“You wanna start or should I?” Nick asked casually. Andre shook his head and smirked – he had to know the behemoth Nick could take him down in a second.

“Bro,” he answered, “let me have a go first.” Nick nodded and got into position. Andre bent over and faced him. Then he lunged, wrapped one arm the best he could around his teammate’s massive thigh, the other hand placed on his lower hamstring. Good, Nick mentally instructed him, go for the weakest part; that’s how you do it. Then, without warning, Andre began forcing Nick down onto the mat with all his strength, pulling the lower part of his leg in one direction while pressing his upper leg and torso in the opposite direction. Nick put up a bit of a fight – he wasn’t going to make it too easy for him. After a minute or so of struggling, Nick collapsed to the mat on his butt, Andre falling on top of him.

“Sweet, man!” Nick congratulated Andre, as the less experienced wrestler help him to his feet. “Keep it up and you’ll be wrestling Varsity in no time!”

“Thanks,” Andre answered, grinning, his bright white teeth contrasting with his dark black skin. “I’m sure you guys miss having Brandon on the team this year,” he remarked. Nick’s eyes glazed over as he stared into the distance. Normally, Brandon would have been wrestling 215 Varsity, no contest, but with his football injury, he was out for the season. For Nick, it felt as if a part of him was missing, not having his best friend sit next to him in the line-up. It shouldn’t have surprised him that he felt that way, but it did.

Maybe I still love him a bit, he said to himself.

“Well, it’s great to have a person of color on this team for once,” Nick laughed, bringing the smile back to Andre’s face. The guys always joked about having a black guy on the wrestling team for the first time. Of course, with Nick being openly gay – or bi, actually – the jokes flew constantly. Nick didn’t mind, that meant they accepted him. And he knew Andre felt the same way.

“Bro, I’m busting my balls gettin’ down to weight,” he added. He smirked. “I can’t eat my mom’s fried chicken anymore.” Nick laughed again.

“Hey, we all have to make sacrifices, right?” he smiled. Mrs. Jackson’s fried chicken was good…real good. “Anyway, you’re lookin’ pretty good.” He wasn’t kidding there. Andre had been a meaty 230 during football season and now that he was cutting like crazy, he was looking stronger, more muscular, even though he weighed about ten pounds less.

“What?” Andre joked, a look of mischief creeping onto his face. “You wanna kiss me now?” Nick blushed slightly – hidden only because of his dark Mediterranean skin – and shook his head.

“Naw, I’d just thought I’d ask for a blow job or somethin’.” Andre burst out laughing. Yeah, he could get away with those jokes. When the two calmed down, Andre peered over at Nick with a pondered look.

“By the way,” he began, biting his lip, “I just was wonderin’…you don’t have to answer if you don’t wanna, but…did you and Brandon ever…you know…” Nick looked at his teammate with blank eyes. The answer was yes, they had had sex…but he didn’t know how to say it. How would he really react? It was one thing joking about it, but it was something completely different to discuss it as reality.

TWEET! Before he could answer, Coach Graves blew his whistle. Nick breathed an inward sigh of relief…saved.

“Alright,” Coach ordered, “five laps and then showers!” The team silently obeyed him, heading toward the exit to run their five laps around the school building. Under the watchful eyes of Graves, the boys seldom acted up…but the showers were a different story.

“Hey, Nick!” Peter Evans – who was shooting for 171 – came up behind Nick’s naked body and started air-humping him, his face contorted into mock pleasure. Peter had been notorious for being the prankster of the Varsity football team…and wrestling was no exception, though he had still yet to make the Varsity squad.

“You fuckin’ bitch,” Nick yelled comically, wrapped his bulging arms around Peter’s neck. Yeah, it had gotten thicker lately. Both laughed, as did everyone else.

“I hope that didn’t give ya a boner,” the smaller boy added, grinning.

“Yeah, what would you know about boners?” Nick arched up one eyebrow. Audible catcalls escaped from all the other guys. They all knew Peter was one of the smaller-endowed members of the team; they had done the measurements, sized each other up. Nick’s nearly-13-inch cock dwarfed all the others, with the exception of Andre’s almost-12-incher. Vinnie Gabarelli, the 135-pounder, was a distant third with seven and a half. Peter scowled at his teammate, though even he couldn’t keep from chuckling.

“Fuck you,” he retorted with a smile. Nick turned his back to him and stuck his bubble butt out toward Peter, his thick cock still visible from behind, dangling in between his gigantic thighs.

