markwildyr.com,
Post #136
Last week our shy hero fell in love with a jock but found himself totally incapable of doing anything about it. Will he do any be better this week? Let’s see.
RUNT
The initial shock was
followed by a host of feelings and sensations. Was it really true? After all, I
didn’t go around lusting after all the boys I knew. But I sure did Park! No
denying that. If he were here in bed with me, I’d do anything he asked me to
do. Was that homosexuality or idolization?
The discomfort in my groin
told me I wanted him physically, sexually. I wanted to be queer with him. And I
wanted him to want me! Homosexuality? Definitely!
Testing the waters, I
thought of some of the other boys at school. Nothing. Well, not quite nothing,
but it was more like curiosity. Rumor had it that Chuck Rycyczk had the biggest
one in school, but that didn’t stir me a bit.
Hard on these thoughts
came one that made me chuckle at the same time I cringed. Poor Pop! His
greatest fears had been realized. With sudden insight, I realized that sports
and hunting and man-things had been a reaction to his fear that his only son
was too much of a mama’s boy. I’m not certain he thought I was gay, but he sure
was afraid of something.
Well, congratulations,
Pop! Moral? Be careful of what you fear. I paused for a moment to examine my
strange relationship with my father. I loved him like sons are supposed to, but
there was another element too. I was afraid of him. The admission brought a
little shock of its own. Yeah, I was afraid of him. Afraid he’d push me into
some physical situation I couldn’t handle; some sport where I’d be embarrassed by
ineptitude and disinterest and active dislike.
Then came another
surprising thought. He was afraid of me, as well. My big, manly daddy was
afraid of his runty son. Afraid I’d shame him. Yeah, that was right, but there
was more. I grappled a little longer before I got it. He was afraid of me
because I was smarter than he was. He was physical; I was cerebral. He didn’t
understand my scholastic ability any better than I fathomed his obsession with a
ball.
When I woke the next
morning, my world had changed. I faced Pop at the breakfast table with an
aplomb never before seen or felt. He realized something had shifted but couldn’t
quite put his finger on it. Mother just served the pancakes with a puzzled
frown on her face.
At the pool later that
morning, my newly discovered confidence evaporated like dew in the sunlight. Fortunately
I was already in the water when Park walked out on the pool deck because my
stomach dropped and my knees went weak with the secret knowledge I’d seen him
naked and rampant and doing it with a girl. He waved at me and headed for a
couple of his jock buddies at the other end of the pool. Twenty laps left me
gasping and holding to the edge of the pool without any thought of Park
Fogelson or anything else in my mind. I’d never done twenty continuous laps
before.
“Atta way to go, Dan!”
his voice startled me. I turned to see him treading water behind me, the fine
muscles of his shoulders moving seductively. I snapped my eyes away from his
brawny torso and found his steel-gray eyes just as provocative. I went dumb as part
of me began to strain against my swimsuit. A sudden frown twisted Park’s features.
“Something wrong?”
I shook my head violently
but had to draw a couple more breaths before speaking. “W-winded.”
He laughed. “Yeah, but
you’re doing better. A hell of a lot better. Coach Barson better watch out.”
“Don’t… tell him,” I
panted.
“Hell, no. Let him find
out for himself.”
“Still… don’t know about…
climbing rope.” I tried to keep talking so he’d tarry here with me. Man, if he
knew what I really wanted, he’d probably slug me right here in front of
everybody.
“You’ll make it, Danny boy,”
he said, and it took a minute to realize he meant I’d climb the rope. “Hell,
bet you can get halfway up right now. Have you tried it?”
“N…no,” I said around a lump
in my throat.
The frown returned. “I
make you nervous or something? I’ll back off if I do.”
“No!” I practically
yelled. “I’m not very good with people,” I apologized. “Loner, mostly. But I…I
like to talk to you. You help me,” I crabbed along, afraid I’d say something
wrong. “Nobody ever did that before.”
He smiled so broadly, I
almost sank beneath the water and drowned from happiness. “No big deal. Doesn’t
cost me anything. And I like you, Runt,” he gave me the gym class name, but it
had no sting. I sort of liked it.
“I like you, too Park. And
I never said that to a jock before.”
He laughed aloud. “The
jock and the runt,” he mused. “We make quite a pair.”
Fortunately, he went back
to his friends or I’d have made a fool of myself trying to make something out
of that remark. I stayed in the pool another thirty minutes before getting out
without embarrassing myself.
