TRUE FIRST TIME TALES
Brian's Tale
It happened in ninth grade. It wasn't a friend.
-Brian
I was luke-warm in pretty much every regard. I had pretty average looks - nothing hot but not ugly. I was one of those video game kids, but I didn't go all in, sometimes playing hockey or soccer. I got okay grades, nothing great - at least one A, usually Arts or Music, often an F, especially in English or History. I was just so middle-of-the-road that I was often overlooked and ignored by teachers. I had some friends, not many, but I wasn't a loner. I wasn't pestered by all the bullies, just some of them. I even pushed around a couple guys who were smaller than me if they ticked me off. Never really beat anybody up, just verbally berated them a bit. I wasn't very mean, just sometimes lost my temper.
Even my family was totally average. Both my parents worked: Dad full-time, Mom part-time. I had a much older sister, we had a dog, we had one newer car and one older one, and we lived in a modest four-bedroom house in the suburbs of a major city.
Same with my physical development. Some of my friends hit puberty before I did, and got all interested in girls, and were hairy and hanging in the showers in ninth grade. Some were still bald as a baby in the showers during ninth grade. I had some hair, my balls were dropped, and I had enough dick that I was sort of proud of it. It was totally average, of course. About half the guys had more, about half had less.
I could not have been more average if I tried.
Except for one thing - by ninth grade I knew there was one massive difference - I wasn't very interested in girls. But boys, and dick... yeah, when it came to that, I knew where my likes lay. Especially balls. I loved balls.
So, of course, I was hiding that as best as I could. Pretty well, judging by the fact that none of my friends knew. Or seemed to. I was getting called a fag by the bullies, of course, but lots of guys were. If all the guys in ninth grade who were called a fag were actually gay, then the human race would die out.
There were three guys who actually bullied me in ninth grade. One was the same guy from seventh and eighth grade. Two were new.
The one from junior high, Mark, was big and fat and hairy and gross. Stoner and hard rocker and partier. Poor as dirt, dumb as a box of rocks. The other new bully, Derek, was really tall and really muscly and had the worst case of acne, with a busted nose and a scar across his chin. His lips looked like they had been busted up a few times too. And he was on the football team.
Steve was the other new bully. He didn't start bullying me until after ninth grade had been going a while. I'd noticed him by then. He was hot. He was a bit tall, but not very. He was kind of muscly, but not very. Good face. Nice hair, really nice eyes, and very nice lips. I really liked his lips. Man, they were something. So was his bod. Strong but lean. He had a pretty nice butt, too. Not to mention a really decent package.
Mark and Derek were more physical in their bullying. Not just pushing me around, but actually hitting me sometimes. Knocking books out of my hands. Even kicking my feet or legs out from under me. Not just calling me names. And, of course, threatening to beat me up.
I first noticed Steve almost the first day of ninth grade. He was standing in the bus lane next to mine after school. Nice tight jeans, tight t-shirt. Butt all pert and firm, package all stuffed and lumpy. Cute face, nice hair, really great bod. And those awesome lips. He was talking to his friends, laughing and standing and just drawing my eyes. He glanced my way and saw me looking. He looked away. He looked back a bit later. He hesitated, then looked away. I kept my eyes off him as best as I could while I talked with my friend. But I glanced back again. He glanced my way again. We met eyes. I got this huge thrill.
I think I got attracted to him right then. He wasn't the only guy I was hot for, just one of the most recent. High school puts so many new kids together, you know? Steve was one of those. And one of the very hottest.
We saw each other in the halls and around school. And I always saw him at the bus stops outside school in the afternoon. We didn't have any classes together.
It was fine, until one day, his buddy noticed I was looking their way. They said something to each other, looked at me, and laughed.
I guess that was the start of it.
Pretty much the next day, Steve and his buddy Mike walked by in the hall when I was at my locker. Steve gave me a shoulder-shove into my locker, and said, "Faggot." They didn't even slow down. It was just a walk-by.
I know I took a good look at that ass as they walked away. I remember thinking it was too bad he was an ass, because I liked his ass.
Over the next weeks, it got a little worse. He'd call me names every time he could. Not just fag. Dork, geek, queer, homo, etc. At least he wasn't physical. He didn't slap the back of my head in passing, or knock my books out of my hands, or push me over.
Still, Steve verbally bullying me was almost worse than the other two guys. Steve was slim and fit, hot and sexy. He had a clear complexion and attractive features. He was kind of smart, I soon learned. He got good grades, better than mine. He was on the soccer team, and popular. And, I learned, pretty rich.