“Go ahead,” he remarked in faux seduction, turning his head and grinning at the boy. Immediately, whistles echoed off the tiled walls as the other guys reacted with more laughter. It was nice to see that everything was back to normal again.

Once the showers were finished and the boys were dressed, they emptied out into the hallway, arguing over where they should hang out. Nick was about to suggest going to Glory Daze when the sight of Erin coming out of the girls’ locker room caught his eye. Immediately, all the guys whistled and barked suggestive comments.

“Yeah, guys,” Erin returned sweetly, not once taking her eyes off her boyfriend. “You wanna fight for me?” She knew no one would dare take on Nick. They all took one more look at her and began continuing toward the doors.

“She’s all yours, bro,” Andre smirked, patting him on the shoulder.

“Have fun,” Peter added. “And don’t do anything I couldn’t do!” He laughed as he joined his teammates. Once they were gone, Nick reverted his attention fully to his girlfriend.

“How was basketball practice?” he asked.

“How was wrestling practice?” she asked back, gazing into his eyes. Fuck, she was perfect! Nick felt his dick harden in his sweats. He let his hands drifted down to her flat stomach as their lips touched in an intense display of affection. They both wanted sex so bad…though it had only been a few hours since they last made love. “You’re getting too big for the bathrooms anymore,” she breathed between kisses, reading his mind.

“The wrestling room’s still open,” Nick suggested. “No one’s in there.” Erin’s eyes brightened with desire. They were always trying to find new places, new ways, to have sex. “You have the condoms?”

“Yeah,” she answered, palming her gym bag that was still hanging from her shoulder. The two stole into the empty wrestling room and after checking to make sure Graves or anyone else wasn’t nearby, they tore into each other as if they hadn’t seen each other in years. Their hands explored every inch of one another’s bodies, parts they had explored so many times. But it never got old for either of them. Nick’s shirt was already off, his sweatpants down to his knees by the time Erin fumbled the XXL condom onto his throbbing cock. Meanwhile, Nick stripped his girlfriend’s shirt and sports bra, discarding them lustfully to the floor. Her breasts flopped against his hard pecs, her nipples hitting his pecs, sending him shuddering. Instantly, their lips met again, their tongues wrestling with each other in total passion.

“Shit!” Nick exclaimed, as Erin clutched his hard ass, thrusting him into her, his dick plunging head-on into her pussy. She moaned, her mouth dropping open in ecstasy, Nick’s lips gliding down to her neck, tasting her smooth, tanned skin. His hands swept over her body, her supple breasts, her tight hips, her firm butt. His fingers slipped into her asscrack, sending her into another world. His pelvis began pumping harder, faster, their breathing getting heavier, more rapid.

They stumbled across the padded floor; Nick passionately shoved Erin up against the wall, right next to the poster that read, “Give it your all!” She began shrieking as they reached their climaxes at the same time. Nick’s abs flexed in and out, his biceps pumped and vascular, his chest rippled with power. He knew most girls wouldn’t have been able to take him, his strength and his size would have been too much. But Erin could. It didn’t matter how big he got, she’d always crave more of him. And at 6 foot 4, 270 pounds now, he knew he had more to give her. She wanted it.

“YES!” Erin screamed as he shot 12 loads into her, her head peeled back, her eyes squeezed shut. Nick powered through the last few squirts before lowering his hands to her hips. Then, he bent down and gave her a gentle kiss on the lips. Erin lightly massaged his huge biceps. “God, these have got to be over 22 inches now,” she observed. They were. Everything had gotten bigger lately.

“I need to work out some more,” he whispered into her ear, eyeing the chin-up bar not far from them. Erin caught his glance and shuddered. His cock began getting hard again.

“Let me…” she began but then drifted off as she felt it press against her hard stomach. Nick led her over to the bar, lifted his flushed arms and grabbed hold, bending his knees so his feet no longer touched the floor. Without a word, Erin wrapped her legs around his shredded thighs, her legs lying gently atop his football-sized calves. His monster cock rested on her shoulder, her hands on his ass. She knew what he wanted to do. She could read his every thought.

Then, Nick began pulling his body – with the added weight of his girlfriend – up to the bar…ten easy reps. Shit, this was easier than he thought it would be. He felt his deltoids flex, his lats fare out. Erin drew her lips along the shaft of his cock. He did another ten pull-ups as her girlfriend began giving him head, stretching her jaw around his pulsing dick. Nick felt even more strength surge into as he finished a third set of ten. This was too easy. He needed more challenge.

