After wondering if things could possibly get any worse, I knelt down in front of my injured team mate, brushing mom aside. I offered him my hand.
William sat up, holding himself and groaning loudly. He retrieved his glasses and mounted them on his face using both hands. Then, he returned his hands to his groin and moaned some more. "I feel like I'm going to vomit," William announced, only seconds before he did just that, all over me. He tried to stop his second regurgitation with his hand and it went all over him. The rancid odor and pink viscous pool caused me to start gagging.
"Oh dear, oh dear," mom began again, "can you get to the bathroom to clean up, deary?" She was speaking to William Henry, rather than to me. He nodded his head weakly and started to stand. A third and final eruption overflowed his palm onto my bare feet. He walked slowly, hunched over, down the hall into my bathroom. I followed, holding my favorite Hurley shirt up to prevent the disgusting pool of goo from dripping any further and gagging along the way. Mom helped William out of his sweater and shirt. His ribs poked out from his scrawny chest and sides, covered with a layer of shockingly pale skin. She dampened a hand towel and started to wipe the vomit from the front of his pants and he drew himself backwards, groaning in pain.
"Oh dear, oh dear, I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?" Mom said.
"Yes, you hurt him. Again! God, mom, just leave; you're making things worse. I'll take care of it. We'll cleanup in the shower," I said, harshly.
My mom looked at me in shock with her lip quivering, tossed the towel in the sink, spun on her heels and stalked off. I stuck my head out the door and called after her, "Bring us some clean clothes and leave them by the door. Please. And see what you can do about the mess on my bedroom floor. We'll put our soiled clothes out in the hall when we get them off."
I'd managed to get my own shirt off while mom was helping William and I rinsed it in the sink. I turned the shower on and adjusted it to warm. "Dude, I can't believe you hurled on my favorite shirt. It gives a whole new meaning to Hurley brand, though. I hope it washes out."
William started laughing in an unexpected guffaw and snort fashion. I expected him to have more of a snobby titter kind of laugh. I broke out laughing with him, in spite of myself. If I didn't laugh, I'd have to cry.
Not thinking anything of it, I stripped naked, opened the door and tossed my soiled shorts and boxers out into the hall. I turned around to offer to put William's out also only to find him gingerly dabbing at the mess on his pants. "Dude, that's not gonna work. Take them off and get in the shower. Mom will wash them for you. Shower's big enough for two; Dig and I share it together sometimes."
William Henry David Thames, III just stared at me wide-eyed, speechless and then shook his head, no.
"Oh shit, no! It's not what you're thinking. Dig and I aren't gay. Really, dude, you have to believe me; I'm not gay. Hell, Dig's definitely not gay. We share showers after wrestling practice so it's no big deal for us to share one here too, if we're in a big hurry or something. Honest, dude, I rarely look at that gay shit on the net, I just kind of fell into it tonight, you know? Haven't you ever been a little curious about other guys?"
He shrugged, looked briefly at my genitals and resumed dabbing at his crotch. "Methinks, the boy doth protest too much," he said.
"Shut-up Shakespeare and just get in the damn shower, alright?"
"It would be highly inappropriate to expose my genitalia outside of a medical setting and most certainly to a teenager of like gender," he mumbled.
"You shitting me?" I said. "You get naked changing in gym class in front of others, what's the difference?"
"I don't go to gym. I got excused from it," he said, peeking again at my package and then glancing away quickly. "Unlike you, I have no interest or attraction to other males of my species."
"Well, that's a load of bullshit," I bellowed. "Now you're the one who's protesting too much. Take your goddamn, smelly clothes off and get in the shower. We're both boys and it's no fucking big deal to be seen naked. There's nothing gay going on here, but if it bothers you that much, I'll wait until you're done, before I get in."
He started to cry. He was actually crying.
"Please stop that," he begged.
"Insisting I get naked in front of you and yelling at me and abusing the Lord's name, and using that disgusting 'F' word. I hate it."
"Wow, I so don't get you. Where did you come from? Jupiter? Did a spaceship come down and kidnap your mother and impregnate her with alien sperm or something?"
His crying stopped and he flashed with anger. "Don't talk about my mother! Ever!"
"Okay, okay. That was bad. I'm sorry. Shit, dude. I mean, sheesh, dude, you're in pain and its sort of my fault and all, so if you want, I'll sit in the hall while you shower if it makes you feel better. It's just really weird and you really should get over it, you know."