Most of the first half of ninth grade went by. I got good at avoiding those bullies. And at taking long looks in the showers by keeping my head down and looking up under my eyebrows. Damn, I was such a fag. But I loved looking at all those hanging dicks, all those hanging balls. Those glances fueled my fantasies as I masturbated.
A few weeks before mid-terms, my English teacher told me I was failing. No surprise. I sucked at it. It seemed so fucking complicated and convoluted. Hey, my vocabulary was great, it was all the rules and the punctuation that fucked me up. Especially those God-damned commas!
He told me I had to improve, or I was in real danger of failing. Well, fuck.
I tried. I really did. I read and re-read the chapters. My tests came back with nothing but Ds and Fs. After a while, I just sort of didn't give a fuck.
About a month before mid-terms, my English teacher asked me to stay after class. When I did, he told me I had showed some effort, but my grades weren't up any. He asked me to meet him after school. So I did.
"You need to improve, or I will have to fail you," he said. "So, I'm signing you up for a tutor."
Oh, fucking great.
"Do you have free time after school?"
No.
"Yes."
He looked at a list on his desk.
"Mondays and Wednesdays?"
No.
"Sure."
Whatever.
"Good. Mondays and Wednesdays, I want you to meet your tutor in the library." He looked on that list again, then said, "Study room sixteen. Right after classes."
No fucking way.
"Fine."
"You ride the bus?"
"Yes."
"What route?"
I told him. He looked at another page on his desk.
"You can take the city bus home after your tutoring. There's one at four-forty-five, another at five-fifteen. Is that okay?"
Hell no.
"Okay."
"If you can't get your grade up, you're going to fail, and you know if you fail English you're going to have to attend summer school."
Oh, shit. That's right. English was one of the classes you had to pass. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
"Yes."
"Good. Monday after classes. Library study room sixteen."
"Yes, sir."
I was pissed. But what could I do? If I didn't pass English, I was going to summer school.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
So, the next Monday, I went to the library, found study room sixteen, and opened the door. It was empty. Cool, maybe my tutor was going to blow it off. Fine with me.
I sat down to wait. I needed the help. Summer school was for morons. I wasn't a moron, I just sucked at English. And History. God, History was so fucking boring! Even worse than English. But at least I could learn history.
The study rooms in the library were really more little cubbies with doors. I mean, they had tall walls, but no ceiling. The library ceiling was something like twenty feet up, and the walls around the study rooms were at least six feet tall. Maybe higher. The walls were actually heavy partitions, not really walls. The rooms were maybe six by four. Maybe. Just enough room for a table along the wall opposite the door and two chairs.
So my back was to the door when it opened. I was trying to understand the chapter in the English book, and was sort of pissed, so I kept my head down and said, "About time."
The door closed. I turned my head a bit and looked up.
I'm sure you know exactly who was standing there.
Oh, fucking shit.
"You?" he said, his nice eyes getting huge.
"You?" I returned, my eyes probably even wider.
I know what you're thinking.
Oh, cool! They're going to have to work together! They're going to end up becoming friends, fall in love, and have hot sex! YAY!
Ummm, no.
"I'm not tutoring your fag ass!"
He turned, opened the door, and walked out.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
I was not going to summer school! No fucking way!
I gathered my books and ran after him.
I caught up to him just as he walked out the library doors into the cafeteria common.
"Wait!"
He turned and rolled his eyes.
"Steve, I really can't fail English. I'll have to go to summer school!"
Surely he understood that!
"So? Like I care?" he told me, turning to walk across the common.
There were a few folks sitting at the tables or on the concrete half-walls. Mostly chicks.
"I do!" I said, catching back up to him. "How would you like to go to summer school?"
"I'm not a moron," he laughed.
"I'm not either!" I said, getting more pissed. "I just don't get English."
"How can you not get English? You speak it every day. Idiot."
"Sure. But I don't get all the rules for commas and shit. And who cares what a fucking preposition is?"
He laughed. Which, frankly, really almost melted my anger away. Damn it. He was just so hot, and his laugh was really awesome. Even if it was aimed at me.
"Okay, I get that. I mean, most of the guys I tutor have the same problem."
"So help me not have to go to summer school!"
We were just at the doors across the common that led into the hall that ran behind the gym. He stopped, holding the door half open, and looked at me for a second.
"Look, I really don't want to tutor a fag. Bad enough being seen walking around with you."