With a grunt, he dropped one arm, carefully re-shifted his weight…and started another set of pull-ups…one-handed. Erin licked harder as their groans filled the room once again. Within seconds, Nick could feel his climax rising and his cock erupted a second time, flooding Erin’s mouth with his cum. Slowly, he lowered his body back to the ground and left his girlfriend fall safely off of him, dribbles of his milky man-juice all over the lower half of her face.

“Wow,” she mouthed. Suddenly, they heard a clang coming for the direction of the locker room.

“Shit, someone’s coming!” Nick hushed. Trying hard to stifle their giggles the two lovers hurriedly gathered their clothes and rushed out of the room. They definitely had to do that again sometime.

THWAP! Ian watched with little interest as the golf ball shrank into the distance, landing somewhere close to the green. Frank Myers, the Fairfax County Chief of Police held his hand up to his brow to shade the sun and squinted.

“Oh, nice one!” one of the other men – some plastic surgeon or something – commented.

Ian was bored. He hated golf. He couldn’t understand how people enjoyed playing it all the time. Football was so much more exciting; so much went on in a single play. And wrestling was incredibly fast-paced, not like this old-fogey sport. Ian sighed as he heaved Myers’ golf bag over his shoulder and followed the group toward the green. He should’ve been at a wrestling tournament right now, the first of the season. But instead, he was working as a caddy at the country club. His parents were happy because he was finally making money of his own; plus, a job looked good as part of his drug rehab program.

“God, it’s nice out,” the surgeon observed. “I can’t remember the last time I golfed in November.”

“I guess there are some perks to global warming,” Myers joked, causing the other mean to laugh. “Give me my putter,” he ordered Ian politely. Ian dug into the bag and pulled out the club, handing it to the man with a single motion. “Thanks,” he said. At least Mr. Myers was nice to him. Some of the other caddies would complain about the members, how they treated them like second class, how they would take bad shots out on them. Ian never really talked much with the other caddies; he felt so out of place with them. They were all skinny dweebs, some only half his size. The clubhouse had to scrounge around to find a polo shirt that would fit his broad body. He longed to be with his old buddies – Nick and Billy. When he worked out with them he could curse whenever he wanted, make obscene jokes, didn’t have to worry about dressing to a certain code. The guys were surprised when they found out he was working at the country club. He gave them the usual excuses; how could he tell them he was trying befriend people like Chief Myers, get back at Brionna and Travis? They wouldn’t understand.

Thinking of that, Ian obediently followed Myers and his friends through the rest of the course, acting as the silent caddy he was supposed to be. As the men packed up to head into the clubhouse for lunch, Ian stayed outside to clean the balls.

“Your name’s Ian, right?” Ian looked up to see Mr. Myers standing right in front of him. He was a large man, imposing, though with a bit of a potbelly. He actually looked weird in his golf clothes; they didn’t seem to fit him.

“Yes, sir,” Ian answered. Chief Myers smiled.

“You’re not a bad caddy,” he remarked. “Some of the boys here are a bit on the lazy side.” Ian gave a half-smile and looked down at the ball he was working on. “By the way,” the man continued, “if you don’t mine me asking, but, uh, you look a little big to be into golf. You should probably be on the football team.” Ian sighed. Even with an XL shirt, his bulbous pecs and bulging biceps were still clearly noticeable.

“I used to be,” he muttered. Myers peered at him curiously.

“What kinda trouble did you get into?” he asked. Ian looked up at him. The guy was a cop; he couldn’t possibly tell him the truth…but he had to. “It’s drugs, isn’t it?” Ian blinked, swallowed as discreetly as he could. He nodded slowly.

“I don’t do that stuff anymore, though,” he added.

“That’s good,” Myers replied, as if he didn’t know what else to say. He began turning away to walk back toward the clubhouse.

“Mr. Myers,” Ian called after him. The man looked back. “Here’s the scorecard.” Ian handed it to him, face up so he didn’t see what he had written on the back…at least not yet.

“Thank you, son,” he said with a smile. As Chief Myers walked away again, Ian watched him. Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks, paused and then turned back to Ian. The two exchanged glances as Ian read the man’s face. They would be talking later. He had seen Ian’s note on the back of the scorecard: “I know the Pharmacist and his dealer.”

“Good afternoon, Greg! How are you today?” the woman behind the desk greeted him with all smiles. He smiled back warmly, tucking a long strand of golden brown hair behind his ear before he bent over to sign in. “Your friend is in the physical therapy room.”

“Thanks,” he answered sweetly, taking the visitors badge from her and heading down the hall.