He softened and said, "Yes, I am aware. I just have an embarrassing situation involved with being naked."
"What? You get a boner? Well it's not like you haven't already seen me with one. How could anything be more embarrassing than what just happened to me?" I joked. I continued, "fu...u...udge, all guys do sometimes. It's no big deal. Hel...eck I got one today during practice and my coach even rubbed against it when he used me as a test dummy to teach us reversals."
"Oh, how positively mortifying," William gasped.
"Nah, its no big deal really. It happens; you just get over it. Look, I've been a jerk and you probably don't trust me and I don't blame you. I promise, whatever happens here, stays here. I won't tell anyone if you get a boner. And trust me, if you go blabbing about what happened here tonight, your parents will be picking out a burial plot."
He looked up and a faint smile creased his lips. "It is my intent to be cremated?" He said, sort of smartass like.
"Yeah, well I could arrange that too," I said. He laughed and snorted again. I joined in.
"Really. C'mon, I'll help you out of those messed up pants and you can shower first. If you bone up, screw it. I don't care and you shouldn't either. Will it make you feel better if I sit outside?" I offered.
He shook his head, no. I stepped closer and took the damp towel from him and tossed it in the sink. I carefully unbuttoned his chinos and pulled the zipper down. He didn't resist or stop me. Slowly, working together, we got his pants off his hips with minimal pain and I held them while he stepped free. He was wearing tighty whities.
"That explains why your balls didn't just slide away from the doorknob," I said. "These things held them in place. That had to really hurt bad. My mom nailed you hard when she burst into my room. I gotta get a fu... I mean, a lock put on it."
"Thank you," he said, "for making a concentrated effort to honor my wish to correct your language."
"Yeah, sure. You're kinda right, I need to clean it up. So, are you big into religion or something?" I asked.
"I share my mother's deep conviction in the existence of a higher being, yes." William affirmed.
"Are your nuts feeling any better?"
"My left testicle is mostly unaffected, my right one, however, still pains me severely," he said.
"You want help getting those whities off or you got that part on your own?"
"I think I can manage," he said and pulled the elastic waist band out away from his front, peeking at his damaged goods. He turned away and carefully pulled the elastic down over his genitals and off his skinny, pale legs. He did a couple little hop-steps to get free of them on the floor, and moaned, "Oh my goodness."
"What?" I asked, genuinely concerned. Slowly, he turned to face me. "OOOHHH, dude! Your right nut is way swollen," I said.
He examined it closer and groaned. I knelt down and pulled his socks off for him, gathered all the clothes and tossed them into the hall. He was gently rubbing his swollen right nut. It had to already be double the size of his left one and there was some purple discoloration. "It feels feverish," he said.
"Yeah, I'm sure it's enflamed," I explained. "You should ice pack it."
He made a sour face at that suggestion.
"I know," I said, "I'm just saying you should."
Then, my attention was drawn to his dick and I pulled back my focus to take in the entire package. He is small. Maybe 3 to 3 ½ inches and his dick takes a sudden, sharp turn sideways, a little past midway. I've never seen anything like that on anyone's dick before and I've seen my share of soft ones in the team showers and at camps. He barely has any pubes, like the amount I had back when I was twelve or thirteen.
"Why is your dick like that?" I asked. I worried it had gotten injured by the door as well.
"My internet research indicates I may suffer from a condition known as Peyronie's disease. I have procured some medication from the internet that should rectify the matter."
"That sounds dangerous. Have you shown a doctor or your dad?" I asked.
"Most certainly not," he said, giving me a strange look, as though I'd said the stupidest thing on earth.
"You should. Maybe my dad could check it for you since he's a doctor," I offered.
William shook his head no and said, "We should proceed to shower or the water will turn frigid."
"Yeah, right. Go ahead. I'll wait."
"Although it violates my realm of comfort, I will relent and allow us to share the space in order to preserve the hot water. It would be most impolite to selfishly consume the hot water, leaving you in the cold."
I snickered. "It's really not a put on, is it?" I said, finally getting it. "You really can't help talking like that."
"Talking like what?" He asked, stepping into the shower. I followed him and pulled the glass door shut. I knew we wouldn't run out of hot water. We have like three massive water heaters in our house and would never run out, but I didn't volunteer that information.
"Like, using the big words and stuffy sentence structure. You have to notice, no one else talks like that."
"Well, it truly is a learned pattern of conversing," he said. "I have been encouraged by my mother to elevate myself above the common contemporary man. I suppose it's as annoying to you as your base, degrading language is to me."
