Gregory rested his hands over his heaving torso and grinned into the dark. He’d done it. He&rs

Gregory rested his hands over his heaving torso and grinned into the dark. He’d done it. He’d masturbated to the fantasy of Brock Jameson fondling him in the locker room. In this small, WASP-y suburb of Texas, queers and steers were both things you put down and served up on the dinner table to be torn to pieces. This was Gregory’s own, private form of rebellion. It wasn’t the kind with violence or bad attitudes, but the kind done from within - the kind with more power. He’d been fighting his urges for men since he was 12. He was watching some fascinating wrestling show on TV while his mom played Mahjong; one of the competitors made his pecs bounce and that was it for Gregory. He spent the next few years fighting the urges, trying fruitlessly to feel any sort of love for Kandace or Melissa or Jennifer and apologizing for not kissing them, and later, for not getting it up. On a brave night, he asked his mother what would happen if he liked boys. His mother freaked out, making him promise not to say a word about this to his father, and sent him to the priest. The priest tried to fix him without success, but Gregory was so scared by his mother’s reaction that he pretended that he was fixed. It was alarming how easy it was to pretend that he was straight, and he’d be a good boy and date a nice girl and make more hetero offspring. He was so frustrated too, as masturbation had become a futile struggle of mind over matter. As a teenager, Gregory’s dick got hard for absolutely no reason. He could be admiring the nice tile pattern on a kitchen floor and hello random boner. There were so many wasted nights that he desperately invented one lesbo story after another, convinced if he could find the right kink, the right fetish, the right scenario, he would be rewarded with the perfect orgasm and could get on the road to straighthood. Gregory was too nervous to even think about a naked penis other than his own, paranoid his mother would somehow know - in that way mothers always do - and would tell his father. He feared he would get kicked out, and Gregory needed their support to get through college. He couldn’t afford his dream of being a neurosurgeon without his dad’s money or his mother’s connections. As Greg got older though and moved up through the ranks in high school, he noticed that the boys did too, and it did not take long him for him to be captivated by watching them growing up. They looked more handsome by the day. Greg suffered in silence, missing out on the landmarks of young adulthood - first love, first kisses, dates at school dances. He knew colleges had LGBT support groups and if he could make it to then… Aaaaaand then Greg caught Brock Jameson looking at his dick in the shower in the locker room. Brock Jameson was more than just a hot guy. He wasn’t the captain, but he was the best player on the Lacrosse team. Brock’s father Bill was built like a bull, nearly seven feet of American Marine. Bill’s son soon outpaced his peers in height and muscle. At age 18, he was nearly six feet himself, had more hair than any teenager had any business having, and had issues finding jock straps that fit. Greg loved to steal glances at Brock’s huge pecker and big, pendulous balls. Brock was gonna grow up to be a hulking, strutting tower of machismo, no doubt about it. Yet, this Brock looked at Greg’s dick today, when he thought Greg was talking to Steve about a movie, and when their eyes met Brock blushed and glanced away a bit too quickly. Greg knew he hadn’t hallucinated it, although it seemed unreal. Greg was still growing out of his boyhood, possessing not a hair on his smooth pecs or an attention-grabbing bulge. What Brock saw in Greg, he had no idea but the crush pushed to the back of his brain festered and festered and by eleven pm that night, Greg was too hot and bothered to sleep. He replayed the scenario over and over, fantasizing about what was going on through Brock’s head at that moment. His dick grew stiff in his boxers; it quickly rose from where it had flopped against Greg’s thick to rigid and pointing straight up to his belly button. Greg absent-mindedly reached for it and moaned a brave little moan as his fingers touched skin. It wasn’t even summer, but the flesh was searing hot. Hot enough to cook steak, it felt like. Every touch was sweet and ephemeral as cotton candy dissolving on his tongue. Greg began to stroke his aching shaft with more and more desperation, unable to stop his fantasy steaming right ahead or detour it to Straight Land. His mind raced as he imagined, in every glistening detail, that they were alone and Brock came up to him in the shower. He imagined Brock wrapping his arms around his waist and slipping his hand between Greg’s legs. Greg could see with perfect clarity the way his smaller cock would look dwarfed in Brock’s paw. Greg rubbed his thumb over the leaking glans and imagind how his pre-cum looked smeared on Bruce’s thick fingers. Greg particularly enjoyed the visual of him body held, trapped in place, against Brock’s large and dominating form as Brock rubbed his huge rock-hard dick between the cleft of Greg’s buttcheeks and made him beg for an orgasm. Greg had read on the internet that putting a finger into a man can make an orgasm really powerful, and he imagined Brock gently showing him how to do it. He imagined Brock telling him to be a “good boy” and sliding one thick, slick finger into his body. In his mind, Greg was helpless to the jock’s touches and upon having his prostate pushed, shot a huge load in a big arch that splashed over the communal shower floor. In reality, the orgasm came fast and powerful too. Greg squeezed his balls with one hand to steady them because they hurt from being bounced around so much as he furiously stroked his cock. He bit his lip to keep from crying out as his vision went stark white and the dam broke. The orgasm stole any noises right out of his throat and he just grunted and arched his back and shot and shot and shot as he pumped himself. The area above his pubic hair became so over-saturated with cum, that it dripped down his side to the sheets. He stroked himself until his hand began to ache and the flesh began to go flaccid. Greg basked in the afterglow for nearly half an hour. He did not want to take his hand off his cock. Fuck what the priest thought, touching yourself was divine. They could warn him and instruct him against the evils of homosexuality, but no one could stop him from jerking off to it. As he got more sensitive and his cock stopped spasming, Greg let his cramped hands rest and his mind float. He’d beat them all. He had masturbated to the idea of having sexual relations with a naked man and loved it. No matter what his parents thought, or his town thought, it dawned on Greg into his freshly cleared head that what others said didn’t matter one fucking bit. He was gay. He was OK with being gay, and he was going to grow up to be a gay man. He was going to college and leave all the nay-sayers behind. At that point, Greg realized he hadn’t once thought about if his mom magically knew he was misbehaving; he hadn’t paused six times during jacking off to listen for footsteps in the hallway. It was so freeing. Greg felt alive. He felt like he had won. He rested there in bed until his breathing regulated and the cum grew cool. After cleaning up, Greg was surprised he wasn’t a bit sleepy. He wanted to celebrate, so he went downstairs to get himself some milk and cookies. He took his snack out to the porch and enjoyed his treat while gazing up at the clear night sky. Tomorrow, he decided, he was going to get up the courage to talk to Brock. Their senior year was coming to a close, but it still wasn’t too late to have one high school fling. _________________________________________________________Text is fictional. This is Colton Hynes from Teen Wolf, and this caption is not intended to be fanfiction. -- source link
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