by

- Grif's Toy (Tease and Denial Book One)
- Wes' Denial (Tease and Denial Book Two)
Novel: 103,000+ words / 303 pages
Genre(s): Gay, Erotica, BDSM
Grif believes heāll live his life as a virgin. After all, who would want him? How could anyone find him, a guy who came with less than man-sized equipment, worthy of their love?
What he hadnāt counted on were the two amazing men who would change his life. After entering college, he meets Tate, his fun-loving roommate. While years later, with Tate now just a memory, Wes, a handsome, rugged ex-marine who runs his own security firm enters his life.
Both men lead Grif through a twisted mesh of pleasure, pain, and denial, as they force him to see his value, despite his size and insecurities.
Tags: GAY, EROTICA, BDSM, DEGRADATION, HUMILIATION, SPH
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Read The First Three Chapters Below
Chapter 1
Bertrand at Mister Aās
Summer 2014
I was in pain. It was day seven sans orgasm, and I was locked in this beautiful, nearly euphoric state of hyper-arousal. But that euphoria was accompanied by discomfort; my nuts ached to be touched, and my cock felt full like it would burst if it didn't get the release it sought. It wasnāt unbearable, and certainly not a pain I hadnāt become accustomed to. Earlier in the day, I'd been slightly uncomfortable, but now I hurt. Iād been looking forward to a night out with Wes all week, and perhaps a quiet dinner was just the distraction I needed to take my mind off my uncomfortable stateāif only for a little while.
READ MOREI thought his company would also take my mind off of Tateās Place. We had both been putting in long hours in preparation for making a dream of mine come true; conceiving, from the ground up, and then bringing to life a space where artistsāpainters, sculptors, photographersācould not only work for free, but also have their supplies provided at no cost. That dream had evolved into Tate's Place. It was a massive undertaking, and we both needed an evening out to relax and refocus on simply being with each other.
We parked several blocks away from the restaurant so we could stroll along Laurel Street and enjoy the mild southern California evening. The scent of jasmine blew past us as we made our way in companionable silence.
When we arrived, Wes held the glass door open, and guided me through with a strong, firm hand at the small of my back. Those little gestures, the ones most people didn't notice, never ceased to fill me with warmth. We walked through the tiled lobby of the Fifth Avenue Financial Centre building toward the elevators. Bertrandāsāour favorite restaurantāis located on the twelfth floor and has occupied the rooftop space since the 1960s.
The maĆ®tre dā was scribbling notes as we approached, but as the elevator door closed behind us, he looked up and a smile immediately graced his familiar face.
āMr. Griffin and Mr. De Luca, welcome back.ā
I briefly wondered why, in social settings, my name always preceded his. Was it my wealth? I also wondered if it bothered Wesāor if he even noticed it.
āGood evening, Hamilton,ā Wes said, as they shook hands. I smiled and tipped my head in salutation. I much preferred Wes take the lead in most social situations. I enjoyed watching Wesā easy confidence as he interacted with folks. His sheer size could be intimidating; however, most people found his handsome, good looks and charm irresistible.
I associated Hamilton as the face of Bertrandās. He was the first person I met when I'd entered the restaurant some four years earlier, and I had never witnessed anyone other than him at the post.
āI have your table prepared,ā Hamilton was saying as we moved to follow him through the busy but quiet dining room.
I loved Bertrandās. It was one of those darker, sophisticated places with ambient lighting at each of the cloth-covered tables. But rather than the āstuffy pompā other on-par places prided themselves on, Bertrandās opted for a āfriendly yet respectfulā vibe.
Our table was a high-backed booth set in an even quieter corner. It offered a sense of privacy, but still allowed a full view of the restaurant and its other guests. More importantly, it boasted a stunning view of the beautifully lit San Diego skyline.
During my first visit, I'd mentioned to Hamilton that I thought it was the best table in the house. He'd told me the owner agreed because it was also his favoriteānumber forty-two. Since then, Iād never sat anywhere else in the restaurant, and now that Wes and I came here as a couple, Hamilton always seated us there.
Hamilton pushed the table back toward us after Wes and I unfolded the starched, white napkins onto our laps.