"Tell you what. I'll keep trying to cut out the cussing, if you try to talk a little less sophisticated. Deal?"
"Deal dude," he said, smiling and drawing out the "dude" nice and long. I laughed. He laughed with me again until it hurt his sore nut and he hunched a bit and moaned. "Don't make me laugh so much, it hurts."
"Sorry. Do you want me to wash your back and legs? It doesn't look like you can really bend over." I tried hard not to stare at his swollen nut and bent dick, but I really had a hard time not to. It was like looking at a car wreck. It's gruesome but fascinating somehow.
He tensed, stared at me briefly, shrugged and then slowly turned his back to me. I lathered up and rubbed his shoulders, neck and down his back to just above his flat, pale butt cheeks. He was thin, but not in a healthy or athletic way. He was simply scrawny. Slowly, the tension left his body and he sighed. I'd never touched anyone like that before and it felt nice. I actually enjoyed the feeling of my soapy hands rubbing against his skin. My dick actually started to swell a bit. I looked down and mentally scolded it.
I returned to rubbing his back and shoulders and then moved down and actually soaped up his butt for him. He looked backwards, suspiciously, at me over his shoulder and then quickly looked away again. I turned him into the water spray and rinsed the soap off. Standing now on his side, I could see his penis sticking straight out and the leftward bend was even more pronounced now it was stiff. My own dick stirred again and started to swell. Again, I commanded it to quiet down. It disobeyed, however. I'll need to punish it later.
He moved his hands over his privates and turned away.
"Don't worry, I got one too. I think it's just our teenage hormones going whack. I'm not having any gay thoughts about you, so don't worry about that," I said, stepping out of the spray and into his view. "See? I'm all boned up again."
He looked at my dick, now well past half mast and bobbing.
"Okay. I see," he finally said, but didn't move his hands away from his own. "Does yours hurt?" He asked.
"What, my balls? No, why would they?" I asked, thinking of his sore one.
"Not your testicles, your penis," he explained. "Does it hurt when it achieves an erection?"
"No, why would it? Does yours?"
"Yes, always," he said.
"Shit dude. I mean sheesh, you gotta get that checked out. I'm making you talk to my dad tonight about it," I said. Then I inquired, "Do you jack it?"
"If that is your cretin expression for masturbation, the answer is no, it hurts me to stimulate it to orgasm," he said. "I rely entirely on nocturnal emissions for relief of excessive sperm buildup. Besides, self stimulation is not acceptable behavior for a good Christian youth."
"Wow, dude. You're seriously messed up. You gotta get that fixed," I said. "I can't even imagine going without jacking."
"I suppose you're correct in your assessment on my need to seek qualified medical advice. Do you think your father really would assist me in this delicate matter?" He asked hopefully.
"Of course," I said, "he took the hypocritical oath, you know."
"That's Hippocratic Oath," William Henry corrected.
"I know, I just say it that way to mess with my old man," I joked.
He smiled again, but didn't laugh. We finished up quickly after that and got out and dried. I retrieved two sets of my clothes from the hallway and I helped him dress. My clothes didn't fit him well, but the boxers I provided definitely felt better on his sore ball than his tighty whities had. He admired himself in the mirror. "I feel like part of the 'Screw Crew,'" he said, chuckling. "My mother selects my attire, normally." I snickered along with him, even though I thought he had a long way to go to look like part of our crew.
When we came out of the bathroom, dad was just coming home. Mom had called him and sort of filled him in, so we all went into the family room to talk. He looked tired after a long day at the hospital dealing with seriously ill and dying people. I hardly saw him anymore. After helping out as a coach when I was eight, he hardly ever attended another sporting event for me, let alone coach one. Mom was busy with a lot of charity work and was gone a lot too. She didn't get sports, especially wrestling, so I mostly travelled to and from games and practices with arranged rides from other parents. I missed my mom and dad.
"So, short version please, what's going on?" Dad got right to the point, as always.
"Well," I started.
"This nice young man came over to study with Kyle," mom interrupted, like usual.
"We were planning on working on our debate file," I added.
"Well, whatever, get to the point," dad said, leaning back and rubbing his neck.
"We went to my room and I had sort of a bad day at school, so I was..."
"He was screaming at his friend like a maniac," mom interjected.
"No, I wasn't. That's an exaggeration, like usual. I just raised my voice a little. We were arguing a bit," I said.