“They seem to know you well here,” his mom observed with a bit of reverence. I’ve come here almost every day for the last three weeks, he silently told her. Usually, he would take the Metro, but his mom volunteered to drive this time; she wanted to take them out to dinner, celebrate Brandon’s graduation from the wheelchair.

As soon as Greg entered the room, his eyes fixed on his boyfriend. Sure enough, the wheelchair was nowhere to be found – instead, a pair of crutches was leaning up against the wall – and he was on the treadmill, a therapist standing right next to him. His hands were tightly gripping the rails and his body teetered as he limped along. Greg couldn’t help feeling overjoyed as he watched Brandon using his legs for the first time since the accident almost a month ago. His eyes stared ahead in sheer concentration, every now and then a grimace coming to his face.

“That’s it, Brandon,” the therapist – Clara, her name was – encouraged him. “Take it nice and slow.” Her hands hovered just off his muscular body, ready to grab him if he faltered. Greg wished he were doing it instead of her. He took off his jacket and hung it on the rack, his eyes never leaving his boyfriend. Brandon looked so hot, his fierce blue eyes boring a hole into the wall behind the treadmill, his jaw flexed with determination. The treadmill beeped and then slowed to a stop a few seconds later. “Good job,” Clara said, but Brandon didn’t hear her.

“Hey,” he said to Greg, having now noticed him standing by the door.

“Hey,” Greg returned, coming toward him. Leaning against the rails, his stomach taking most of his weight, Brandon bent down to kiss Greg on the cheek. Instantly, the warmth spread through the rest of his body. “You looked pretty good up there,” he remarked. Brandon blushed.

“Brandon’s doing really well,” Clara announced. “Especially in the range of motion exercises I have him doing.” Brandon rolled his eyes. Clara grinned and lowered her voice. “He hates those.” Greg chuckled, flicking his hair out of his face; Brandon bit his lip and looked down at the floor – he always had the same reaction whenever Greg did that. “You must be Greg’s mom,” Clara noticed Mrs. Hazelton standing patiently behind him.

“Yes, Debbie,” she greeted the woman and the two shook hands.

“Your son’s boyfriend is very determined,” Clara explained as she grabbed the crutches off the wall and gave them to Brandon. “He’ll be walking on his own in nothing flat.” Brandon hopped off the treadmill and adjusted his weight more comfortably, all the time not taking his eyes off Greg.

“They probably love him here,” his mom stated almost as if it were a question. Clara smiled.

“Oh, yeah, he’s pretty popular among the nurses.” She turned to Brandon and patted him on the shoulder. “They’re always fighting over who will give him his sponge bath,” she joked. Greg laughed, imagining catfights in the halls of the hospital because of him. Brandon blushed a deep red.

“I can do that myself, thank you very much,” he replied. Greg caught his eye. I’m the only one he’d let do it, he thought to himself. The two women finished their chat and then, Greg and his mom helped Brandon to their car. The whole ride, Greg gently glided his fingers over Brandon’s still-muscular thighs. He knew he was happy to have feeling in there again. Greg laid his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder, his ear resting against his deltoids. He could hear his gentle breathing; he closed his eyes and fell into the same rhythm. Slowly, Greg’s hand drifted toward Brandon’s crotch. His giant dick stirred in his pants. Greg grinned to himself. That’s back to normal, too, he thought.

As they entered the restaurant and sat down at a booth – Greg and Brandon sitting next to each other, Mrs. Hazelton across from them – the two elicited a lot of looks, as they always did. Brandon was easily one of the most beautiful boys people had ever seen – he always was told that. He constantly was the center of attention whenever he entered the room. And now with him on crutches, he got even more notice.

“You’re looking really strong,” Greg’s mom observed as Brandon carefully sat down next to her son, leaning the crutches against the seat.

“Thanks, Mrs. Hazelton,” he replied. Greg could tell his mom adored his boyfriend. He had come out to her when he was 12 and at first, she didn’t know exactly what to think. He knew she prayed it was just a phase, but as he grew older she slowly began to accept that that was who he was. She never said it, but he knew she wanted him to find the love of his life.

And he had. Brandon Jones.

“Just sign here,” Ryan told the girl on the other side of the table, “and we’ll call you when a gig comes up.” He gave her a pleasant smile. She blushed girlishly as she handed the pen back to him. Yeah, she had a crush on him. They always did. You don’t have a chance, he mentally warned her.

Ryan sighed once the girl left and stored her file among the hundreds of prospective models. It seemed like every teenage girl wanted to go into modeling. He wanted to tell them it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, it wasn’t what they dreamed. But at least at Fairfax Modeling, they got a taste of that dream without living the life. This agency was different from others; it catered mainly to local, mostly younger clients who either wanted somewhere to start or have the pride of having their face out there.