That evening, I got
something of a shock. It was getting along toward closing time at the store
when the door opened and Park Fogelson walked in.
“Hi, Runt. What time you
get off?”
“I close up in five
minutes,” I said, too surprised to even stammer.
“Good. There’s a big
teacher’s confab at school. They’re plotting the opening of the term, I guess. Anyway.
The building’s open. Let’s go over and try the rope, okay?”
“S-sure,” I said,
recovering enough to stutter.
That Quick-Fix store got
closed up faster than it ever had. Park loaded me in his Chevy, saying we’d
pick up my car later.
The euphoria of actually
being in his presence in a social situation slowly gave way to something akin
to panic as I realized I’d soon be demonstrating my weakness and ineptitude. I
was actually shaking by the time he parked in the lot. Personally, I would have
sneaked into the school, figuring we weren’t supposed to be there. Not Park. He
strode boldly through the front double-doors and marched straight down the
hallway to the gymnasium. Flipping on the lights, he walked to the corner. And
there it was…the dreaded rope.
Park turned and beckoned
me forward. “First thing, you gotta get over being afraid of it. Psych yourself
up, man. It’s just a damned rope. An inanimate piece of hemp hanging from the
rafter, totally helpless. You can piss on it, burn it, or climb it…do anything
you want to it.”
I smiled in spite of my
terror. He was pretty good at psyching. Nonetheless, my anxiety eased only
slightly.
“Chalk your hands,” he
instructed, grabbing a chalk bag and dusting his own liberally. “Then take a
firm hold at a point on the rope where you’re comfortable. Then just pull.”
He hand-walked up that
rope in nothing flat, his legs horizontal to the floor, his body in a handsome L. I went weak in the knees as I
watched. Once at the top, he effortlessly hand-walked back down and gently
lowered his feet to the ground.
“You won’t do it quite
like that the first time, but you’ll get the hang of it soon. Try it. See if you
can make it to there,” he said, pointing to a red mark inked into the rope fifteen
feet off the floor.
Grasping that rope was
the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. Not because I would fail, but because
while I was struggling, he’d see how puny and pitiful my body really was. Nonetheless,
I gave it a try. To my surprise, my feet left the ground. I reached the red
marker and struggled with all my might to grab one more handhold beyond that.
“Great!” Park enthused. “You
did it! Now just work your way on down.”
It wasn’t much easier on
the way back, especially, when I felt his hands briefly on my shoulders as my
feet touched the ground.
“Man, you’ve filled out,
you know that? All those weights and that swimming are really showing.” My
knees wouldn’t hold me. “Whoa!” he said, grabbing me beneath the arms. He
probably didn’t notice his hands on my nipples, but I sure did. They went hard
and knobby at his touch. “You okay?”
“Y-yeah,” I panted, not
certain that was true. I swayed against him for support. The length of his body
pressed against me for a moment. The swell of his groin set my butt afire.
“Just rest a sec. You wanna
sit down?”
“No!” I never wanted to move,
but I couldn’t let him know that. “Just give me a minute. I’ll be okay.” I
milked the situation for another thirty seconds, and then leaned away from him.
My chest felt cold after he removed his hands.
“You did good, Dan. You
come in every day and give it a try. Before Coach gets around to his rope
climbing test, you’ll have it whipped.”
“Did… did you mean it?” I
managed to ask.
“Mean what?”
“Have I filled out some?”
“Oh, yeah! Haven’t you
noticed? You used to be shaped like a tube of toothpaste, you know. Now you’ve
got pecs,” he reached out and touched my chest. “And lats,” he moved to my
ribs. Your arms are bigger and your shoulders are wider. You’ve had a growing
streak this summer. Not going to be able to call you runt much longer.”
“Thanks to you,” I
blurted.
“Me? I didn’t do anything.
It was you, man.”
“I won’t be able to play
the games any better than before.” It took a second to realized I’d blurted the
thought aloud.
“You’ll learn those too. You
can hold your own swimming. Maybe you oughta take up some running. Coach holds
races for part of the class. The whole point is not to be last.” He laughed
aloud. “Gonna be some guys get a shock when they realize they can’t rely on the
runt to come in last anymore.”
As usual,
I will post weekly until the story ends, and then revert to my normal schedule
of posting on the first and third Thursday of each month.
Website and blog: markwildyr.com
Email: markwildyr@aol.com
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