Swim Team Ch. 08 - With a Little...

~With a Little Help from My Friends~

The following day, Stanley, Keith, and I woke up in bed together. Stanley made a trip to his house next door for an outfit he bought me.

"My dads checked in on you; I told them you're ok."

Keith asked, "Did you tell--"

"No, I didn't," Stanley interrupted. There was a pause. "But you should, they seem to suspect something."

Keith froze, staring at the sunlight brightening behind the closed blinds.

"Try not to think about it," his best friend said. "What happened last night was an experiment, that's all."

That thawed Keith somewhat. Still, he readied in silence, thoughts probably racing about the implications, his feelings, and the consequences of things getting out.

I remembered how I perseverated when Stanley and I fooled around in the pool bathroom. It was my first time.

We took separate showers and got ready, riding in Keith's Ford F150 to school. Through the rearview mirror, I saw Keith's smooth, masculine, unblemished face. What else would he be game for? Was he done messing around, or was this just the beginning? My mind boggled over how I, Bret Anderson, went down on the sexiest guy on campus. How did that happen? Did it really happen? If it weren't for last night, it could have dismissed it as a dream, something I'd merely fantasized.

I arrived early to swim practice to bust a quick nut peeking around for Stanley, behind the corner where he gave me my first BJ. Last night was hard-on jet fuel, inhaling Stanley's generous dick while he blew Keith, my head bobbing between both their muscular lean legs and under Stanley's defined trimmed pecks and washboard stomach. I drug my pants and underwear halfway down and tugged. My eyes closed, tongue hooking over my upper lip. I recalled myself balls deep in Stanley's throat, the warm pressure around my shaft. My lungs tightened, breath quick, I peeked under my eyelids, glimpsing a drop of pre-cum forming. I bit my lower lip and clenched my eyelids shut, lifting my chin while my palms were pistons on my cock.

"Jesus, Bret," Stan said.

I jumped. "Fucking hell, Stanley," I said amidst heavy breaths. "You scared the shit out of me!"

"Can I--?," he suggested, extended the last symbol.

I nodded, pumping anew, building back up. He dug out his swelling shaft, wetting each lip, and checking out my purple-headed dick. My brain steeped in his flavor, so sweet, so warm; I craved more.

I spun, kneeling before his growing dick. He surrendered his hold. I took over. Time was tight; I deep-throated him right away, pulling back and lapping up Stanley's sweet honey, and with a tight fist around the end of my cock, I propelled myself to the edge and back. He ran his fingers through my hair, gripping my scalp and yanking me down on his pipe. My eyes fluttered, pupils rolling back. With each powerful thrust, a primal grunt heaved from Stanley's throat. His tone turned to a guttural howl. My jaw stretched wide; he drove deep, pumping me full. I moaned around his shaft, the palpations through my lips, over my stomach, and passed my throat. My cum launched against the wall and floor between his legs, dripping.

"Fuck, man," Stanley said between deep breaths. "You're gifted--Damn."

A shy smile inched over my face. I licked my lips, delirious with delight. Was it possible to get enough of that cock?

Keith arrived about five minutes later. We and other swimmers congregated in the showers before swim, our speedos dampened, clinging to our junk. I'd seen almost all the boys on the team naked, but only two aroused. I fantasized that I'd get them hard, see how big they were, learn their smell, their taste, and drain every one. An increasing tightness in my suit provoked me to push the thoughts out.

During swim practice, I performed better than the previous afternoon. Coach moved me back to my usual lane with Michael, Aaron, and Cody.

Cody was the fastest in our lane, at freestyle. With an angular face, light tan skin, skeletal body, wavy blond hair, and braces, he was short for a swimmer, five foot six, exhibiting a succulent, fat package.

Aaron was a thin, athletic, five-foot-seven senior who wrestled in the spring as a lightweight. Whether wet or dry, his briar thick obsidian hair glistened, begging me to run my fingers through it. His skin a warm rusty brown, eyes shaped like lotus petals with a blackish green irises. Even soft, Aaron looked hung. I ruminated on how much that uncut cock could grow.

The last guy in my lane had medium-length chestnut hair parted to the side, skin a light brown with cool undertones, dark green eyes, soft features, smooth face, peach-fuzed arms and legs, and exquisitely white, straight teeth. Most of the guys stood tall in the water, serving up their glassy upper bodies for boys and girls alike to admire. Michael, however, sat low, submerged to his neck, legs together, arms crossed over his chest. He even avoided eye contact and barely spoke. I heard maybe two words out of his mouth, "Ok," twice. Not as physically defined as the other club swimmers, he swam the distance races. A baggy 'drag' suit draped loosely down over his waist, obscuring, but not hiding, his conspicuous gift. Of the boy swimmers, he was one I hadn't seen naked, and that drew my notice.

