Raymond and Dante Got BIG!
|I was somewhat nervous in my new school, it being at least 10 times bigger
than where I'd come from in the upper-midwest; with what seemed to me a
huge enrollment, several thousand, I'd heard. Also, I was small for my
age, 18, sort of a shrimp, really, not too confident, especially
physically. We'd moved to the suburban LA coastal city in mid-August, so
I'd had no chance even to try to get to know anybody. I was pretty shy,
actually, and daydreamed a lot.
Walking into the school, you could tell right away that Lakewood High was a jock school that loved, even worshipped, its varsity male athletes and their manly prowess. Lots of athletic trophies were in the school lobby. A little early for school, I checked out a big poster board with a photo of the football team for the coming season.
A little nervously, but definitely enraptured, I looked at the picture-a tremendous number of guys, at least 60, maybe more, wearing jeans and T-shirts, most of them pretty tight and muscle-revealing, that said "Lakewood Football," and all with pretty short hair, many downright shaven as if they were recruits to Marine boot camp. It seemed clear that there was an appearance code to be on the team, and that code was the old-fashioned, clean-cut, jock look-which I had always found incredibly alluring, though I'd kept all these feelings to myself. In other words, a photo full of young hunks, some, of course, better looking than others, but all jocks, with that sexy self-confidence of youth who proved their strength and mettle in the most manly of all sports, football, that all-male game played only by the biggest, strongest, most virile guys.
I noticed the back row especially, the tallest guys, had several really good-looking jocks in it. While some of the guys were grinning in the picture, most had the tough-guy "game face" look that said, even when frozen in a photo, "Whattha fuck you lookin' at?" I started to feel a little tingle in my pants as I cruised over these handsome young males, imagining that I might soon be seeing some of them in their real-life, hard bodied flesh.
The bell rang, though, signaling five minutes before my first class, social studies, began, so I began looking for Room 169 somewhere down one of the corridors in the huge school. The hall was crowded with kids of all sorts, but most looking pretty preppy, what I had imagined as California cool-good-looking, most of them, in shape. But I had no real time to look, only to find and then move into the classroom where I'd face my first academic effort at the new school, and also meet my first group of new classmates, some of whom, I hoped would become friends...and, I continued to think, some of whom might include some of the studly young athletes whose pictures I had just been admiring. I entered to find about 10 kids already there, everybody talking to each other, old friends meeting up at the start of a new year, some not having seen each other for all summer. This made me feel a little left out, and, as I often felt, a little nervous. I took a seat at the center/rear of the room to see what would come through the door.
A couple of tall, clean cut guys walked in, who looked like they had to be basketball players, especially at a jock school like this, lanky yet built up compared to many basketball players I'd seen before. Keeping my eyes on them, I could see that they really had pretty good definition without too much bulk in their upper bodies, bulk being hard to keep given all the aerobic exercise involved in their sport. The two guys were talking animatedly as they walked in, and I heard one say to the other, "Man, have you seen Aspen and Pazzini yet? They're HUGE!"
"Yeah," replied the other guy, "Raymond and Dante got BIG this summer! I think they fuckin' lived in the gym down in Florida!"
The guys moved to the back of the room, which was steadily filling up, though far from capacity. People tended to sit with their friends, so the seats right around me remained mostly empty. A middle-aged, thin man with glasses walked in up front, the teacher no doubt, who gave no appearance in his look or demeanor of being anything terribly exciting, and then the bell rang. As the teacher began shuffling papers at his desk, in anticipation of trying to start class (he gave every appearance of being a little nervous himself, something kids always picked up on in a teacher they didn't know right away), the classroom door opened, and, slowly, in walked two young males, who, based on what I'd overheard, were obviously "Raymond" and "Dante." I felt my mouth go dry as I recognized two of the studly football jock gods from the back row of the team football photo I'd looked at in the lobby. To remove any doubt, the guys sported white backwards baseball caps that, when I got that view, I could see read "Lakewood Football."