Ryan did some promotional work for the agency – put his looks in the ads to reel them in – and a few other photo shoots on the side. But his job was mostly behind the scenes. He would scan the portfolios, sign the models…and usually assure the parents that everything would be safe for their child. He was good with people; he made them feel comfortable. He had to laugh sometimes; the same tactics he used with girls in high school and college he was now using with girls’ parents…with a bit less sexual prowess of course.

“Ryan, when you’re done, can you come into my office, please?” Veronica Mills, the owner of the agency peeked through her door.

“Sure,” he answered, finishing up the last of his paperwork. Veronica was great. She was a tall, glamorous black woman who obviously had been a successful model herself in her prime. They never discussed it much, but he felt they shared a common experience: they both knew first-hand the true trials and tribulations of the modeling world. “What do you need?” he asked, walking into the office.

“Sit down,” Veronica gestured toward the seat opposite her desk. Ryan did. “How’s Ashley doing?” she asked. Ryan smiled, seeing the face of his fiancé in his head.

“She’s doing great.”

“Good.” The woman paused, making Ryan wonder what she wanted to say. Finally, she looked at him intently. “How would you like to take on a more active role in the administration of this agency?” Ryan froze for a split second, interpreting her words.

“Are you talking about a—”

“A promotion?” Veronica finished. “Yes.” Ryan blinked, surprised at the offer. He had only started barely two months ago. “You have a natural eye for beauty, you’re good with people…and you know what it takes.” She leaned back in her chair, her eyes hiding something more about her reasoning. Surely that’s not why she’s giving me this promotion, Ryan thought. She continued: “I’ve seen your work when you were at Jansen’s. Very good stuff. You had a bright future.” Ryan looked down at the floor, feeling that pit in his stomach whenever he was reminded of that time in his life.

“Well,” he muttered, “that didn’t really…”

“I knew that man personally.” She said “that man” with a slight twinge of bitterness. “He got what he deserved,” she added plainly. Ryan could tell in her eyes that she knew he had something to do with his former boss’ demise. Veronica leaned forward again. “I need someone out there who has that kind of experience, who knows what to look for.” She smiled. “Plus, with a baby on the way, I’m sure you could use the extra cash.” Ryan smiled back at her. “So, what do you think?”

“That’d be great,” he said after a moment’s thought. And then, the two stood up and shook hands. I just hope I don’t let her down, Ryan said to himself.

The front door opened and Brandon’s dad walked into the house. Brandon was sitting on the sofa, channel-surfing, a bag of chips leaning against his side.

“Keep eating like that and you’ll get fat,” his father lightly scolded before he even took of his coat.

“Hello to you, too, dad,” Brandon greeted him sarcastically.

“Oh, sorry,” the man replied, heading over him to give him a quick hug. “How was the physical therapy thing?” Brandon grinned to himself.

“Good.” This was the kinder, gentler Brian Jones. Ever since the accident, he seemed less adamant about his son’s sports regimen, though he reverted back to his old self from time to time. He looked down at Brandon for a small moment before turning back toward the kitchen. Brandon knew he still struggled inwardly about his only son’s homosexuality – they hadn’t talked about it since he returned home – but at least he was no longer hostile. He could tell his father genuinely felt sorry for kicking him out of the house. Other than that, things had pretty much gotten back to normal.

“What do you want for dinner?” his dad asked, leafing through the mail that was sitting on the kitchen table.

“I don’t know,” Brandon answered, still trying to find something on TV. “Maybe the meatloaf that Mrs. Angelakis sent over?” It had protein; his dad would be happy about that. But his dad wasn’t responding. “Dad?” he called, twisting his body to better see what he could possibly be doing.

“My God,” Mr. Jones muttered, almost to himself. Curious, Brandon pushed himself off the couch, grabbed his crutches and hobbled into the kitchen.

“What is it, dad?” he asked. His father was holding a letter, his mouth open, his face frozen in shock. Cautiously, Brandon took the piece of paper from his hand. He knew as soon as he read the heading – Hoffman, Coleman and Grainger. That was the law firm that was representing the families in the drug lawsuit, the experimental drug that have given his mom breast cancer and left him unable to have children. With his injury, he had almost forgotten that that was still going on back in Indianapolis.

“They came to a settlement,” his dad began, a frog in his throat.

“How much?” Brandon asked, his hand shaking too much to read the letter. His father looked up at him with unblinking eyes.

“Seven and a half million dollars.” •