Over to the faster lanes, I gazed. There was Keith, looking at the pace clock, two fingers on his neck, red-faced, panting, veins bulging. Valleys sharply framed the borders of his chest, stomach, and oblique muscles, the water glittering as it flowed down his nearly hairless skin, the chlorinated water ebbed and crested at the drawstring of his suit.

After practice, we three rode together in Keith's truck. They complained about how behind they were in classes, but I troubled about Dwayne. He'd reach out at 10; I had to answer, or he'd track me down. I needed a distraction, anything.

"Hey," I interrupted their complaining. Stanley looked back at me, "Um, that, uh, that guy in my lane--"

"Which one?" Keith asked.

"The quiet one, Michael."

"Oh," Stanley grinned. "Michael's kinda cute."

"Uh, yeah, I little, but like, what's his deal?" I asked.

"Forget about him, Bello," Stanley said, imitating his Papa's accent. "His family is like super religious and shit. They're one of those, um, what are they called?"

He turned, squinting and showing teeth at Keith.

"Mormons?"

"Mormons, yeah, he's a Mormon," Stanley said.

"Ok, what does--what is that, a church or something?" I asked.

"Or something," Keith answered, and they both chuckled. "All I know is that they hate gay people, women, and condoms."

I furrowed my brows and darted my eyes around.

After we parked, Stanley ran home to finish some homework. I followed Keith to his kitchen, where he drew papers and books from his backpack, starting homework. Thoughts toggled between images of my nights with Keith, Stanley and Dwayne. My chest was tight. I looked at my math worksheet. The letters and figures on the paper just wouldn't come into focus. I sighed audibly.

"Hey Bret, if you're not comfortable working here, you can head up to my room," Keith said.

My hands damp, skin clammy, I said, "Ok." And headed upstairs.

To my wrist, I looked "7:23." Less than three hours. How would I explain? Use my dad as an excuse? I hadn't brought him up last time. Would they assume it'd be easy to evade him again? Was it normal to spend every night here? Would Keith's parents would grow tired of it?

In my pocket, my phone vibrated.

"comn ovr" texted Stanley.

Shortly after, I heard them climbing the stairs together. Dwayne, Michael, Keith, and Stanley Faris-wheeled through my head.

They opened door to the room and saw me sitting on the edge of the bed. "Couldn't concentrate," Stanley murmured.

Keith peered at me, then at his bestie. His jaw flexed, one cheek tugged his lips to one side. He gestured, agreeing.

In Keith's shorts, I could see the onset of an erection.

"I think we should clear the air a bit," Stan said.

"What does that mean?" Keith asked.

"We need to talk about last night," he clarified.

"That's easy for you, Stan," Keith responded, with a tinge of defensiveness. "You and your Dads talk about anything, everything. Not everybody is like that. What is there to say?"

I traded glances with them. I didn't move.

Stanley reached under Keith's bed and retrieved the half-empty bottle of rum we'd opened last night.

Keith stared, raising his eyebrows, "Opened me up, but didn't seem to have the same effect on you two."

"What if we made it part of a game?" Stanley's eyes darted around the ceiling. "Uh, like, um, truth or, uh, shot."

"Truth or dare?" Keith scoffed. "What are we, fourteen?"

"We don't have to," Stanley answered. "Any suggestions?"

"Well, I dunno--you're the one who thinks we need to talk," Keith said, continuing to evade.

"Yeah, I think we do," Stan reasserted. "How about this--" He inhaled heavily through his nose, eyes flitting, head swinging side-to-side.

"We ask each other questions, but no one has to answer and we take a shot when we want," Stanley said.

"That's not a game," Keith objected.

The three of us stood, no motion, no breaths.

"I'll, uh, play," I said.

"It's not a--," Keith started, but stopped and folded his arms.

"We're holding back; I feel it," Stan said.

"Fine," Keith said, fingers combing through his spiral blond hair.

In a narrow triangle, our crossed knees nearly touching, feet, thighs and butts on the carpet floor, we sat.

"Ok, again, you don't have to answer," Stanley said, then asked, "Why can't you concentrate?"

"Who is that question for?" Keith asked.

"Whoever wants to answer."

Pointing at his more mature acting and looking friend, "You should go first" Keith said.

"Ok," he agreed, filling a shot glass, tossing it back.

Stanley gazed down, studying the carpet midst of us, and said, "I'm worried."

"Ok--about what?" Keith asked.

After drawing a long deep breath, and exhaling most of it, Stanley explained, he was scared things were changing between him and Keith. And he felt powerless to stop it.

"Does change have to be bad?" Keith asked.