They were hunks and a half, all right. Big? They were not only tall, well over six feet each, their manly young physiques were pumped up huge, to the max. This being laid-back California, shorts, I had discovered, could be worn to school, and the big boys entering were sporting plaid mid-calf jam shorts, with tight white lycra shorts, the kind the hottest basketball players wore during games under their uniforms, provocatively showing-they had the "Boss" designer name written on them, and clung to the powerful muscle they had above the knee. Besides that they wore really tight, body-hugging, pure white, plain T-shirts, sexily tight, so tight as to show a lot of ab definition as well as the more easily demonstrated pec development. Indeed, Raymond and Dante (and I couldn't know which was which) were, especially for high school guys, even athletes, huge. These guys were built, all right, and showing it, very obviously, and very obviously quite aware of showing, even flaunting, their ripe, strong, manly young jock bods.
Even though they were late, they sauntered in at their own, in-no-hurry pace. They had that jock strut that said, hey, man, I fuckin' own this place. The wimp teacher, as if intimidated, said nothing to them, something their whole body language implied they expected, even demanded as a right due to themselves as, well, studs who ruled. Even though they'd said nothing, they reeked of macho attitude and the manly self-confidence of the strong, aggressive football boy. My tingle in my pants was feeling stronger. To my breathless excitement, and also to some extent fear, one of the studs sat down in the seat in front of me, with his man-buddy next to him in the next row over to the left. I looked in the aisle to the front of me at their massive legs, powerfully muscled from hours and hours of lifting and playing ball, side by side, taking up the whole space, as if to block anybody they felt like blocking from getting by. This, too, sent the message: we fuckin' own the place, we're the jocks, the big boys, we fuckin' rule. I felt incredibly weak, overwhelmed, and lustful...and they had only just sat down!
I was mesmerized by their good looks, with one hunk right in front of me. I smelled manly, Calvin Klein cologne emanating from them, dark, deep, and masculine, intoxicating. I noticed the guy in front of me had a thin gold chain around his massive neck, which, like his legs which I had already taken notice of in the aisle to my left front, was darkly tanned, as if he'd spent the whole summer outdoors at the beach. But sitting right behind him, the most striking thing was his awesome, powerful, impossibly broad, football player shoulders, which the poor old body hugging T-shirt could hardly contain. His male power was tremendously on display. His shoulder blades were huge and full, tremendous bumps under his tight T, and I longed to reach out and cop a feel of his magnificent manly strength. His hair was light brown, short, perfectly clean-cut, not quite a crew cut, but almost, very clean, Marine-like, masculine. His head was turned toward his teammate, and a could see his handsome profile, a little rough looking, darkly, darkly bronzed, as was his teammate's, from a summer of outdoor activity. I imagined seeing these guys in traffic by the beach in an open jeep, shirtless, muscle bound, tanned, cocky, looking great and knowing it and showing it all off.
I was sitting there enchanted by these boy jocks, these hard bodied young gods, looking so hot and putting on display what they had. Knowing that kids tended to stay in the seats they took the first day of a class, I hopefully, yet still with a streak of fear, anticipated a semester of close-up viewing these great-looking young men; giving into my lust mentally, I found myself in seventh heaven. I was daydreaming, hypnotized by the vision of male beauty in front of me, drunk at the thought of such a gorgeous display of studs....
"Suddenly I was brought back to reality, feeling a strong hand grabbing me with force on my leg-it was the jock to the left, shaking me, saying in a deep, commanding, manly, sexy voice, "Hey, bud, I need a fuckin' pencil, man."
He looked commandingly at me, yet at the same time he looked pretty bored, as if contemplating what lay ahead: the teacher droning on for an hour, an hour he could've better spent lifting, playing ball, or getting off. With him looking straight at me, I got a good view of his face-slicked-back black hair, great bronzed skin, also a plain gold chain on top of his tight white T-shirt that matched his buddy's. I was immobilized, drinking in his and his pal's good looks, imagining their summer of "getting big" that had led to their present hard bodied, model good looks.
