This is a mobile proxy. It is intended to visit the IOMfAtS Story Shelf on devices that would otherwise not correctly display the site. Please direct all your feedback to the friendly guy over at IOMfAtS!

God I Hate Him, He's So Annoying!

by Toby Johnston

Chapter 1

Fool me once shame on you, fool me Fifty-seven times shame on me!



"Starboard…I have right of way!" I bellowed louder, shaking my head—how can he not know the rules??!!

"Port…Por…ooops…my bad, never mind!", his laughter filled the air as he eased off and passed inches off my stern.

I shook my head, "My God he's so annoying. He always thinks he so fucking funny!"

Aaron adjusted the jib and snickered, "Well, it was kind of funny. Come on Xavier, take a deep breath and lighten up a little. It's just practice! Ben was just having some fun."

"Rules are rules. You can't sail a race, and you sure can't win, if you can't follow the rules!"

Aaron shrugged his shoulders, "In an actual race, sure. But remember, we're out here to have fun too!"

I just glowered—maybe if this weren't the hundredth time in the two months Ben had made me the brunt of his teasing I'd be more forgiving. I know he's just doing it to make fun of me. Then I come across as the uptight asshole with no sense of humor. God, I hate him!

We came about as we rounded the second buoy, trimming up the sails and setting off on a beam reach. I forgot about Ben's latest slight as I felt the thrill run through my body as the hull started humming when we picked up speed. Hah! no way Ben would catch up to me, uhh us, now!

Still, I was pissed. Once again, his teasing had made me look like the uptight dick. I could still hear him laughing even as we crossed the finish line ahead of him. God why do I let him do that to me—I was almost as mad at myself as I was at him.

I glanced back over my shoulder. Ben was a good two boat lengths behind us—his blond hair streaming back behind him. I swallowed thickly as I noticed the sun glinting off his tight abs as he hiked out over the water. The rest of the U14 Laser II's were stretched out in a long line behind him. Once again, we were first and second—I quietly grinned, not bad for the kid who just joined the team this summer.

Not like I was new to sailing or anything. I'd been born and raised in King's Point, NY at the Merchant Marine Academy where Dad taught. I spent all my free time out on Long Island Sound. I think I was as excited as Dad to hear that we were moving to Annapolis—Naval Academy, Chairman of the Naval Architecture and Ocean Engineering Department, what could be cooler?!

I'd dragged Dad down to the Annapolis Yacht Club to sign up for the sailing team before we'd even unpacked all our boxes from the move. Don't think we're all rich and yachty-like though. Dad gets a membership because he teaches at the Naval Academy. I think all those guys with mega-boats like to talk sailing with a real naval architect.

That's where I first saw Ben—oh my god I'd never seen a more beautiful boy—long, flowing, blond, almost white, hair, piercing blue eyes. I crushed on him when I very first spied him at a distance and it only got worse as I moved closer to him. He was a total contrast to me, almost, I mean we both sported pretty long hair but mine was black to his white/blond and my eyes kind of a brownish-hazel to his blue.

Other than that, we were almost twins—or at least I thought so. Same height. Same build—skinny, early-teen look. The image of us kissing, arms wrapped around each other was the first thing that flashed through my mind, even before I knew his name. I instantly hoped we'd be best friends. Yeah, well, it didn't work out that way. Instead, he'd decided to make me the butt of all his jokes. From the very beginning he was teasing me relentlessly.

At first it seemed like little stuff—a comment here, a joke at my expense there. But then it escalated—it seemed like every day that Ben set out to make it his mission to screw with me, making me the butt of his jokes, and yet somehow I always ended up coming across as the uptight one in the process that made it even worse.

He hip-checked me into the water when I was tying up my boat—sending me flying into the water. As I surfaced, I could hear him laughing with his buddies. Next he pantsed me, shorts and boxers, everyone saw my dick, balls, pubes—and I guess the ones behind me saw my butt.

Then there was the time he stole my clothes when I was in the shower. I had to meet up with my parents at the yacht club, so I had to shower at the boathouse and put on 'nice casual'—Bermuda shorts, a nice button down, and boats shoes. I came out to find that all my clothes were gone. Pretty obvious who'd done that! Ben and his crew were just snickering as I searched, until finally Aaron took pity on me and pulled my clothes out of a sail bag.

Then there was the sea anchor. I should have known better when Ben and a couple of the guys offered to help me put my boat into the water. That should have been a red flag, but I was stressing and needed the help. Aaron had bolted to make a head call.

I guided the bow in while Ben and the others handled the stern. Once Aaron returned, we headed out. The boat was a bit sluggish immediately as we left pier side. I was checking everything, trying to figure out what was wrong. Rigging all looked good. Lines were clear. I lifted the centerboard three times, nothing hung up on it; checked the tiller twice, nothing.

It wasn't until I leaned off to the side and realized there was a taut line down into the water. A fucking sea anchor. Ben had attached a sea anchor to my boat. It's basically a cloth funnel that filled with water and slows you down at sea where it's too deep to actually drop a real anchor.