"A bit?" Mom objected, "I thought World War III was breaking out."
"C'mon, mom, that's ridicu..." That's all I got out when mom took over again.
"Well, regardless, I was frightened for poor William here, because I know how strong Kyle is from that awful, brutal sport he does." She patted William on the bare knee and he pulled away, embarrassed. I don't think he'd ever worn shorts before and I'm pretty certain no woman had ever touched him on the bare leg.
"So, she busts in my door without knock..." I jumped in, but got cut short again.
"In my concern, I rushed into his room, but I didn't know poor William was right by the door and the doorknob, unfortunately, hit him in the uhh, the umm." She made waving motions across her lap and then finished, "Sensitive boy parts."
"And mom hurt him so bad, he threw up all over us." I pointed to William and myself.
"It was not my fault he got injured, it was yours," mom shouted at me.
"Mine? You're the one that came crashing in my door like a craz..." I got cut short again.
"If you hadn't been screaming at your friend..." she started, but this time, I cut her off.
"Okay, it was my fault. Everything's my fault," I shouted back. "I had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day and I was in a really shitty mood, and I picked a fight with William and it's my fault he got cracked in the nuts. Okay, are you happy?" I started pulling at both eyebrows and gritting my teeth.
"Don't talk to your mother in that tone," my father said sternly. William was staring down at the Persian rug, saying nothing and obviously very uncomfortable.
"Well, I'll say you had a bad day. Mr. Thomas called me from the school. The lunchroom proctor reported that you stole a candy bar." Mom was almost gloating, it seemed to me.
"What?" My dad exploded. "You stole? You have enough money for anything you want. You have no need to steal anything. That's outrageous and so embarrassing. I know Mr. Thomas personally."
"I didn't take it because I couldn't pay for it; they won't let wrestlers buy or eat them," I explained.
"So you admit you stole it?" My mother chirped.
"Yes, I did it. I was starving from my stupid diet to make weight, and it isn't even working. I got tempted and I took it, okay? I'm sorry. It was a stupid mistake. I didn't even open it, though. I gave it back," I admitted.
"This isn't something we need to air out in front of your friend here," my dad said. "I don't know what's come over you, but this is not who you are or were raised to be like."
"I know the problem," my mother jumped in, "it's that horrible sport you've gotten into; boys in their underwear rolling around and fighting with each other. It's just not right. It's just disgusting and unnatural. And that awful group of friends that you refer to by that awful name. People are talking."
"You don't know," I objected. "You don't know anything. How could you? You're never fucking around and you've never even come see me wrestle once."
SMACK!!!! The stinging on my cheek didn't register for a minute, until I saw my mom clutching the offending hand against her chest. I jumped up. Fury was blazing in my eyes. I felt the veins in my neck throbbing and my face was red hot.
"I'm outta here. You don't give a shit what I have to say or what's going on with me. You only care about yourselves and your fucking reputations. Screw you!!"
I bolted for the door. My dad reached out and grabbed my bicep as I passed. I easily jerked it free from his grasp and fled out the door. Tears were streaming down my face as I ran barefoot down the sidewalk. The guard at the gate on Oak Street said something to me, but I ignored him as I turned and ran full speed up into the foothills. I loved exploring these foothills as a boy and I knew exactly where I was headed.
When I reached the dirt road, I slowed and carefully picked my way. The rocks and sticks hurt my feet. I made my way off the road along a small, almost hidden trail, which I knew by heart, to the big log by the brook. I sat on the log and soaked my feet in the cool water, and sobbed. When I had no more left in me, I wiped my eyes on my t-shirt and blew a couple snot rockets into the weeds. "Fuck 'em all," I said. "Who needs 'em."
I don't know how long I cried. The moon was out and high in the horizon by the time I calmed down. I reviewed my surroundings in the moonlight. I remembered back on the times Dig, Bodie, and I played cowboys and Indians and army out here in these woods. I remembered when I was about eight and played "I'll show you mine if you show me yours" with Cindy up the street. I saw the remains of the rope dad once tied to the big oak tree on the opposite bank. Those were great, carefree times. I didn't worry about things then or how I should act or how I needed to be a certain way. I just was whatever I was, no expectations. I had my parent's attention and approval then. I didn't have to keep proving myself or doubting myself. I didn't have to fret over things that didn't seem right, but that I couldn't keep myself from thinking and doing. Back then, I never felt guilty when I jacked off or ate a cookie or skipped a homework page.
