Secrets

by Victor Thomas

Chapter 7

I went back to school the day after Shayne killed himself. We had a game that evening, and I had to go to school to be eligible to play. Of course, everyone was talking about the incident. Everyone kept asking about the kid who shot Wyatt and then turned the gun on himself. Not many people knew Shayne. The jocks knew him, because he handed us our towels and cleaned up after us, but he was invisible to most everyone else.

I quickly grew tired of telling people what had happened. I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want to remember. Within a short time, I simply refused to discuss it. I began telling people the police were investigating it, and I wasn't allowed to comment. It was a lie, but it got me out of endlessly recounting events I'd just as soon forget.

I was thankful no one had heard me beg for my life. As soon as he shot Wyatt, everyone scattered. I'd been standing at ground zero, and it was not the place to be. I didn't know what I would've done if a bunch of my friends had seen me lose it when he put the gun to my head. A few saw him do it, but were too far away to see how badly I was shaking.

Wyatt survived. At first, I thought Shayne had shot him in the heart, but he'd shot him in the shoulder. I'm sure it was excruciating and it would probably take him a long time to recover, but it was way better than being dead.

Jack was the lucky one. If he'd been there, Shayne would've shot him, too. I wished I'd been somewhere else. Talk about bad timing. It could've been worse. I think he really meant to kill me, but changed his mind at the last moment. I don't know how he thought letting me live was worse than killing me, but I was sure glad he had a messed-up view of reality.

He was probably better off dead. He was screwed up in the head, that was for sure. He'd been way too reckless in checking out guys, and I bet he would've gone back to it sooner or later. Wyatt and Jack, or maybe somebody else, would've worked him over for it again. Someone might've even done a lot worse to him. Whoever got that kid Oliver was never caught, and I wouldn't have been surprised if they got Shayne too. It was a dangerous world for us gay boys, and Shayne had been stupid, just plain stupid. Taking himself out was probably the brightest idea he'd had in a long time.

I did admire him for one thing, he came after us. He got tired of the bullshit and set out to make Wyatt, Jack and me pay. He had balls at least. He could've killed himself quietly at home, but instead he shot Wyatt and probably scared me for life. I'd never get the image of him blowing his own head off out of my mind. I'd never forget that gun pressed between my eyes, either. Shayne had sure as hell gone out with a bang, no pun intended.

Wyatt probably wouldn't be back to school for a while, but I planned to take it easy on him when he returned. I wasn't all that interested in him, and I'd made my point. He was safely under control. He was pretty hot, though, so I might have to demand some service from him as I did from Paxton. I was content with him in that department, though. The hottest boy in school was my personal slave. What more could I want?

I eyed Paxton, cautiously of course, as we were dressing out for our game. I'd always thought of the male body as a work of art, and his was a masterpiece. His shoulders were broad and beautifully muscled; his pecs were wide, smooth, and bulged just right; his biceps were hard and sculpted, and his abs were perfectly defined. In a word, he was magnificent. I bet sculptors in ancient Greece would've fought for the right to immortalize him. I was sure old Leonardo da Vinci would've been dying to paint him, too. Leonardo definitely had a thing for beautiful boys. I didn't know much about history, but I knew that much. I bet he would've painted Paxton and me together.

I never understood why all guys didn't keep themselves in shape. Working out as Paxton and I did took dedication, but even guys who weren't all that built could be hot as hell. All a guy needed to do to look good was to keep off the fat and just work out a little. Was it so hard? Last summer, I'd seen Liam Summers playing soccer in the park. He wasn't built at all, but he didn't have an ounce of fat on him. He was lean and taut, and what little muscle he did have was well defined. He was hot, and I bet he couldn't have bench pressed a hundred pounds. He obviously worked out very little, if at all. Why weren't more guys like that?

Thinking of Liam's sexy body and looking at Paxton aroused me. I almost couldn't look at him as he was pulling on his pads. It made him look so fucking hot. I turned my attention to putting on my own uniform and caught his eyes and motioned with my head to let him know I wanted to talk.

We grabbed out helmets and walked toward the field together. Damn, he looked good in his uniform.

"I want to see you right after the game," I said. "I'm gonna need a blow."

"What the fuck? Are you queer or something, Bryce?"

I whipped around and grabbed a handful of his jersey, and punched him hard in the gut. He grunted and doubled over.

"Don't you ever talk to me like that again, bitch! I own you. I'm not queer. You're the one sucking dick. Don't you ever forget that! I've got it on tape, too, you faggot. I'm a normal teenaged guy. We all want head. The only difference between me and the other guys is I've got a little bitch who has to do what I say. You, on the other hand, well, I think you like it. You're to damned good at it not to be enjoying it. I bet you get off on it. You're probably thrilled I make you do it, because then you can suck dick and still tell yourself you're not gay."

"I'm not a fag," he said, grinding his teeth.

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, Paxton, and maybe some day you'll believe it. The whole time I've known you you've talked about faggots and how much you hate them, how much they disgust you. Well, I think you protest just a little too much. You pretend to hate queers because you're a big old homo yourself, and you're just afraid for anyone to find out about it."

"I'm not a fag!"

"Well, it doesn't matter to me, because no matter what you are, you're still my bitch, and you're gonna do what I tell you. You're meeting me after the game this evening, and you're meeting me at closing time at the gym every night from now on."

"Every night?"

"Yeah, you have a problem with that? You've got a talented mouth and I intend to make use of it, and don't even pretend you wouldn't do the same to me if you had something on me."

We were nearing the field and inquisitive ears, so that was the end of our private discussion. Paxton was like wild stallion, difficult to tame, but I'd break him or destroy him. The choice was his. He'd already submitted to me, so I doubted he'd give me any serious trouble. He was just biting at the bit to show me he wasn't going down easy and to prove to himself that he wasn't submitting of his own free will.