"C'mon, pal, I ain't got all fuckin' day!" he said, a little louder, again snapping me out of my continuing mesmerized state. He continued to stare at me and, as I continued to have a hard time snapping out of my immobilized dream state, began to grin just a bit, showing great white teeth. He had a real different look when he smiled, just as hot as his "game face," and I snapped to it, fumbling for a pencil in my new notebook. I handed it to him. "Paper, too, babe," he said, now grinning widely, and I could tell that he was quick, that he had immediately caught on, as if he had had this experience before of getting looked at, as if he had in a matter of seconds read my mind with its consuming lust for his strong, super manly, gym- and sport-developed football player body, bursting out of his well- and carefully-chosen tight, jock clothes. I tore a page out of my spiral notebook and handed it to him. He took it and said, "yeah," rather than thank you, as if I owed it to him. I loved his deep, male voice.
To my astonishment, he looked back, making eye contact again, and continued our encounter. "Hey, buddy, are you new here?" he asked. Nervous, really unable to speak, filled with lust and totally intimidated at the same time, I just nodded, my throat dry, realizing that he had returned his huge hand to my thigh, which he began squeezing ever so slightly, as if to say, hey, fuck, I own you, bud, I can touch and play with any part of you I fuckin' feel like. "Hey, Dante, meet our new little friend here," he said to the hulking muscle hunk in front of me, who turned back now, giving me a great, up-close view of his masculine face and blue eyes. Yes, they were two of the most handsome team members whose pictures I had stared at in the lobby just a few minutes ago, dreaming that maybe, just maybe, I would encounter them in school-and here they both were, right next to me, and one was, I could tell, on to my secret lust right off the bat.
"What the fuck's your name, buddy?" asked the boy whose name I now knew, by the process of elimination, had to be Raymond.
"Duh...Duh...Delbert," I stuttered out with difficulty. He was keeping his commanding eye contact with me, which, scared, I with difficulty succeeded in breaking, deciding to try to catch a better look at big-shouldered Dante, who, I discovered, was now looking intently at me, too. Raymond was slyly grinning now, whereas Dante still had the impassive, "I'm a stud, what-the-fuck are you," look of the young football god that he was, and that he knew he was.
"Delbert, huh?" Raymond's handsome smile-quite apart from his awesome body, he really was quite good-looking---filled his face now, and though he didn't say it, his leer implied, "what a fuckin' dumb name." "Well, man, I'm Raymond, Raymond Aspen, and this is Dante Pazzini. We're gonna be schoolmates, I see," stated big, smiling Raymond, now squeezing my leg steadily, his big, powerful hand slowly but surely creeping up my leg just a bit. Of course I was totally hard by now as his big hand approached, and I was sure that he knew this. "Give our little Del guy a handshake, Paz," said Raymond to his gym buddy. Dante held out a truly massive hand that dwarfed mine, which he took and shook, hard--incredibly hard.
"Feel the power, Del baby," said handsome Raymond. "Dante's the biggest mother fuckin' linebacker in the Suburban Eight Conference this year. USC and UCLA are lookin' at him. You play football, Del?"
The question was ridiculous, of course, given my stature and structure, and of course Raymond knew perfectly well that I couldn't possibly be a player. The purpose of the question, clear to both of us, was to inject a little trace of humiliation, to state who was boss, already, in our infant relationship. Still feeling flooded with lustful emotions, intimidated, and inferior, I slightly shook my head. His caressing of my leg was pretty high up now.
"Well, that's OK, my little man, you can be one of our fans-an 'athletic supporter' of the stud football team at good old Lakewood High," Raymond said, his hand now all the way up my leg, feeling my hard-on, the hardest one I'd ever had. "Yeah, I can tell you fuckin' like football players, man." Moving his head to my ear, he whispered, as my nose drunk in his manly smelling CK cologne, "Hard bodied jocks get you hard, baby...I can tell." With that, he squeezed a bit, and the incredible happened...I shot.
