I'm being a bit dramatic, but the sound was sexy, alright?

Bringing myself back into the moment, I realized football practice must have ended shortly before soccer tryouts. The football players were standing by their designated row of lockers in various states of dress. Some still stood only in towels.

Alas, Wes was already fully clothed.

I tried to hide my disappointment.

Hide it from who, I couldn't really say. No one seemed to notice my presence (least of all Wes), but that was probably just as well. Gay horny 18 year olds and communal showers with a bunch of staight jocks aren't really the best mix.

Not that I haven't collected my fill of spank bank material over the years. What can I say? Try as I might, if you put a dick in front of me I'm gonna look at it. I'm no saint.

I ambled to my locker and quietly stripped down. Coach's office would be bombarded with kids eager to see the roster as soon as possible. I figured I was in no rush so I might as well take my time. Not like running over and standing in a crowd would change the ultimate result. I either made it or I didn't. Nothing I could do about it now.

Jared, Kevin, and Steve clearly didn't feel the same. They showered in record time and were already drying off. Kevin waved to me as they grabbed their bags to head over to the see the verdict, "Later, dude. Good luck!"

I grunted back at him, which I hope came across as, "You too."

By the time I finished my shower and put my clothes back on, the room was empty. I grabbed my stuff and found myself in front of the list. I took a deep breath and looked up.

Jared Dixon... No shocker there... Steve Harper... Kevin Hunt... My pulse quickened, realizing so far they all had made it. My heart sank and I saw more and more names, but not mine.

I exhaled loudly.

There it was. The last fucking name on the list. Figures.

Ian McNair.

The biggest grin was plastered on my face when I felt a shoulder bump gently into mine.

"Nice, man. Looking good." Wes was next to me reaching out for a fist bump.

To this day I still think it was divine intervention that my fist raised up to meet his. I was so thrown between the relief from making the team and the shock that Wes was actually talking to me. His dark eyes gazed right into mine. It was getting hard to breathe.

I made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a sigh which I hope he took as, "Thanks." Or, you know, "Please fuck me as soon as possible." Either one.

His lips parted as he shot me a wide grin. And just like that he bounded off.

I've really got to work on my communication skills.

***

Unfortunately that was the last interaction I had with Wes for several weeks. At least in real life. In my mind, we were at it like rabbits every day. Multiple times per day.

I imagined his intense gaze as I'd drop to my knees in front of him. I imagined the heft and girth of his hard cock. I'd look up at him, licking my lips sensually before dragging my tongue from the base of his dick up to the juicy head. I'd bathe his balls in my mouth, consuming all of his manly sweat and musk. I'd let him smack my face and tongue with his weighty cock. Hell, I'd beg him to.

Imaginary me was such a slut.

If Wes had any indication that the sound of his voice made me want to beat my dick, well, he certainly didn't show it. He gave me a nod of acknowledgment each time our eyes met, but otherwise I was invisible to him.

I was standing by the bench during a soccer game imagining the things Wes could do with his tongue when Coach called me in, "McNair, go!"

I raced onto the field as fast as my legs could carry me. Jared shot me a nice pass and I made my way down the field. The other team's defenders were on me quickly, but I jerked my body with a sidestep just far enough to misdirect the approach. They smacked into each other, the sound of bodies slamming making me grin like a madman. I spun around quickly to avoid another maneuver and made it a few feet before passing back to Jared who was now placed perfectly in front of the goal. He accepted the ball easily and slammed it into the low left corner of the net.