Swim Team Ch. 02-03

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.

*****

Chapter 2: Jitters

Throughout practice, I ignored both Keith and Stanley. I tried to focus on the training set; swim, flip, swim, glance at the clock, repeat. For the first time, Keith didn't distract me. I didn't even peek at the fast lanes to creep on his lean, long body.

Instead, images of my first blowjob replayed in my dead, first of any kind of 'job' from the most popular guy at school, the out-and-proud love-is-love advocate. The view of Stanley's wet warm mouth bobbing up and down on me, stroking me, I shuddered. The intensity of the orgasm was overpowering, weakening. He'd drained me dry. Had I not come three times that day, my dick would have formed a rudder in Stanley's suit.

Mr. Popular surmised my plan to get to practice early and rub one out.

Was I so transparent, so obvious?

Despite efforts to be discrete, he noticed I was staring at Keith and swam with a boner. If I didn't wear a speedo, I hoped it wouldn't be noticeable. I was kidding myself.

What else did people see that I believed I kept close to the vest? Did everyone know I was gay? Did my dad? Everyone on the team?

My heart raced. I stopped at the wall before I finished my lap. I couldn't breathe, coughing and gasping. The water sloshed as the others in my lane flipped on the wall.

"Anderson," I heard coach say. "Why'd you stop?"

I tried to catch my breath. I coughed again. My face to the sky, hands-on-hips, I drew deep breaths.

"I'm ok, coach," I said, gazing at my watch. I took my pulse: 200.

I sunk below the water and pushed with my feet off the wall.

What did Stanley want from me? Hook-ups? Dates? Would he want me to hang on his arm at school, in public? I'm not ready to be out, not like that, not like him. He doesn't even know me. Is he dating someone? Is he cheating on them with me?

I stopped again at the next wall, the pounding in my chest deafening.

"Coach," I said. "I don't feel good."

"What's the matter, Anderson?"

"I can't, I can't breathe. I think I might throw up."

A gagging sound projected from my throat. It was dry.

"Please coach, I need to go the bathroom."

Coach nodded.

I sprung out of the water, coughing and hacking. Muscles tense, my head throbbed. Hands on each side of a bathroom sink, I held my head over the bowl, nausea surging in waves. Eyes closed, I tried to force deep breaths in and long exhales out my nose.

Quick, wet steps slapped on the deck, approaching the bathrooms.

Keith appeared behind me, his beautiful face reflecting in the mirror.

"You ok, man?"

My lips smashed together, my chin shook, brows crunched, tears threatened, I nodded my head anyway.

"You sure?", he asked. "You seem, seem, uh stressed."

I looked down, remaining quiet.

More wet steps, Stanley appeared next to Keith.

"You o—"

"He's freaking out, Stan," Keith answered, giving Stanley a face.

Stanley looked back at him, then at me. His mouth opened to say something, but Keith placed a hand on his shoulder. They both gazed at one another for a moment. With a nod, Stanley left the bathroom.

"Hey man," Keith said. He reached his arm out and gave a pat on my shoulder.

"Stanley's into you," he said.

I looked up, my eyes studying his face.

"It's true... He's not ready to admit it but I've never heard him talk someone so much."

I looked down again and took a breath.

"I don't, don't know what, what, I don't know how to do this."

My face crinkled, fighting the tears.

"Hey, hey, you think any of us know what we're doing?" Keith asked. "We muddle through, we fake it. That's all."

"Not like you or Stanley," I said. "I've never, never—I'm a virgin."

Keith stood there, hands on his hips. He looked at the ground, then off to the left.

"Does Stanley know?" he asked.

"I told him."

"I wouldn't have guessed that," Keith said. "Are you out?"

"No."

"Not to anyone?"

"No."

"You mainly into guys?" Keith asked.

I answered, "I think so."

I swallowed hard. "I'm pretty sure," my voice higher.

"Listen," Keith said. "Coming out is hard."

He paused, nodding his head, face forward, but eyes looking sharply to the floor.

"I grew up next to Stanley. You think Stanley wasn't as scared?"

Our eyes met.

"Where do I even start? What does he want? What do I want? I... I—"

I let my head fall, dangling from my shoulders

"Bret. You don't need all the answers, figure things out as you go."

I shook my head.

"Hey, if you'd like Stanley to give you some space, I'll talk to him."

I lifted my head in prep to articulate a thing that made sense.

"Well, I don't want to hurt him—hurt his feelings," I said. "I—I think I like him. I... just don't know how to act or ask him, uh, I, uh, don't."