With a shrug, Stan admitted, "I'm not sure, I hope not."

"I, uh," they both turned to face me, "I, uh, think you'll like, um, drop me, uh, leave me behind, or something."

"What do you mean?" Stanley asked, hoisting his chin and squinting slightly.

I opened my mouth to say something, but my voice was absent. With a cough, I tried to clear my throat. The words came out very horse and crackly, "You'll stop hanging," I stopped to swallow, "hanging out with me."

"You worry about that a lot, and not just with us, don't you?" Stan asked.

My head bent towards the floor, heart low. I nodded. Contrary to what my school counselor told me, opening up didn't make me feel better. My heart constricted, breaths tight. I exuded a composed exterior while my mind spiraled.

"We're in this together," Keith said, and Stanley agreed.

I was dubious, "But you've been friends forever, how could--"

Stan interrupted, "Yes, but ~this~, this is new, new to all of us."

That made sense, but my heart didn't buy it. They'd abandon me. Everyone else had. Because I deserved it, deserved to be in the gutter, in the gutter like Dwayne.

"I get the sense you don't believe me," Stan said. "Your history doesn't decide your future."

"Why, uh, how do you talk, like, uh, talk like that?" I asked. "What high school kid, uh, talks like that?"

They both chuckled. "Stan always talked like that. I blame his dads," Keith turned to him. "They've always talked to you, like, like you are an adult."

My head shook back and forth slightly.

"Keith?" Stanley spurred him to share.

"Ok, Ima need a shot," he said, reaching for the glass as Stanley poured.

"I, um, I," Keith said. "Dunno, I guess I'm worried about, about a few things." he hesitated and faced down, plucking at a carpet fiber.

"Like, uh, I dunno. Um, like, what is happening? What does it mean? Do I keep going? If I want to, should I? If I don't, will you guys be pissed? Can we go back? Do I want to go back? Yeah, um, it's a, there's a--a lot of things I'm worried about, I guess."

Stan cleared his throat and said, "Those are all reasonable questions. I told Bret, 'You don't need all the answers right now.' Figuring things out is part of the process and takes time. Be patient with yourself. Just talk to me about it, don't go silent on me."

Keith turned to me. "You asked the same--"

I cut him off, "Yeah." I lowered my gaze and rubbed the tips of my fingers over the carpet filament.

"That makes me feel a little better, kind of, I guess," Keith said.

I met his face and smiled, then looked at Stanley, who also grinned.

Stan clapped both our shoulders. He imitated Yoda, "Much to learn, you still have."

Keith groaned, pushing his hand from his shoulder. "God, that fucking movie."

"Oh, come on, it had decent, uh, parts," Stanley said, failing to wrangle a smile.

"Fuck," Keith said.

Stanley giggled, a hand covering his mouth, eyes squinting tight, and rocking backward on his butt.

A quiet stretched between us.

"Well, I promise I will not pressure you to do anything," Stanley said. "Though I'd be lying if I said I didn't want another go."

Stanley laughed. I chuckled. Keith's cheeks flashed red before looking down.

"Ah, don't be embarrassed," Stanley said, slapping his friend's knee. Keith chuckled, but still avoided our eyes.

"I need another shot," Keith said, handing over his glass.

"One for you?" Stanley asked, looking at me.

"Uh, yeah, sure," I said.

We swilled the thick, sweet rum.

"Ready for another question?" Stanley asked, glancing at each of us.

"Sure," his bestie said.

I hunched my head.

"Ok, let me see, um," Stanley said. "How do I ask this without it sounding like I'm, uh, like I'm fishing?"

"Um," he continued. "Ok, answer any part or parts you feel comfortable answering."

We squinted at him.

"What in-bed stuff is scary, or you have questions, or are curious about?" he asked.

Both of us stared down.

Stanley said, "Ok, fine, I'll start. I'm both scared of and curious about, uh, well, uh, curious about getting fucked with that."

He pointed at my crotch. Involuntarily, it bobbed under my shorts.

They both laughed, heat surged from my groin to my ears.

"Yeah, fucking hell, man," Keith said. "Why would you think that? It's like the worst thing I can imagine."

"Oh, well, um," Stanley said. "Gay men aren't all the same, ok? Some only like to top, others like both, and others prefer to get fucked, bottoms."

"Ok," Keith said, "Which are you? Bottom?"

Stanley pinched the tip of his chin and looked down. "I prefer to bottom, but enjoy both."

"God, wow," Keith leaned back, wheels turning, "but some guys never take it, uh, take it up the, uh, there?"

"Yeah, tops. I mean, Jake didn't even like it until he met Papa," Stanley said.

"I think I remember hearing that," Keith said. "But, I tune out a lot."