He walked through the doors.
I was stuck there. I needed his help. And being tutored by the hot Steve was better than summer school, even if he hated my guts. At least he was easy to look at.
I followed him again, caught up with him, and actually grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.
I'd never seen him look so surprised. Or anyone, maybe.
"Look. If you don't tutor me, what's Mister Watkins gonna say?"
He didn't have an answer for that.
Some yelling broke out from the gym. He immediately noticed, and probably got more worried about being seen talking to me.
He shoved me toward the wall. Or, I thought it was toward the wall. Turned out it was into the double doors into the long, empty hallway toward the Industrial Arts wing. Then he shoved me through those double doors. They closed behind us like jail a cell.
It was empty, like always. It was pretty much only a link between the two different buildings constructed many years apart, running alongside the oldest gym. Double doors closed off both ends. No one used it unless they were going between gym class and a Shop or Home Ec. class. And after school, it was totally empty.
Don't get ahead of the story here.
He glared at me for a second. I got really worried and scared. We were totally alone, and not likely to see anyone in that hall. He could pound the hell out of me in there and no one would know.
Yes, I know what you're thinking now, too.
And, no.
"You a fag?"
I felt like he'd punched me in the gut!
"Are you?" he demanded.
"no."
(Author's Note: Yes, I intentionally left that word non-capitalized. Brian told me how he barely got that word out, almost whispered it.)
I didn't fool him at all. I knew it the second I said it. And he clearly didn't believe me. I don't know why I didn't, or couldn't, say it more convincingly.
"Yeah, right," he laughed.
Actually laughed. Sort of. He didn't laugh out loud and hold his stomach and guffaw. He more puffed a breath of air, if that makes sense.
"Look, I don't want seen tutoring a fag. Get it?"
I did. But I couldn't go to summer school!
"Then tutor me at home," I offered.
Now he laughed. Not long and loud, one of those short ones.
"Yeah, right! So you can come on to me? No way."
"Then your house."
He looked kind of pissed. Or something. But at least he was thinking about it, apparently.
"Look," I argued. "Would you want to go to summer school?"
He rolled his eyes at me.
Damn it. Even in that situation I noticed those beautiful eyes.
"I'll pay you."
He laughed again, then said, "I probably get more in allowance every week than you get in a month."
He probably did. He wore a lot of expensive clothes. Nothing like some kids, but far more expensive than I could wear.
"I'll do your chores."
My Bodyguard, the movie, wasn't very old back then. I'd seen it. I'd sort of liked the lead. He was sort of cute in ways. Off-topic.
"I don't have chores, dork."
His folks probably had people to mow and rake and shit. Damn it.
Okay, I know what you're thinking now, too.
Ummm, yeah.
It was insane, but it was all I could come up with. He knew about me, anyway. And it was all I could think of. How I worked up the guts, I have no idea. Desperation and all the adrenaline, I guess.
"I'll suck your dick. Anything. I can't go to summer fucking school!"
He stared at me, and I got ready for the first punch from him. Not the first that year, for sure. Just the first one from him.
"You are actually fucking serious," he said, really slowly.
Fucking shocked, I guess.
I nodded, probably not breathing at all. Rigid and ready for the punch. Face? Stomach? Balls? Maybe I could block it with my books?
"You're that fucking desperate? You'd really suck a dick to stay out of summer school?"
I nodded again.
"Please," I whispered. "My folks would freak out if I failed and had to go to summer school. My friends would, well, you know, laugh at me."
He sighed really loudly. Loud enough I actually heard it echo in that empty hallway.
"Man, that's really desperate." He looked at me for a second, then said, "You really are a fag, aren't you?"
At least he hadn't said it all mean and snide. More like a simple statement of a fact.
Maybe that was why it was possible for me to nod at him.
He looked so different suddenly. Almost like he felt bad for me.
He looked both ways down the hall, then said, really softly, "Okay. But, look. We're not going to do it in the library. And you're not coming over to my house. So I'll do it at your place."
"Really?" I asked, suddenly relieved, and almost happy.
"Yeah. I'll help you not fail English."
Funny, but I noticed how poor that sentence structure was. He was going to tutor me in English, but that sentence was awful. Insane how your mind works, isn't it?
"Oh, God! Thank you!"
"Yeah, yeah. Just give me your address and I'll come over Wednesday."
I wrote my address on a sheet of paper I tore out of a notebook and handed it to him.
He looked at it, then said, "There's a city bus that goes out that way about four. I'll see you then."
