by Will S
At the theater, they got in line.
"Let me get the tickets," Chris offered while they waited.
"What?" Wright muttered. "No, you…you don't have to do that. I mean, thanks, but we agreed…"
"Well, then I'm getting the popcorn and drinks." Chris looked directly into Wright's eyes. "No arguments."
"No arguments, Wright." The dark-haired boy grinned, and then did something that literally took Wright's breath away; Chris put his arm around Wright's neck and pulled the blond boy tight against him the way Wright had often seen guys goofing around in the hallways or on the playing fields. In fact, he'd seen Chris Donnelly do exactly that with one of his buds on baseball team. But that presented a whole new set of problems for the young gay boy. He was painfully aware that he wasn't like other boys; he wasn't one of Chris Donnelly's "buds," and he instantly felt he needed to be on guard, lest he reveal too much of himself—both physically "down there" and emotionally. But it was too late for that. Already he could sense the change in his "boy parts." And he was certain if Chris really looked at him, he'd see color creeping into his cheeks.
OMG, Wright thought, I should never have come here with him. It was just too risky. Life, he realized in that moment would be much simpler if he just kept things below the radar and didn't call attention to himself. Blend in and disappear if possible—like a chameleon. But being with Chris Donnelly, that just wasn't going to work.
"Hey, Chris." Wright turned around to see a couple of Lincoln High's star football players. They were with their dates, two of the "hottest" girls at Lincoln High. They smiled coyly at Chris and flashed a look almost of confusion toward Wright.
"Guys, you know Wright, right?"
One of the girls giggled at that and in a whispered echo, muttered, "right, right," just before her friend announced that the two girls were heading to the restroom.
The other two boys hardly even glanced at Wright. "Yeah, sure," they muttered.
"Hey," Wright said shyly.
"What're you gonna see?" one of the football players asked.
"The new Dylan O'Brien movie."
"Oh, man, you know that was our choice, but…" the boy cocked his head in the direction of the women's restroom.
"That got shot down real quick," the second boy added.
"Yeah, tell me about it," Chris chuckled. "Same story. Then I ran into Wright, and, well…here we are."
Wright was on guard, but at the same time, he was amazed at how at ease Chris was. Nothing seemed to throw him, whereas everything seemed to throw Wright.
"Well," one of the football players muttered in lower tones, "if we take in the chick flick, there's got'ta be somethin' in return afterward." The two players and Chris laughed knowingly.
"What was that term in Civics class? The Latin thing?" Chris asked.
"Quid pro quo," Wright said almost without thinking.
"Yeah," Chris offered, flashing a grin in Wright's direction. "Quid pro quo." He gave his friends a look, and leaned in. "Well, hope you guys get a little 'quid' for your 'quo.'"
The three athletes burst into laughter. One of them reached down and cupped himself. "Yeah, man, you got that right!"
By now Wright was about ready to die and was grateful he was finally at the ticket counter. "One, please," Wright said.
"Hey guys, catch ya later. And good luck with the quid thing," Chris said, flashed his patented grin, and bought his ticket.
After a stop at the concession stand and meeting a couple more of Chris's friends, Wright and Chris headed for the theater. There was plenty of time even before the previews, so the two boys sat sharing the popcorn and sucking down their jumbo soft drinks.
"Boy," Wright began when the silence had grown uncomfortable, "you sure know a lot of people."
Chris shrugged. "You probably do, too."
Wright grabbed another handful of popcorn and mumbled, "Not sure about that." As he popped a few pieces into his mouth, a couple more pieces fell into his lap and caught in the folds of his shorts right over his "equipment." Before he could get to them, Chris had reached down and plucked them off his groin. Wright froze when he felt Chris's fingers drift across his hidden parts.
The dark-haired boy looked up, grinned his easy grin at Wright, and pitched the two pieces of popcorn into his mouth. "Hope that was okay," he said. "I just didn't want the butter to stain those cool shorts. Gotta get me a pair." He gave Wright another look who was glancing down at his crotch in spite of himself. He had to agree with Chris. A stain wouldn't be good. But then as he was now coming to expect, Chris had more to say. "I mean, you get a stain there, and people might think you be more excited about the movie than you really are. Know what I mean?"
Wright, predictably blushing again, did know exactly what Chris was saying. He found this super cute boy so confounding. On the one hand, it was exciting to be around him. Chris Donnelly, Wright thought, was everything he wasn't. Confident, easy-going, in control, with this incredible body, funny, popular. It was amazing to see him sort of "in his element," like in line when his friends came up to him. They sought him out. They wanted to be around him as much as Wright did. Except Wright knew they weren't thinking about Chris the way he was. They'd probably string him up—not to mention Chris, himself—if they knew what he was picturing as he thought about being near the dark-haired boy. He wasn't just thinking about Chris Donnelly, he was dreaming about him. Dreaming. Wright blushed as he thought about the dream he'd had just the previous night.