"Let me help you get your boat in the water," he'd said. Right. I should have known better. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me fifty-seven times, shame on me!

Again, everyone laughed. Me, I just steamed. The coach makes him do a double penalty loop around the starter boat, but Ben—and even the coach—were laughing the whole time. Aaron kept telling me I need to lighten up. "I like you Xavier. You seem like a good guy. But you need to chill out. You're kind of wrapped really tight."

And then there was the water balloon incident. We were racing along, almost neck and neck, when all of a sudden water was raining down on us. I saw something red drop down into the boat—a broken balloon. I looked across at Ben's boat just in time to see him launching a second balloon in our direction. He'd rigged a funnel with bungy cords and used his feet to make a catapult. All he had to do was hit the sail to bring more water down on us. Aaron was just laughing, pretending he was showering. Me, I just got mad.

After the onslaught, Aaron just shook his head, "I don't know why Ben is singling you out, Xavier. I've seen him do this a few times before. I really don't think he's trying to be mean, he's just not like that."

I argued otherwise, but Aaron pressed his point. "Look, you're both awesome sailors. Between you and Ben, I'm not sure who's better. I think you have more technical skill. Ben maybe a better innate feel for the boat. You might learn from each other, if you got along better."

Like that was ever going to happen, I fumed.

I was cold and wet when I got home that day—no thanks to Ben—so I headed upstairs for a warm shower. Like any thirteen-year-old I was in the throes of puberty, which meant that shower time was also play time. I stripped naked and checked myself out in the full-length mirror while the water warmed up. Not sure why, but Ben popped back into my mind.

I examined myself, thinking of the comparisons and contrasts between us. I was a quarter Iroquois on my Mom's side, hence the long black hair—Mom had no issues with my growing it long, part of our heritage and all that. The rest of me was all-Irish, which gave me the pale complexion. Between the images of Ben's body flashing in my mind and my hands touching all my fun body parts, my dick quickly rose and arched out proudly.

I might be inexperienced, but I'm not innocent. I grabbed my bottle of lube from its hiding place and took my time spreading the slippery gel all over my dick, skinning back my foreskin to make sure I paid particular attention to my sensitive head. As I stroked with my right, my left hand found it's way between my legs—further and further back until I was circling my hole. What an amazing day it had been when I discovered how sensitive I was back there!

Today was just as awesome. Pretty soon, with images of Ben flashing through my mind, I arched back, thrusting my hips out, and unleashed rope after rope onto my mirror image—haha, that's a little narcissistic isn't it!

At dinner, I recounted the events of the day. Even my parents thought Ben's actions were funny. Dad even saying he might have to use that one in his next race against the midshipmen. I couldn't believe even my parents would betray me like that—thinking Ben was funny as opposed to a dick!

Of course, Mom thinks maybe it's really because I like Ben. She's always trying to psychoanalyze me. We've had the whole—'I think I might be gay discussion'. I guess intentionally or unintentionally I outed myself. Dad and I had already had the whole birds and bees discussion; but Mom had brought it up again one day after school. I casually asked is it okay if boys like boys? I guess not-gay boys don't ask that kind of question, 'cause Mom picked up on that right away. It's not like she was upset or anything. She went into a whole Native American, two-spirit discussion. I guess that's a plus of academic parents—fairly open-minded and liberal.

It was probably month two of Ben torturing me that we all ended up having dinner together at the yacht club. We had bumped into Ben and his parents—I hadn't realized our parents knew each other. Pretty soon it was kind of obvious that this wasn't an accidental meeting. Anyway, we ended up having dinner together. I wasn't sure what Ben was up to, he was all 'Mr. Charming', pulling the wool over my parent's eyes. He was even praising my sailing talents.

It was later that week that the coach really threw me a curve ball. After practice one day, he told Ben and I that we wanted to see us in his office. I had no idea why—the only thing I could imagine was that he was finally as fed up with Ben as I was and would read him the riot act. Nope. Could not have been more wrong.

Instead, he went into a whole spiel about how the two of us were the best sailors on the U14 team. With the upcoming Mid-Atlantic Youth Regatta coming up, he wanted us to start training together—figuring we were the best chance for the club to place. Oh hell no. No way. Not going to do it. I argued every which way I could think of—no luck.

Finally, I gave up on that tack. I reluctantly agreed, but only if I were the skipper. Ben has to do what I say. Ben snickered—okay, I wasn't sure why that was funny.

Coach smiled at me. "It's a multi-heat regatta, Xavier. You have to alternate as Captain and crew. So yes, you will be captain for some races; but for others Ben will be captain.

Great, everyone knows how the regatta works but me. So, I come across a looking like the idiot all over again. I went home trying to figure out how I was going to get out of this one. Once again, my parents were absolutely no help, whatsoever. Not only did they not take my side, they thought it was a great idea, wonderful opportunity, blah-blah.


This is part of a multiple chapter tale, created for a Writing Challenge. To vote, please read to the end, where you will find the survey

Talk about this story on our forum

Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.

[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]

* Some browsers may require a right click instead