āEnjoy your evening, gentlemen. If thereās anything I can do, please donāt hesitateā¦,ā he affably intoned as he made his graceful departure.
Wes picked up this eveningās menu, glanced at it before placing it aside, and tossed a wink my way. āI love you, Grif,ā he said, as he leaned in and nuzzled the sensitive spot on my neck just below my ear. As his hand came to rest on my thigh, I relished the familiar excitement which always accompanied Wes' touch. Even the most casual of gestures ignited and fueled my desire for him.
I turned my head and looked into his handsome face. āAnd I love you, Wes.ā
His voice was low and husky when he asked, āChocolate?ā
Surprised by the question, particularly in this setting, I paused briefly before swallowing and replying to our coded question with, āYes, Wes. Chocolate.ā
I couldnāt help but notice the glint in his eye at my response, before he picked the menu back up and studied it.
Several quiet, tense moments passed before he casually said, āTake Stubby out, please.ā Although his eyes didn't venture off the menu, I'm sure he could tell I heard him by the way my thigh stiffened under his hand.
I flashed a look around to see if anyone had overheard the command. Once I was assured no one had, I turned to him and faintly questioned, āWes?ā I knew there was fear in my voice, but I couldnāt keep it at bay.
His dark eyes caught mine. With a sexy grin I knew all too well, he calmly ordered, āTake Stubby out. Spread your legs and give me plenty of access to the little guy. Make yourself comfortable, Grif. Itās going to be a long, unpleasant evening for your pint-sized dickā¦and Iām very much looking forward to it.ā
I quietly gasped, and my throat grew tight. I couldnāt believe he was going to make me do this hereā¦in the presence of forty other guests and half as many staff. As I considered pleading, an embarrassed tear escaped the corner of my eye. Dammit! Tears would only encourage him. I vowed the lone tear would be the last one I shed this eveningāor at least the last one I shed in the restaurant.
His vivid white smile grew broader as he slid a strong finger across my stubbled face to claim the salty drop. āBringing you to tears gives me so much pleasure. You are so beautiful.ā
How could I possibly concede? But, on the other hand, how could I deny him thisā¦or anything? While in Chocolate, we both knew I was his, and my compliance wasn't a question.
He refocused his attention on the menu, fully expecting my obedience. I dropped shaky hands to my lap and slid the zipper of my dress pants down. Glancing around again, I studied the other patrons, certain my crimson cheeks and the hissing of the zipper hadnāt gone unnoticed.
No one seemed to notice we were even there, let alone my red face or what Wes had ordered me to do. Ian, our retirement-age and semi-churlish waiter, however, was making his way toward us.
As Wes continued perusing the menu, I turned to him and whispered the single word, āIan.ā
Wes placed the menu aside, reached for his water glass and said, āContinue, Grif,ā as Ian stopped at the table.
āMr. Marcus, Mr. Weston. Welcome,ā Ian announced.
He really was good-hearted, but his Parisian lineage often led people who didn't know him to misinterpret his innate lack of small talk for discourteousness, when nothing could be further from the truth. However, his annoying penchant for calling people by their first namesāalbeit, always preceded with the respectful mister, misses, or missānever failed to slightly grate on me. No one called me Marcus. No one.
I let out a sharp groan as I popped my straining dick free of the confining jockstrap and fitted slacks I was wearing. Discreetly, I pulled the napkin back over my lap.
āMr. Marcus, are you okay? You lookā¦flushed, Sir,ā Ian inquired.
Turning toward me, Wes offered, āGrifās allergies seem to be acting up this evening Ian. I hope we wonāt disturb the other guests.ā
Noting the shimmer in my eyes, Ian said, āNot at all, sir. Not at all. May I bring a few extra napkins and something to drink, perhaps?ā
āThank you. A scotch on the rocks would be most appreciated," I managed to respond. Lord knew I could use a strong drink, anything to stop my hands from shaking.
Wes regarded me, before asking, āDo you think thatās wise? Mixing alcohol with your allergy medication?ā The look in his eye clearly conveyed adult beverages wouldnāt be on my menu this evening.
āPerhaps a club soda, sir?ā Ian, nodding at Wes' logic, suggested.