Christopher Donnelly was not on the track team. But in the dream, he was, and he wasn't very good, which surprised Wright. "Come on," Wright urged. "The others are way probably back at the school by now."
Chris complained that he was doing the best he could, and in the dream, Wright kept trying to figure out why he was somehow linked to the kid. He knew he could run circles around him, but when he thought about moving away from him, he it was like there was some invisible force field keeping them together. By the time they'd gotten back to the locker room, everyone was in the showers. "Hit the showers, you two," the coach had said, "And Wright, show him how it's done."
A confused Wright Steinbeck began stripping down, not sure he was anxious to be naked with this Adonis, not sure what "show him how it's done" even meant. Wright looked up, and Chris was already at the entrance to the showers. Wright's pulse ratcheted up quickly as he gazed at the boy's smooth, firm, muscled butt. Now Chris twisted around and called to him, "Come on, man, you've gotta show me how to do it."
All the usual shower heads were taken by naked boys, but in the middle of the shower area, there was one last shower. When did they install that, Wright wondered as the two of them, Wright and Chris Donnelly, stepped under the center shower. All the other boys were watching as if it had become a theater in the round. "Go, Wright!" they chanted, and he looked down and saw he was as hard as he'd ever been. With the team chanting in the background, Chris appeared to be completely unaware of Wright's "situation."
"So," Chris said, "Coach said you had to show me." Now the team's chant changed to "Show him!" Wright was mortified, but he knew he could do nothing to change what was happening. He was so embarrassed as Chris reached down and grabbed onto his cock, and the others cheered. "Look," Chris said, pointing to his flaccid cock. "Mine's not like yours. How do I get it like yours?"
"Well," Wright began, "you just…take it…and…"
Chris interrupted. "Coach said to show me," and he reached out and took Wright's hand and placed it on his own soft manhood. Wright was practically vibrating with a mix of fear and excitement. Slowly he began to stroke the super star stud of Lincoln High right there in the shower with a cheering crowd. "Tell me if I'm doing it right," Chris breathed in Wright's ear. That alone got his cock throbbing even harder, but then Chris Donnelly reached down and began stroking Wright's manhood with long, slow strokes.
"Aghhhh!" Wright gasped, opening his eyes wide in the dark of his bedroom. He reached under the twisted sheet as he lay in his sweaty bed. His fingers eased over his briefs, now saturated with his spendings. Under his fingers, he felt his softening penis, and realized he'd had a wet dream—something that hadn't had happen in years. "Ohmygod, weird," he muttered. More like a nightmare, he thought. He would just die on the spot if he ever came anywhere near getting hard in the locker room. And then he thought about Chris Donnelly. He was why Wright had had that dream. Chris Donnelly was making his body react in ways that…that…what? Excited him? Yes, for sure. Aroused him. Absolutely. Scared him? Without a doubt. And in less than 24 hours, he was going to be at the movies with him.
"Hey!" Chris's voice finally broke through. Wright turned in the theater seat and looked into this perfect face, dark eyes, button nose, incredible full lips, perfectly aligned sparking white teeth. "I thought, you'd been taken over by the dark side," Chris said. "What were you thinking about?"
OMG! Wright thought, talk about a nightmare. "Sorry," Wright said. "Nothin' really. Just…well, nothin'.
"Well, don't go gettin' all weird on me," Chris said, smiling. "There's gotta be one of us that's normal." He reached down and put his hand on Wright's thigh.
Normal, thought Wright. If only you knew! He moved his leg so Chris's hand slid off.
Wright never had a chance to say any more, for it was at that moment that the lights dimmed and the first preview was projected onto the screen in front of them.
"Yeah, it was awesome," Wright agreed. For once that night, he didn't feel as if he had to be on guard. He could agree with Chris's assessment of the movie and not have to worry about getting some kind of response that would leave him wondering if he was in danger of being outed—or worse.
Throughout the night, there had been so many messages from Chris that could be taken more than one way. And it didn't stop once the lights dimmed. Wright had sensed Chris kind of slumping down in his seat. And then he felt Chris's leg brush up against his. It was so light a first, he wasn't even sure it was happening, but just in case, Wright eased his leg away just a fraction of an inch. He didn't want Chris to be aware of what he'd done. The truth was he couldn't be sure that maybe he hadn't relaxed his leg just enough that he'd actually bumped into Chris.