This seemed to surprise Raymond, whose hand could feel even through my pants the wetness, but he quickly digested this new fact and, with that sixth sense of a stud top who knows his role instinctively, like a powerful runner on the football field who can thread his way through the holes in the line, smirked at me. He was not only a hunk to look at, he was razor-sharp in understanding me and my feelings toward him and his breed. And it seemed clear that he was into being a "top" himself.
"Yeah, baby!" he said softly to me, now grinning full, flashing white teeth, full of handsome triumph, like he'd just scored a touchdown or benched a higher weight. "Got your juices flowin'. A fuckin' flood!" Edging toward me, he lowered his deep voice a little more and said, "You DO like your boys big! And my buddy and I spent all summer in South Beach, really, really gettin' dark and big." He paused, and looked at Dante, who still had a basically clueless expression on his masculine-looking face. "Dante, this guy is like that 'admirer' we met at the club the first night we went out." At this, the linebacker's face showed comprehension, and he looked at me with a mean, not a smiling, look, one communicating a total top feeling, of control mixed with a certain contempt.
"Ah, fuck, another one of them," said Dante. "Damn, they're fuckin' everywhere." He stretched a little, and his tremendous musculature rippled beneath his form-fit T.
"I think we attract 'em, Paz, big man," said Raymond with a cocky, jock smile.
The preceding seemed to me to have taken hours, and I was in shock, feeling spent and weak, especially in the presence of these strong young jocks who, in a matter of moments, had totally clued in to what I had previously known to be my secrets. Again snapping out of another state of reverie, I noticed that the teacher had at some point during this actually begun the first day of class routine, and the two jocks halfheartedly turned their attention up front, and away from me. As class proceeded, the boys ignored me, leaving me to contemplate the situation as the teacher went on and on. I felt a combination of scared elation and horrified fear.
One look at these muscle bound guys revealed that they could break my neck with one strong arm tied behind their massive, sun bronzed backs. One of them, Dante, had basically expressed a rather indifferent contempt for me, in a hard, scary way. But as I thought more, it seemed clear that he was the follower in the "couple," as I liked to imagine them (I could quickly begin dreaming up a lot of fantasies involving these two exciting super jocks), and it was true that Raymond came off as experienced with male "admirers" of his body, and his grin suggested he got at least a certain kick out of such admiration--at the very least; maybe he even liked to have....fun with his "admirers." After all, he'd touched my leg, kept at it, even to the point where he'd-how embarrassing!--actually made me come--- in class! Suddenly I remembered that I'd gotten a wet spot, and hoped it would dry enough by the end of class. How humiliating it someone noticed!
With the bell suddenly ringing, Raymond and Dante both got up. Big? They were huge football boys, incredibly developed muscularly speaking for high school boy/men. And their tight, stereotypically jock clothes, the shorts, the Boss lycra under shorts showing, the form-fit T's drawing attention to their wide shoulders, pumped-up pecs, and rippled abs---it was all awesome. Dante, predictably, moved away without saying anything, but Raymond, as I'd secretly hoped despite my butterflies, moved toward me for a parting remark. This time, though, there was no smile, just the handsome, in-control square jaw in my face. In a low voice so only we could hear it, he, deliberately of course (I had figured out that this guy was sharp, he had my number, and he dug the role for his own part), fed my fantasies:
"We're off to lift, to get even bigger, Del baby...but we'll get to know you real good real soon. And we've got some teammates you'll appreciate, too. See ya, fag! We're gonna feed your fairy face, cocksucker! See ya a whole fuckin' lot this semester! This is just the start of all your faggot wet dreams comin' true! Cummin' true, that is!"
At this, he turned to join his man buddy who waited for him at the door, leaving me feeling weaker than ever. A couple of seconds later, I overheard a girl say to another, "God, those guys are such hunks! They look like Chippendales! They are so built!"
"Yeah," laughed her friend, "I really want to feel their arms around me. Maybe we'll get lucky!"
I felt conflicted, a fear of what these guys might do, and yet, full of lust, a lust which overwhelmed, I decided-in a moment, really-- to surrender, to face what I was, and said to myself, this is my lucky day. I could hardly wait for my next encounter with the big boys. And the school year was just beginning.
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