I looked up and said, āClub soda with a twist of lime would be perfect. Thank you.ā
āAnd for you, Mr. Weston? Your usual Glenlivet 18?ā It was less of a question and more of a confirmation as Ian didnāt actually wait for a true response before backing away from the table and turning toward the bar.
Wesā hand, which never left my thigh during the brief exchange, moved in circular, teasing motions above my knee. I peeked down to see a small wet spot developing at the center of my napkin. God, I was so hard!
Wes leaned in and whispered, āNo alcohol for you this evening, Grif. I want your full attention. I want you to feel all I have planned for you; every painful, embarrassing thing I do to you and your little dick.ā
I let out a soft mewl.
The growing wet spot hadnāt escaped Wesā sharp eye either. He leaned in for a quick kiss and said, āYouāll feel like coming before the night is through. Perhaps long before...," his lips slowly brushed my cheek, "...I wouldnāt advise doing so without permission. Do you understand?"
I nodded. āYes, I understand, Wes.ā
~~~~~
I thought back to the last time Iād had an orgasm without first being given direct permission. The night I'd relinquished control over this aspect of our lovemaking had been five and a half months ago.
One evening, after an intense turn in our kitchen, which had me hands-and-knees splayed on the counter, we'd made our way back to the moonlit bedroom, crawled under the cool sheets, and snuggled into each other for a night of peaceful, sated sleep.
Sometime later, with my head resting on the soft brown fur of his chest, he asked, āGrif? Are you asleep, love?ā
āNo...enjoying the sound of your breathing in my ear...and your smell. I love your smell,ā I mumbled, half-awake.
He made a sound of contentment, and I felt the rumble beneath my ear. He began gliding his hand along my back in slow, smooth strokes before he shifted so we lay side-by-side, facing each other. His warm breath, tinted with mint toothpaste, blew across my face as he brushed his firm lips along mine and said, āIād like to ask you for something.ā His look held nothing but love, but his tone was serious.
āAnything,ā I said, and ran my palm down his strong jaw. āYou know anything I have is yours.ā
He smiled, raised his index finger to my lips, gently parted them, and slid the tip beyond my teeth. The touch was tender, yet possessive. Even though I'd just come, desire warmed and filled me once again. I wasnāt sleepy any moreāand neither was Junior. No one had ever had the effect on me this stunning man did. No one.
He spoke mildly, but in a tone Iād dubbed early on as his toppy tone, āEvery time we make love, we both come.ā
I whimpered, nodded my head, and rolled the tip of my tongue across the pad of his thick finger. Stubby was now fully awake.
With a glint in his eye, he said, āBut Iāve got the man-sized dick and youāve gotā¦Stubby.ā
His free hand edged down my pecs, across my flat stomach, and past my straining dick to take hold of my balls.
I nodded again and groaned as he exerted more pressure on my nuts. My tongue, now with a mind of its own, licked and flicked his finger in earnest.
āWe both know thatās not right, Grif. I have a cock, and you have a toy.ā
He slipped his finger from my mouth and slid it to one of my nipples. God, I loved the way he knew exactly how to pinch and tweak them to drive me insane.
His lips moved across my face placing soft kisses on my nose, my eyes, and my forehead while the pressure on my balls steadily increased. I panted. The kisses, the tweaking of my nipple, and the pain in my nuts had me ready to beg.
His voice was still soft and in control when he asked, āThey shouldnāt get the same treatment, my cock and your toy, should they, love? They donāt need or deserve the same frequencyāthe same luxuryāof orgasm, do they?ā
āWes,ā I groaned, āIāve never been so turned on in my life.ā
He flashed his gorgeous, loving smile and teased, āIām truly glad, love. I mean, if you could see the way you look right nowāso fucking tantalizing! But you havenāt answered my question.ā
āSorry,ā I breathed, āmy nutsā¦hurts so badā¦difficult to think.ā
āTry for me.ā
I nodded. āNo, Wes, they donāt deserve the same amount of pleasure,ā I managed to hiss. In response, he eased the pressure on my aching balls.