Finally, I remembered with great satisfaction, the first time I came here to experiment with something Bodie told me about called "whacking off." His cousin had taught him about it and he explained in great detail how to do it and what it felt like. I was eleven at the time. I told mom I was going to pick wild berries, like I sometimes did, and then I scurried to this very spot. I sat on this same log. I made certain I was alone, pulled my shorts and undies off, and stared at my little, hairless pecker, standing up tall and twitching. I fondled my little balls, rolling them around in my fingers. Then I took my quivering little pecker between my finger and thumb, just like Bodie had demonstrated using one of his fingers and started stroking.
I put my daydream on pause, stood up off the log, and pulled my shorts and boxers off. I draped my shorts over the log to sit on, just like I'd done back when I was eleven. I grasped my warm boner, which has now grown to be 5 ½ inches, by my thumb and one finger and started stroking it the same way Bodie had shown me when I was little.
I drifted back into my memories, recognizing the familiar feelings stirring in the head of my penis just like that very first time. I switched over to rubbing the sides of my dick for a slightly different sensation like I used to do as a young boy. The feelings heightened and expanded. My cares and sadness faded, forgotten in the building euphoria of an impending orgasm. I felt like I was eleven again. I tickled my balls, and stroked my dick, and kicked my feet. I tilted my head back and stared at the stars, smiling from ear to ear. The tingles spread to my butthole and ran up my spine.
"Don't stop when it starts feeling weird or scary. Don't stop 'til you get the BIG feeling," Bodie had told me. "How will I know when I get the big feeling?" I'd asked. "You'll know," Bodie said. He'd been right. When it happened, I knew.
Suddenly, my anus started involuntarily tensing and relaxing, then tensing again. I leaned further back and pushed upward with my hips, extending my legs out straight and stiff. The powerful, uncontrollable spasms, started with my anus, pulsed up through the base of my dick, through my sac and along my bulging shaft, in an irreversible and customary pattern.
My mind washed blank as the familiar explosion overtook me from head to toe, shaking me. The warmth of the thick, white ejaculate on my belly coaxed me back into consciousness. After one small spurt, came a simple bubbling of the magical white fluid, with the accompanying muscle spasms and shudders. Eventually, I came down off the sexual high and slowly milked the remaining juices from my rock hard bone, in a gentle fashion. I thought about poor William not being able to jack off and having painful erections. I felt genuinely sorry for him.
I reflected back on my very first orgasm again in clear detail. I remembered the experience just before climax when I feared the unknown, almost ready to abandon my quest. I recalled falling over the edge of that mental cliff, losing control over my body as the blissful tingles radiated through me. I remembered shaking and squeezing my little dick between my fingers as it twitched and danced with newfound pleasures, never before known to my young soul. I remembered how I'd slipped into the recovery phase and slumped exhausted, off the log onto the soft, cool grass. I'd lain there on my back, arms and legs sprawled out, panting and grinning uncontrollably over the new experience. I smeared the clear, slimy substance that had oozed out over my sensitive little pecker.
Once again, I lay down on the grass, staring up at the stars. I felt small and insignificant as I stared into the vast universe. Sadly, I remembered why I escaped here. I realized, I was no longer eleven and carefree. I curled into a ball, pulled my knees to my chest and sighed sadly, willing myself not to cry anymore. Wrestlers don't cry. The moon had climbed high into the night sky and I realized it was quite late. I wondered how angry and upset they would be when I returned for worrying them.
Slowly, I rose and walked toward home steeled for whatever new battle lay ahead. A chilly breeze caused me to shudder as I entered the gate code. The house was dark. The door was locked. "They must be out looking for me," I thought, "I better get in and get my cell phone and call them."
I went around to the back, pulled the spare key out from under the fake rock and let myself into the back door. My feet were freezing and the warmth of the rug felt nice. I walked upstairs to my bedroom to retrieve my phone, but passing the guest room, I noticed a faint light on. I moved to the doorway and peeked in. Someone was in the bed breathing heavily. I moved closer and was confused at finding William sleeping soundly in the bed.
I shuffled back downstairs and across the house to mom and dad's room. I carefully opened their door and they were in bed sound asleep. I can't even describe the level of pain, hurt and anger I felt. They weren't looking for me. They weren't the least bit concerned. They were peacefully sleeping and had locked me out. They'd taken care of William but didn't give a damn about me. Wrestlers do cry, I guess, when it hurts enough.
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