He shoved the paper into his pocket and walked away. I was so relived I could have pissed the floor!
He turned around at the doors, and said, "And if you tell anybody, I'll fuck you up something severe!"
"I won't!" I said seriously.
Just so long as I passed English!
I was shaking as I headed toward the bus stops. Before I got there, I realized my teacher might see me standing there, so I went to the library instead. I really tried to study that shit, but it just didn't make much sense. I caught the late bus home, and beat one off while fantasizing that Steve really let me suck his dick. I imagined what his dick was like, what it felt like, how it felt in my mouth, how much he came in my mouth, all that. Really good orgasm that afternoon! And, yeah, that night, too.
Tuesday was just another day, except I was horrified he might have told someone I'd admitted I was gay. It wasn't all that horrible back then, not like before. Some kids were even coming out at some schools, or so I'd heard. None had at my school, and I wasn't going to be the first! And Gay/Lesbian clubs weren't a thing yet. Let alone LGBTQ. But the day went by without anything new. Just the usual. The times I saw Steve in the halls he didn't seem to notice me. When I got home, I had another great whacking session, fantasizing that Steve let me suck his dick in trade for tutoring me.
Wednesday was the same. So far so good. I waited inside the doors after school, with my friend, so my teacher couldn't see me and think I was blowing off the tutoring. I told my buddy some lie I don't even remember about why I wanted to stay inside. When the bus pulled up, we went out and hopped on it.
I got home and beat one out real fast, fantasizing about sucking Steve's dick. This time he made me, and I was all like, 'No, Steve, don't me me suck it!' But I did, and swallowed. I did it again. I wanted to make sure I didn't pop wood while he was there. Then I made sure my room was extra neat, smelled like it, and got a couple sodas ready.
I was nervous as hell as I opened the door. He didn't look happy to be there.
He was fucking hot, though! Slightly faded jeans, tight t-shirt. I could even see his nipples! Wow! And that package. It was all I could do to keep my eyes off it!
I intended to make him comfortable. He knew I was a fag, and he hadn't told anyone, that I could tell. Not yet, anyway. I wanted him to be able to forget I was a homo and just be able to tutor me.
We went to my room. I had an extra chair at my desk for when a friend was over. We sat down. I gave him my confortable chair. He was all business. He asked to see my English papers. I didn't keep any. Why would I keep D or F graded papers or tests? I did have a paper I was working on. A five-hundred word essay. I handed it to him. He read it through really fast, taking notes. Lots of notes. He listed my mistakes on a paper by the type of error. Lots of them.
Don't judge me.
It was totally professional. I thought how he was going to be an excellent organizer and probably very successful.
He outlined lesson a plan, goals and expectations. He quizzed me a bit on the most recent chapters. Man, I was stupid.
He sighed after a while, and said, "This is going to be real challenge."
"Am I really that stupid?"
I saw him thinking. Oh, great. I was.
"No. A lot of guys don't get this stuff. I've worked with worse."
Okay.
"Well, now I know what we have to work on."
"Okay. So, can you get me to pass the semester?"
"Probably."
"Probably?"
"Yeah, probably. At least you're not a moron. Some guys I have to tutor are fucking hopeless. At least you're good with basic structure and form. Good vocabulary. You're biggest problems are mostly commas and other punctuation."
"So long as I pass."
"I'm pretty sure you will. No B, but I'm really sure you can get a D, at least."
"Good enough!"
"So, what time do your folks get home?"
"Mom works 'til eight tonight. Dad always gets home just after six."
He glanced at his watch. Nice one. Yeah, we all wore watches back then.
It was almost five.
"Then we better get to it."
"Yeah."
He pushed the chair back, then started unfastening his pants.
I was so shocked that I almost passed out! When I realized what was up, that is.
The conversation in that empty hallway played out in my mind in an instant.
He'd taken my desperate offer seriously!
He expected me to actually blow him!
I was torn! I mean, okay, I'd really blow him to pass English, but I hadn't even thought for a second that he'd taken the offer! I'd assumed he'd just decided to help the fag out.
But, nope!
I was also torn over how I felt about it. I'd thought it was pretty cool he'd agreed to help me. Great! But only because he thought I was going to give him head. Bummer. Sort of.
But he was going to let me suck his dick! Cool!
But, wow, was I suddenly hugely nervous!
He unfastened his pants, unzipped them, lifted his butt off the chair, and then pushed them and his tighty-whities down to his knees.