Somehow, Iād been shifted and was lying flat on my back with Wes, still on his side and propped up on an elbow, leaning over the top of me and looking down, like I was something to beholdāsomething to be treasured.
I reached over and rubbed a hand over his defined chest. God, it was such a joy to touch and feel his firm, corded muscles and his dusting of soft brown hair.
āSo what Iām asking is if youāll allow me to remedy this imbalance. I'd like to decide whatās reasonableāto decide when Stubby receives, or deserves, an orgasm.ā He gently massaged my nuts and the throbbing dulled to a bearable stinging.
āOf course, you realize your toy isnāt even half the size of my cock. That should obviously play a part in frequency, donāt you think? My cock, being larger, needs more, deserves more, than your little dick. If you agree and give me this, thereāll be a decrease by at leastā¦oh, letās say halfā¦in the number of orgasms I'll allow you to enjoy.ā
The fucking tears, which had been threatening, broke free and slid down my cheeks. I knew he liked themāmore than liked themāand as much as I enjoyed pleasing him, I still fought with self-consciousness when I couldn't control them. As an adult, I rarely criedārarely felt a deep enough emotion to cry. But, with Wes, a few sentences from him could well such strong feelings, tears were nearly inevitable.
I cupped his cheeks in both hands and asked, āHow do you always know exactly what I need? Iāve never felt so close to anyone, or felt more love for anyone than I do for you.ā I leaned forward and placed my lips to his. Pulling back I whispered, āYes, I happily, and with pleasure, give this to you, Wes.ā
I reached up to swipe the moisture from my face when he said, āLeave them, Grif. I love seeing your tears, both from pain and from pleasure. It makes my cock so stiff. And I know what you need, because I need the exact opposite. Weāre made for each otherāa perfect fit. You bring me such happiness, love.ā
I couldnāt be certain in the dim moonlight, but I thought his eyes may have been shiny as well.
He released my balls and moved his hand upward. Settling on my straining dick, he took the swollen head between his thumb and forefinger and slowly rubbed. āIt starts now, love,ā he said with a perverse smile. āHowever, there is one thing Iād like to clarify; Junior will be receiving just as much attention and pleasure, probably more, but not the satisfaction or contentment of release.ā
āOh God.ā I whispered. āYes!ā
~~~~~
That was five and a half months ago and Wes had been true to his word; an orgasm was no longer something I took as a given during our lovemaking. In fact, I now shed far more tears than spunkāand fuck, right now I hurt. But, the tremendous amount of psychological pleasure I derive from relinquishing controlāonly feeling physical pleasure when he decidesāfurnishes the pain with a sublime and meaningful purpose. His slow, but insistent, caresses to my thigh brought me back to Bertrandās and the incredible man sitting beside me.
I glanced over when he asked, āWhere were you, love?ā
āJust appreciating a few of the reasons I love you,ā I replied.
I saw the mischievousness flash across his face as he said, āReach into my side pocket. There are several items in there. Whatever you pull out first will beā¦well, just reach in and place whatever you pull out on the table in front of you, please.ā
My mind began to race as my heartbeat quickened, wondering what else he had in store for this evening. Usually our Chocolate play sessions took place in a far more private setting, and this very public venue had me uneasy and nervous. But, admittedly, it also excited me.
I reached inside the pocket of his sport coat and felt several items within: a small, soft pouch; a flat strap of some sort; and two small, cold intertwined rings. Deciding on the pouch, I pulled it out with a shaky hand. The contents offered a muffled clinking sound as I laid the dark blue, velvet bag on the pristine white table cloth.
āEasy, Grif. Breathe,ā Wes said, casually shifting in his seat to look at my profile. With a gentle squeeze, he took his hand from my thigh and rested it on the back of my neck.
I closed my eyes, focused on my breathing, and attempted to relax into his reassuring touch. It worked. My hands stilled and the nearly overwhelming apprehension of what the pouch may contain subsided a bit.
āBetter?ā he asked.
I nodded and opened my eyes to study the pouch.
āGood,ā his voice soothed. āAnd howās Stubby doing?ā
āHe hurts, Wes. Iām so hard, and it feels like forever sinceā¦,ā I trailed off. Pleading for release, although Wes thoroughly enjoyed hearing me beg, was futile. I'd only find relief when he decided it was timeāwhen he allowed it.