Keith pressed his lips together. He looked upward, twisting his head left, then right. A straight blue vein in his neck connected to his sharp, angular jawline and baby fuzz on his chin.

"Well, shit... Stanley is my best friend, and you seem like a cool dude," he said. "I wouldn't do this for anyone else, but let me give you my cell and I'll try, you know, to help you and Stan."

My face brightened. I wasn't sure what I was agreeing to or what exactly he had in mind, but I liked the idea of having his number. I labored to hide excitement.

Keith typed his number into my phone and called it. His cell rang.

"Now, I have your number too," he said.

"Thanks," I said, feeling like I should say more, but couldn't think of anything.

"Sure, man. I hope I'm actually of help. No promises though," he sighed. "I'm no expert."

I smiled and gave him a nod.

"You'll be alright kid, either way," he said, leaving the bathroom.

I looked at my watch. Practice was nearly over. Suit to my feet, a quick once over with my towel, I dressed and packed up my shit. I speed walked across the deck and to the bus stop. Eyes tight, I prayed a bus would come before anyone from the team saw me.

I muttered, "There is no God," as Keith pulls over in front of me.

"Come on, Bret, I'll give you a ride."

"Oh, that's fine, the bus will be here any minute."

"Let me give you a ride, huh?" Keith asked.

I studied him.

"Can you drop me off at the Circle K on Main and 16th? I need to pick up a few things," I lied.

"Sure, whatever," Keith said.

With a nod, I walk around to the passenger side of his F-150 and climb in.

"Thanks, I need to pick up a few things before I go home," I said, and forced a smile.

"Cool."

"Um, can drop me off here?" I did not want Keith to see the house my dad, and I lived under. "I'll walk the rest of the way, don't want to keep you waiting," I said.

"It's no problem."

"No really," I said.

"No, really," Keith said.

"No," my voice raised.

A quiet settled. I kicked myself.

I'm such an asshole.

"It's fine, man. Whatever you're comfortable with."

"I'm sorry, I—"

"It's fine."

"My house, it's, it's, not nice," I said.

"I get it, plus today's been a lot."

At a stoplight, Keith turned to me. "Do you think your mom'd let you stay with friends tonight?"

"Friends?" I ask.

"Well, me and my family will be there," he paused. "And Stanley, if you'd like."

I looked him over. "I don't know," I said.

The light turned green, and we drove ahead.

He made a turn out of our way.

"What clothes would I wear tomorrow?" I asked.

"You could wear some of mine."

I laughed, "You are way too tall, they'd never fit me."

"What? Nah. How tall are you?"

Fist to lips, I cleared my through and look over at him, "Five-nine."

"No," he said. "You're taller than that."

"No, I'm definitely five-nine."

"Well, I mean, what's five inches?"

"Bigger than yours," I said, recoiling immediately.

I didn't know why I said that or where it came from, but it was out there now.

"Ooooooh, that's not what your mom said last night!" Keith said.

We both laughed.

"Nice one. See, you're one of the guys already."

I beamed.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Home," he said. I gave him a face.

"My home, so call your mom."

"I'll text my dad," I said.

Keith's home was enormous, two stories, with a wrap-around porch, manicured landscape, tall trees dotting sod, and lush raised flower beds flanking the path and steps up to the front door. We drove past and turned up a cement driveway. At the end of the driveway stood a four-car garage. One door opened. We pulled in and stopped inside.

"Stanley lives next door?" I asked.

"Yeah."

How did we go to the same school? A jab of jealousy stung me. I couldn't let them see where I lived.

***

Chapter 3: Keith

Keith opened the door, holding it open for me. I passed into the mudroom, which was cleaner than any spot in my house. I took off my shoes and waited for Keith in the hall where it connected with carpeted steps.

He pointed left. "Up the stairs."

I nodded and climbed with Keith three strides behind me.

Doors flanked both sides of another hallway at the top of the steps.

"How many bedrooms are up here?" I asked.

"Five, wait... uh, yeah, five."

"What? How many siblings?"

He laughed, "There are eight of us."

"Shit," I said, covering my lips.

"Yeah, Bret, children are present. Watch your fucking language," he smirked, then nudged the door open to the first room to the right.

Stacks of books, waist-high, lined the wall behind and beyond the end of the bed. But on the bookshelf, scarcely any. Next to a small closet, a desk, and an open laptop.

Keith sat on the bed. My throat tightened. I swallowed, my shaft roused.

"Use the desk chair," he said.

Thank God, I'm going to show through my pants in seconds, so I turned around, went, and sat, then rolled the seat towards Keith.

Keith was texting, his biceps and forearms flexing and rippling. "He asked if you're ok," Keith said.