I seriously doubted he was gay, but hurling accusations at him was a good way to keep him off balance. Even if he found out I was gay, he couldn't do shit about it. If he tried to out me, I'd show the tape of him getting it on with Wyatt and that would be the end of him. He'd likely be found hanging from a tree somewhere.

Devin only played the first quarter. He pulled a hamstring near the end of it, and that was that for him. Coach was about to motion Paxton onto the field when I leaned over and whispered to him to pretend he had a serious stomach ache. He was a damned good actor, clutching his stomach as he ran toward the coach, a look of real pain on his face. In moments he was heading back for the bench. I was finally going to be the quarterback in a real game.

I felt like a god as I rushed out onto the field with the crowd cheering. I was popular, so my mere presence on the field caused a stir in the crowd. I felt like one of those Greek heroes taking the field at the beginning of a big battle. Sorry I can't give you any names, but give me a break; I'm a jock, not a geek. At least I know who Leonardo da Vinci was, right?

What a rush! I set up the play, and my men took the field. I got into position and made ready to destroy the enemy. Paxton was probably fuming that I'd taken his spot, but I was every bit as good as he was, and probably better. It was my rightful place, anyway. He'd just have to get used to taking the backseat to me, because he was going to be doing it all through high school.

The Wildcat's weren't the toughest team around, but they were no pushover either. Jack had scored a touchdown near the end of the first quarter so we were up 7-0. I intended to maintain our lead. I was all business on the field.

The second quarter didn't start out so well. I was sacked on the first series, although it wasn't my fault. Brendon and Landon, who play right guard and right tackle, had their heads up their asses and let not one, but two, Wildcat's through our offensive line. Coach was not happy and jumped all over them for it.

The next play went smoothly. I threw a pass to Jack, and he picked up eighteen yards and a first down before a couple of Wildcat's tackled him. He was an excellent receiver but a cocky little bastard, and I kind of enjoyed seeing him go down, although I would've rather seen him score again.

He fumbled on the next play after hauling in a pass over the middle. Okay, maybe he wasn't such a good receiver, or maybe he was and he just messed up. My pass was near perfect. I dropped the ball right into his hands, but he let it slip away after a couple of steps. A Wildcat free safety nearly caught up with it, but he recovered his own fumble. I felt like pounding him for being so careless with one of my passes.

I faked a pass to him on the next play. I knew the Wildcat's would think for sure I'd throw to him again; instead, I eluded one of their blitzing linebackers and tore down the field like a bat out of hell. I would've made it if I could've zigzagged past one last defensive back. His positioning was just too good. I tried, but just couldn't get around him. There was no shame in that, because I'd picked up forty yards on the play, and we were now at the Wildcat's six-yard line.

I scored a touchdown on the next play. I'd planned to pass to Jack, but the other team anticipated that again, and he couldn't get clear. An opening presented itself, so I tucked the ball against my torso, lowered my shoulder, and bulled into the endzone, dragging three Wildcat defenders with me.

I was just sure I'd get taken down, but every defender who lunged for me missed by a hair. I knocked one opponent on his ass and just kept on grinding, and my determination paid off.

The crowd jumped to their feet, letting the blankets they'd been huddled in fall to the stands. I let the sound of their cheers wash over me, basking in it. Just running out on the field had been a rush, but this… well, I really did feel like a god. I just stood there, the breath from my nostrils fogging the air like steam from a dragon. I felt that powerful!

Yeah, I know my touchdown was a team effort and the crowd was cheering for my teammates, too. But it was directed at me, I'm the one who got to feel the energy of their adulation and it was tremendous. All those fans cheering for me was even better than the endorphin rush I felt when lifting weights. This was what life was all about.

The Wildcat's scored on us, but only twice. I scored another rushing touchdown and passed for three more and we ended up with a 48-14 win. The guys even carried me off the field on their shoulders! I was in heaven.

In the showers, guys were slapping me on the back and congratulating me. Paxton was a bit surly, but that was his problem. I just closed my eyes and let the hot water beat down on my muscles.

I looked around the showers, taking stock of the others. I was definitely the best built, except for Paxton. Devin came kind of close to me as far as biceps were concerned, but even his weren't as developed. And I'd done it all without steroids. Paxton had been on steroids a long time to achieve his physique, but I'd put him in his place. The same drugs that built him up put him under my thumb. It was like some kind of cosmic justice or something.

I rinsed off, got myself a towel from the stack, we had no towel boy anymore, then dried off and dressed in the locker room. It was kind of sad to have to put away my jersey, but it was grimy and had to go in the wash, no doubt about it.

I told Paxton to follow me in his truck. I drove out to the graveyard and parked in an isolated spot. I climbed into his truck, unzipped my jeans, and pushed both my jeans and boxers down to my ankles. He didn't have to be told what to do. He knew what was expected of him.

I ran my fingers through his blond hair as his head bobbed up and down in my lap. First a win with me as the quarterback and now head from the hottest guy in school. What a night!

I finished way too fast. I was just too worked up. In the future, I was going to concentrate and improve my control, but it was hard not getting excited when Paxton was going down on me. The mere thought was nearly enough to make me lose control.

Once I was done with him, I pulled up my boxers and pants and climbed out of his truck. I jumped into my car and headed for home.

Poor Paxton, he'd fallen from such a height. He'd gone from Alpha Male to Bryce's bitch. Of course, other than him, Wyatt, and me, no one knew it. We didn't parade it, but he was obviously deferring to me now. I showed him respect in front of the others, but I think they could tell by body language and the tone of our voices that the balance of power had shifted.