With a breathy kiss to my ear, which caused an involuntary shudder to course through me, he said, āThen weāre on the right track. I want Junior suffering. I like doing all I can to make him ache with need. And then, of course, more often than not, denying you release.ā I could feel his lips pull into a smile as he pressed them to my ear.
He knew all too well what this kind of talk did to me; the same way I knew what it did to him. However, I couldnāt help but notice heād purposely positioned himself so his crotch was in shadow, and I wouldnāt even have the pleasure of seeing for myself how turned on he was.
āUntie the pouch and empty the contents onto the table.ā
I undid the simple tie, held the pouch by the bottom, and allowed the contents to lightly clink to the table. In a neat pile before me lay a half dozen small, black-metal clothespins, each no bigger than a few inches long. I squeaked, and my dick jumped.
Before I could even begin to wrap my mind around what this meant, especially in this setting, he said, āReach back in and remove another item, please. Lay it on the table next to the first.ā
I nodded again and reached back in, so focused, I missed Ianās approach completely. I only realized he'd returned when our drinks were being taken from his tray and placed on the table. I saw his eyes flick from the pouch and pins on the table to my hand in Wesā pocket. Iād latched onto the strap and froze, unable to move.
Wes, momentarily ignoring Ian, furtively said, āContinue, Grif,ā as his hand reassuringly stroked the back of my neck.
Ian finished with the task of placing our drinks and straightened. As I placed the strap on the table alongside the pouch, he pleasantly asked, āWill you gentlemen be having appetizers this evening?ā
I saw his eyes dart to the strap, and I averted mine. I wouldnāt be able to bear it if I saw comprehension light his face.
āYes, Ian, appetizers sound nice. However, Grif is used to having something small...," he let the statement hang there a few moments before adding, "before dinner. What would you suggest?ā
Of course, Wesā comment wasnāt lost on me and I could feel my neck flush again under his continued petting. Junior jumped and twitched with pleasure at the public humiliation, even though Ian likely took the comment at face value.
āWe have a lovely dish of grilled clams on the half shell with a spicy ginger mignonnette this evening, sir. Theyāre quite superb. I sampled them myselfā¦and they are bite-sized, sir.ā
āThatāll be fine. Thank you, Ian.ā
Ian backed away, and I inhaled deeply. I hadnāt even realized Iād been holding my breath. I was so hard it hurt, and the wet spot on the napkin had grown to damn near the size of a hockey puck. The napkin was torture itself as well; every time I shifted, its starched, moist surface grazed the head of my over-sensitive dick.
With Ian gone, I lifted and studied the dark brown leather strap. It was a masculine wrist band that had an edge of urbanity, and nearly identical to the one Wes always woreāthe one he often used as a cock ring on meābut not nearly as wide. It had weight and firmness, yet the leatherāwhich emitted its distinct and unique fragranceāwas soft and supple. I turned it over and stopped when I saw the engraving. āI BELONG TO GRIFā was etched in neat, but graceful, block letters.
āWes,ā I said, as I turned my head and searched his eyes.
He stretched his arm out a bit and his well-worn wrist band peeked out from beneath the jacket and shirt cuffs. āI thought it was time to replace this with something a bit more meaningful. Would you mind helping me take it off?ā
He held out his wrist, and I removed the band Iād never seen him withoutāunless it was wrapped around my cock.
āThis new one is not only smaller, but itās also adjustable so it will fit nicely around my wrist as well as your toy.ā
The carnal look he gave me sent a fresh set of shivers crawling down my spine, but it also warmed me to the core. The fact that heād put so much thought into something heād constantly be wearing spoke volumes about what was steadily developing between us. And, of course, both made my dick surge even more.
I placed the old band on the table and glanced over at him.
āThank you, love. Would you put the new one on me, please?ā
As I was fastening it, he said, āI found the private, double meaning of the inscription distinctive in its uniqueness; I do belong to you, Grifāso when itās on me it has that meaning. But this band is also yoursāJuniorāsāso it also has that meaning when youāre wearing it. Do you like it?ā
I beamed at him. His combination of tough, take-no-prisoners macho guy and loving, sensitive, giving partner never ceased to amaze me. They were both equally him. And both made me long for him like Iād never desired anyone.