"Stanley?" I asked.

Keith nodded, "Can I tell him you are?"

It hit me, the ride, the sudden suggestion to go here, Stanley yards away. All of it, part of their plan to get me in bed with Mr. Popular. I'd been such an idiot, Keith was trying to come through for his best friend.

I acknowledged and glanced back at the sleeping laptop screen. "Yeah, you can tell him."

Keith continued texting and reading, "He says, he's sorry if he pressured you to do something you weren't ready for."

"No, uh, I didn't feel pressured, uh, not really," I said. "I just don't understand what happens now."

"Alright, if I text him that?" Keith asked.

I nodded.

"He just responded, 'Nothing unless you want.'"

The phone vibrated again in his hand. He squinted. "Oh, and the next one says, 'I know what I want.'"

"Do you, uh, know what he wants?" I asked.

"I mean," Keith clears his throat, "you want to hear what he likes in bed?"

"Well, no, I wasn't asking that, but," I cleared my throat too, "I need to hear about, uh, that too now, anything, uh, you can tell me."

I wanted to hear what Keith liked in sordid detail. See a tent in his trousers, perhaps. Keith's legs were crossed, I could see partially up the leg of his shorts. It shouldn't have aroused me to this degree. I saw him far more naked than now ever practice. My swelling cock crept up my leg. I arched over it, elbows resting on my knees.

"Stan should be the one to talk to you about that," he said.

"Come on, Keith. If I hear what he wants, uh, maybe I'll be cool with it," I said. "Or make myself cool with it."

Left leg crossed away from Keith to obscure my rock-hard cock; I leaned, positioning it as far from him as possible, wedging my left knee into my armpit.

"That looks uncomfortable," Keith said.

A jolt of fear shot up my spine.

"Here, let me get you set up with some blankets or something," he said.

I spun on the seat, following Keith's movement across his room to keep my crotch hidden. As ridiculous as I probably looked, I thought, it couldn't be worse than him seeing my rager.

Keith pulled out blankets and sheets from a tall cabinet behind the door swing and spread each out, stacking them. The flex of his calves, thighs, and arms were mesmerizing, even fully clothed. I could watch the subtle bob and swing of his dick through his shorts all day. I tried to discern if he was wearing underwear; inconclusive.

"Ok, more texts from Stanley," he said.

"He's asking 'what would help you be more comfortable', and 'we can take things slow.'"

"It'd help me if I had some clues about what he wanted," I said.

"Ok fine, the guy is like walking 'TMI' so, why would he care if I told you a thing or two?" Keith said. "Ok, let me think, Ok, yeah, so, I've seen him hang with lots of different guys, but he chases quite a few white guys."

"That doesn't help. I want to hear about, uh, what he wants, like, in bed."

"Fine, ok. So, huh, well, he says he's a power bottom."

I gulped, "You mean—"

"Come on, man, no details, huh?" Keith implored. "You understand right, you watch porn, no?"

I turned away as if slapped.

"Hey, man, I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I'm cool with, uh, gay stuff, ok? I guess I just assumed you'd, you'd know certain things."

My face twisted back towards him, but I didn't look him in the eye. I drew a sharp breath and sighed. "I don't have internet at home"

"Fuck, man. That sucks."

I squeezed my jaw shut.

"Hey, if you want to google some stuff, or ya know, watch porn tonight, that's fine," Keith said. "That's what I use it for most."

He chucked, and I looked up to meet his eyes.

"He, ya know, Stan, he likes to take it up the butt," Keith said.

"I knew that much."

"Well, fuck, Bret. Why'd you make—"

"To make you squirm."

Keith threw a pillow at me. "Goddamn it."

We laughed. Hanging with Keith was the best.

"I need to tell him I told you about that," Keith said.

"Wait," I said. "You can tell him, uh, I just, just need to know some other stuff."

"Sure, but like what?" Keith asked.

"Like, I don't know. Like, is he going to like tell everyone? Tell people we're dating? We're boyfriends? That we're fucking?"

"He knows you're not out, he won't out you," Keith said. "He can be an ass, but he's not that big of one."

Keith chuckled. I smiled at him.

"Stan will keep this quiet as long as you want," he said.

"How, like, how are we going to be together without people knowing, the team knowing, my, my dad knowing?"

"You need to ask Stan about that, in person," Keith said.

"Text him, message him, then tomorrow, tomorrow I'll chat with him?"

"You could go talk to him now," Keith said.

My lips swished left and across my teeth. "I want to sleep on it," I said.

"He'll be disappointed," Keith said. "But he'll understand."

I peered downward, "Thank you."