Stanley gave Keith's shoulder a playful punch, "You ass."

They both snickered.

Stanley filled another dram and drained it.

"But shit, if I'm being honest," Stanley said. "I'm craving it hard right now."

"Like, you, uh, wanna take it, uh--" Keith asked.

"I mean, yeah," Stanley said, trying to keep his eyes up, but they fell, anyway.

"What about you, Bret?" Keith asked.

"Like, have I ever, uh, ever like, uh--no, no I haven't, neither way," I said.

"I'm surprised," Stanley said.

"Why?" I asked, astonished.

"It just--seemed you had some, uh, practice."

I saw Keith tense.

"No," I said.

Hands lifted as if mugged, Stanley said, "Ok, ok. No judgment, I encourage you to explore, it's healthy." He lowered his arms and smiled, "But happy you're still exploring with me."

Stanley continued, "I think it's so cool how quickly you've com around, well, since that first time," he said.

"Yeah, I kind of, uh, freaked out," I said, breaking our eye contact. "But it wasn't the blow job, it was, um, it was you."

"Me?" Stanley asked, pointing at his chest.

"Yeah, like, uh, everyone knows you and that, you're, uh, gay."

"I'm like the, uh, total opposite, a nobody and still, uh, like figuring things out."

They listened, their clothes could not hide how fit and statuesque they were. Stan's smooth skin. I wanted his hard, bare body pressed against me. Every part of Keith made my mouth water. I hoped I get a chance to eat between those perky gluts before he's done with me.

"It's a lot--in a brief time and people make assumptions. It happened with Keith and me. We hung out all the time, so people decided we were together, jeering and yelled slurs at us. It got bad. Keith got into more than one fight and got suspended. We fought, well, not with our fists, but we hurt each other," Stanley stopped and scratched his cheek, looking away, "We didn't talk or hang out for like an entire semester."

"Yeah," Keith agreed. "It sucked."

"How, how d'you, like, get past it?" I asked.

"Well, after his girlfriend got preg--." Keith punched him hard, a thud crashed from his shoulder.

"What?" I gasped, searching their expressions, pupils darting between them.

"Shit, man," Stanley grumbled, rubbing his shoulder. "That fucking kills!"

"Well, what the fuck, man? That wasn't for you to share!" Keith protested.

There was silence.

"Is it true?" I asked, looking at Keith.

The silence continued. I was ready to leap out of my skin.

Keith sighed and continued. "Yeah, we were both sixteen," Keith rolled his eyes. "We weren't ready. Ya know, that was like the worst time in my life. Everything was blowing up in my face, and I didn't have Stan." Keith paused, "Stanley's dad, Jake, saved my ass, and we started hanging out again."

"I bet your parents were, uh, super pissed," I said.

"Well, they still don't know," Keith said.

I gaped, "Are you serious? How--"

"Jake is a gynecologist. He wrote her a prescription, discreet and all," Stanley said.

"Holy shit," my eyes popped. "Jake looks at vaginas all day?"

Stanley laughed. "He's a professional, alright? Plus, he's not gay, he's pan."

"Pan?" I asked, squinting my eyes.

"Pansexual, like when chemistry matters more than gender."

My parents never talked about sex, at least not in front of me. I had to learn everything at school and from other teenage boys. Not the best sources for sex ed or advice.

"Yeah, Jake is skeptical of society's expectations, especially with sex and relationships," Stanley explained.

"I, uh, kind of envy you. Well, I guess I envied you before too, uh, because, well, shit." I gestured around me, referring to the house.

Keith smiled. Stanley smiled too, but with shyness, something I'd never seen him exhibit.

Stanley looked at Keith, then at me, his eyes shaking. "I'm torn."

"About?" Keith asked.

"I want, I need to tell someone so bad, and it's been so hard to keep it secret, especially from you."

"Ok, I, uh, I am, uh, not sure what is worse than, uh, what," I stopped, shaking my head. "Sorry, that's, uh, coming out wrong. I promise I, uh, won't tell anyone."

Keith said, "You know I won't judge you, man."

Stanley licked his lips, forcing his throat clear.

"Well, by the time I was 15, I had years of candid conversations with my dads, especially Jake. Papa was there, but it got weird for him and he'd go upstairs. I'm his boy, like, his biological son. It'd surprise me if any parent was comfortable sharing details about their sex lives, favorite positions, who liked what and who didn't, and so on with their teenager."

We listened quietly. Stanley danced around the subject. The rhythm in my breast ramped up.

"One night, after Papa had his fill, I asked Jake about, you know, butt stuff, how it felt if it hurt, his first time. 'The world was different back then,' he said. AIDS covered the community like a black cloud. He was twenty-five before he dated anyone whom he trusted enough."