With that done, Wright settled back to watch the movie. How much time had passed, he did not know, but suddenly he became aware of warmth near his knee. Then Chris's leg pressed against his again, and this time Wright was sure it was Chris who had moved. Knowing something doesn't always make deciding easier, and that was true for Wright now. What was he going to do? But then Chris had plunked the popcorn bag down on both their legs. He leaned into Wright and whispered in his ear, "Is the popcorn okay there?"
"Yeah," Wright mumbled.
"Good," Chris offered, and added, "Just don't move your leg away, 'cause we'll lose it all."
And so, for the better part of the almost two hours they sat there, Wright Steinbeck was torn between focusing on the film (and that incredibly cute Dylan O'Brien) and the steady pressure and heat of that incredibly cute Chris Donnelly's leg against his.
His discomfort didn't end with the film, either. On the way out, Wright announced, "Hey, gimme a minute. Gonna hit the restroom."
"Not a bad idea," Chris responded.
So together they went into the men's restroom. Surprisingly, most of the urinals were open. Nevertheless, Chris sidled right up next to Wright. Oh, man, Wright thought, it's a wonder he didn't squeeze right in and use the same one. Still, he was pretty self-conscious and it took him a while to get started. "Ahhh." He heard Chris sigh and then mutter, "I needed that, know what I mean?" Wright felt Chris's eyes burning in on him. "I guess," was all he could come up with.
Now in Chris's car, Wright finally felt himself beginning to relax. They'd be home—he'd be home—in just a few minutes. Then in one short sentence, that relaxed feeling vanished.
"Hey," Chris said, "Wanna go to Dabney's?" Dabney's was one of Wright's favorite places to eat. It was simple food, nothing fancy, but good, and the place looked just like it did when it opened back in the 1950's. It was cool. But going there meant more confusion with the master of confounding behavior. "Come on," Chris urged. "It'll be cool."
And so, reluctantly Wright heard himself say, "Sure."
They settled in side-by-side on anchored stools at the lunch counter. It was nearly 10 P.M., and Wright wasn't especially hungry. He ordered a piece of Dabney's famous strawberry-rhubarb pie and a glass of water. A special Dabney thing was that their pie came with a bowl of whipped cream. You could add as much or as little as you wanted. Chris ordered a cheeseburger with everything, fries, and a root beer. Wright shook his head when it came. He couldn't imagine eating all that after the giant soft drink and extra super-sized popcorn at the theater, but Chris didn't seem to be having any trouble with his order.
They talked about the movie some more. The subject then switched to running.
"I never knew you ran," Wright said.
"I didn't…but you inspired me."
"Yep," I saw you at a competition, and I thought, cool!" Chris moved his hand over his heart. "I swear." The problem was, Wright could never be sure that Chris was telling the truth. It wasn't like he was lying, it was more like he was just playing all the time. Wright had a hard time figuring out when Chris was being serious. Heck, in the time he'd been with him, he wasn't sure Chris had ever been serious.
"I was thinking, maybe…" Chris paused, and studied the boy next to him. "Aww…dumb idea I guess."
Now Wright was curious. It was one of the few times he'd heard any doubt in Chris's voice. "What?"
"Nah. Never mind," Chris muttered.
"I'm not sure I wanna be on the track team, but I was thinking maybe…you know…we could run together. Like in the mornings. Like the other day." His dark eyes sparkled, and he added with a grin, "I figure it might help in baseball and definitely in football. And besides, if we were running together, I wouldn't have to worry about tree branches. "
Wright smiled at that and realized the dark-haired boy was waiting for his answer. Why, thought Wright, would I ever want to do that? This had been one of the most uncomfortable nights he could remember. Then he looked over at Chris Donnelly, and he knew the answer. Every damn time he looked at him, Wright's body ratcheted up a few notches. It was like his brain had gone on vacation and the rest of him was voting yes! "Sure," Wright heard himself saying, "It'd be cool."
"I can drive over to your place, and we can do your usual route," Chris stated.
"Sure. That'd work, I guess."
"Unless you have a better idea," Chris offered.
"No, it's cool." Wright reached out to get a little more whipped cream for his last remaining bite of pie, and as he lifted the fork back, he knocked over his water glass. He tried, but he couldn't move fast enough; there was nothing he could do but watch the water drain over the edge of the counter and fall into his lap. With the stools attached to the floor, he couldn't even push back.
In a flash, Chris had pulled out a wad of napkins from the dispenser and had reached over and was patting down Wright's water-soaked crotch. The waterfall couldn't have fallen more perfectly—or actually more disastrously. As Chris daubed at Wright's front, the inevitable began to happen: Wright began to get hard. He grabbed the wad of napkins from Chris. "I can do it," he snapped. And then Wright didn't know what was worse: his unwanted erection or the fact that with his water-soaked shorts had suddenly become almost translucent. Only a blind person would fail to see that Wright Steinbeck was wearing fire-engine red underwear—skimpy, fire-engine red underwear.