"Here, let me log in to my laptop, and you, uh, you, do what you need to do."

He spun me around and pushed me to the desk by the back of his chair. Over my shoulder, he reached and entered his password. The screen unlocked. A thin woman in a bikini on the desktop. Keith scrolled as he arched over me. His stomach was so close; I drew a long breath through my nose. The smells of chlorine, laundry detergent, musk, it was intoxicating. My semi-soft dick twitched. He clicked on the browser icon and a window popped open over the girl in the bikini.

"Here you go," Keith said, retreating behind me, springs boing as he lands on the mattress.

"But keep it down, huh? I have practice in the morning," Keith said.

I peeked back at him and smiled.

I pecked at the keyboard. "Gay Swimmer."

Click.

Marus Th—, click. Nice abs, but Keith is so much hotter.

Back.

Greg Louganis, is he a swimmer? Oh, a diver. Woah, did he get hotter as he got older? Super hot at the Olympics.

"Stanley wants to know if he can have your number."

I jumped, "Uh, um, text me his number? Tell him, I'll text him tomorrow."

"K," Keith said.

My phone vibrates.

I clicked on the search field, setting the cursor behind "Gay Swimmer" and typed,

"P-O-R-N"

Click.

"Hey Bret," Keith said, I jumped again. "Can you hit that switch over there near the door?"

"Sure," I said.

Lights off, I walked back to the desk.

I sat and clicked the first result.

'Gay swimmers fuck', woah, that pic. I scrolled down the page, 'Swimmer changes in locker room,' I click. A brown-haired guy, probably in his early twenties with a six-pack and smooth skin, stared at the camera in his locker and pulls down on his shorts. His cock dangled about 6 inches, soft. My cock pulsed, inflating and gliding up the side of my lap. The guy posed, staring at the camera with a seductive expression. He strode back and forth, grabbed his towel, posed again. Then he stepped into his boxer briefs and pulled them up over his junk. The video ended.

Fuck, what the hell? That's all?

Back.

The previous page loaded.

I clicked on a thumbnail featuring two athletic guys. One was pressed his hips against the backside of the other, who was lying on his back on a locker room bench, legs up and spread.

Click.

The two men removed clothes between lockers, alternating glances, gawking. Their eyes finally met, both naked, and they smile and caress their bodies seductively, and winking. I handled the end of my engorging prick through my slacks. The men on screen approached one another and kiss, dicks hardening. One kneeled and stroked the other. I unbuttoned and unzipped my pants, stood, and swiveled to confirm Keith still slept. The screen, the only light source. I squinted. He wasn't visible. I listened, hearing quiet, consistent breaths. My jeans and boxer briefs. I slid to my knees, then relaxed down. With the base in hand, I caressed the top four inches with the opposite. On the display, the dude on his knees deep throated the thick seven-incher, from time to time just stroking it, facing up at the standing man, and grinning. Further down my shaft, I descended six inches, then up. The guy blowing laid down on a bench, lifting his legs in the air. His stiff prick in hand, the guy on his feet, guides it. As I watched him ram the full length in, I felt pre-cum oozing on over fingers. My heartbeat and breathing intensified. The dude getting fucked moaned while he worked his rod. As the fucking escalated, the top said things like, "Yeah, you like that, slut?" "You like my big hard cock pounding your tight ass?"

I was growing close, tilting backward, shutting my eyes. I licked my lips and pumped my shaft.

From behind, I heard Keith shift, roll, and bellow.

"Keith," I hissed in a loud whisper.

"Keith? Are you awake?"

No answer.

I grabbed the monitor and turn it so if he was awake he can't see what I was watching. Even though he'd given me permission, by habit or instinct, I still preferred to hide it. My cock gave up some of its firmness. Fuck, I was so close.

I needed to be sure that Keith was sleeping. I preferred I wasn't the reason he didn't. It would be impossible to finish with that guilt.

I removed bottoms and stepped out of them, tripping slightly. From the desk, I hoisted the laptop with one hand and tiptoed to the bed, my half-hard dick swaying back and forth with each step. From the ankle down, I saw one of Keith's feet hanging over the bed's edge. I shuffled closer. His calf lit, knee, and other foot nearly touching his other thigh, knee bent, heel pointing at his groin. My heart leaped, my breath paralyzed. He wasn't sleeping naked; I assured myself. He had some kind of covering, at least.

Forward, the light traveled with me. I drew closer, showing more and more of Keith's bare flesh. There it was, no boxers, no sheet. He was nude, his dick roused, resting in the nook of his V. My cock jolted, inflating like a balloon, the angle between my shaft and navel shrinking quickly.