Wright, now suddenly feeling like the whole night had been a disaster, fumed. He looked up at Chris, expecting to see him grinning at his predicament. "Really sorry, dude," Chris offered. "But just be cool. We'll pay the bill, then wait a minute, and just get up and walk out. Just stay a little behind me. No one will ever notice." As Wright looked over at him, he seemed genuinely concerned. It was really the first time that Wright had gotten a sense that Chris Donnelly could be serious. Besides that, he could think of no better plan. So, in the end, that's exactly what they did. For the short ride back to Wright's house they pretty much played 20 questions: what's your favorite color, movie, album, group, ice cream, video game, etc. By the time they got to his house, his shorts had dried a little. Wright pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight app. They'd dried some, but not enough. His folks who would be up waiting to hear how the movie was would see that their boy was wearing something that might raise their eyebrows.
"Here," Chris said, "I'll put the A/C on full blast. That should help."
"Thanks," Wright muttered.
For another ten minutes or so they sat in a freezing car, talking about teachers at school, subjects they hated, and the baseball team's chances in regional play.
"Well," Wright said when he couldn't see any hint of red, "I guess, we're good to go."
"Yeah," Chris said. He reached out and thumped his hand on Wright's shoulder. "Hey, I'm kind'a glad I ran into the tree limb. We wouldn't have gotten to the movies, otherwise." He gave Wright another one of his to-die-for smiles.
"It was cool," Wright responded. He looked over at Chris, and the dark-haired boy stared back at him with an odd sort of "expectant" look. "Well…" he said, swallowing hard, "I guess I better get going."
He got out of the car, but before he shut the door, he leaned back in. "Thanks. It was fun."
Wright walked around the car and started up the walk, but he hadn't gotten more than ten feet up the walk before Chris was calling to him. "It was fun. I'm glad we did it. Our first date." He laughed sweetly at that.
In the dark he couldn't see Wright blushing, but he knew he was. "Ohmygod," the blond boy protested. "You are something else!" Chris laughed right out loud at that as Wright turned again and headed toward the house.
"Wright," Chris called, and again Wright turned. "Tomorrow?" Chris asked. "We gonna start running tomorrow?" Wright stepped back to the car, and they set a time. "Well," Wright said again, "night."
"Night," Chris called, but before Wright had gotten two steps from the car, Chris called to him again, so yet again, Wright stepped back to the open window. Chris reached up and grabbed him around the neck, and in a moment of panic, Wright wondered what was happening. "Hey," Chris said pulling him a little closer and dropping his voice, said, "Tomorrow I hope you're gonna wear those super-sexy red bikinis!" He released Wright from his grip, and flashed him that awesome deep-dimpled smile. Wright Steinbeck looked totally flummoxed. "Go," Chris laughed. "Dude, just go. Tomorrow. 6:30!"
Inside his house, Wright felt like he was getting the third degree. He patiently answered all his parents' questions, talking about the movie, what they'd been doing afterward, and most importantly, his dad said, "That was Chris Donnelly who was here."
Wright smiled. Seemed Chris was famous even beyond the halls of Lincoln High. "Yeah."
Wright's dad explained to his wife, "He's in line for a full athletic scholarship to just about any school he wants to go to." Then his dad looked at Wright. "Is that the boy who banged his head the other day?"
Wright smiled. It almost felt as if his status had somehow been elevated in his father's eyes just by having Chris Donnelly as a friend. Wright smiled to himself. As a friend. Yeah, he thought. Chris is a friend—a confounding, perplexing friend full of contradictions, but a friend.
Later that night, as he took off his clothes and got ready for bed, Wright stared into the mirror at his nearly naked body and those bright red skimpy briefs—bikinis, Chris had called them. He blushed and thought about feeling Chris's hand patting down his boyhood in the restaurant. And just as it had done there, his penis began to lengthen and harden. Slipping off the undies, he stretched out on the bed, and slowly began stroking himself. In his mind's eye, he pictured every centimeter of Chris's incredible body, but so much was left to his imagination. He realized that he and Chris had never been in the same gym class, nor had they been together on a team, and he desperately wanted to see that hunky body as naked as Wright was now.
He had wanted to make his jerk off session last, but just thinking about Chris was too much for him, and in just minutes, he was shooting his hot semen up onto his chest. He moaned as he came, and imagined again what that incredible body would look like.
[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 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. If the email address pastes with %40 in the middle, replace that with an @ sign.]