āI think itās exceptional, Wes.ā
He placed another soft kiss at my temple, āIām glad. Now, I believe thereās one more item left in my pocketā¦would you retrieve it, please?ā
āWes, Iām so closeā¦I hurtā¦I donāt know if I can holdāā
āI know, love, but youāll be good for me, right? Remove the last item and place it on the table.ā
I reached in, grasped the intertwined rings, pulled them out, and placed them on the table. It took a moment before I realized what they were.
āCaptive bead rings?ā
āYes,ā he answered with a husky voice. āThis pair is made for nipples, and Iād like to see you wearing them.ā
My nipples, already sensitive beyond words, stiffened at the thought, and my breath suddenly became short and shallow. Much to my dismay, the wonderful, warm tingling that had been brewing in my crotch for a week began to spread up my back and down my thighs as I imagined the rings in meāimagined what Wes might do with them once I was pierced and they were a part of me. I could almost feel him twisting them, almost imagine the exquisite pain he'd subject me to, could almost taste the intense pleasure and satisfaction the rings would offer us both.
The unwanted warmth stretched out across my chest and up my neck signaling what was about to happen. I was going to orgasm without permission. I sought out his gaze as I grasped the edge of the table with both hands in near panic.
āWesā¦I canāt holdā¦ohmigodā¦.ā
The hand at my neck tightened as his other slipped under my jacket and roughly grasped a nipple, sending breathtaking jolts of pain down to Junior. I tightened my entire body and clamped my eyes shut.
He pinched harder, and I gasped out.
"Don't do it," he growled in warning.
But, as desperately as I fought it, I knew it was too late. I grimaced as, helpless to stop it, spurt after hot spurt poured from Junior, coating the cloth napkin and the front of my trousers.
No!
Once Iād caught my breath, I turned to look at him. The disappointment in myself must have been clear on my face. Over the lump forming in my throat and the unshed tears burning my eyes, I hoarsely said, āIām so sorry, Wes.ā
āHush now,ā he said reassuringly.
āBut Iā¦.ā
His hand slid from around my neck and rested on the side of my face. Gently thumbing my cheek, he asked, āI know you, Grif, and your deepest desire is to do as I wish, am I right?ā
I nodded because we both knew it was true; I'd do anything for him.
āAnd although you may feel as if youāve let me down, nothing could be further from the truth.ā
I searched his face. I honestly didnāt understand. Iād been given clear and express instructions not to orgasm, and I had. How could he not be disappointed?
His thumb still stroked my cheek as he said, āFrom the look on your face as you came, itās pretty obvious you didnāt enjoy the orgasm much at all, did you?ā
It wasn't so much a question as it was a statement. And he was right; on those rare occasions when I lost all control and shot without being told I could, the pleasure was almost nonexistent. I wanted to hold it because it hurtāwhich I unquestionably enjoyedābut more importantly, I wanted to hold it because I wanted to please him.
āYouāve been uncomfortable and, occasionally, in pretty intense pain, for days,ā he said as his rich, brown eyes met mine. āYouāve also been stiff and exposed since we sat down. And, lastly, you've given me an enticing gift of tears this evening. With all that, Grif, how could I find this evening anything other than supremely satisfying?ā
God, I loved him so much.
āAnd besides,ā he smirked, āwhen one door closes another always opens.ā
Um, okay?
After Wes lifted the small pile of items from the table and returned them to his pocket, he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. His tongue gently pushed its way in, and briefly swiped against mine before retreating. The quick stroke left behind both his captivatingly distinct flavor, and also the slightest hint of scotch.
Still smiling, he said, āI think we should blow this popsicle stand and head home. Weāll throw on some sweats, order pizza, and watch the tube. What do you think, love?ā
āThere's nothing I'd rather do,ā I returned, with a wide smile.
As I made myself presentable once more, he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his wallet. After tossing enough cash on the table for an entire dinner and tip, not just drinks and appetizers, he took my hand. With an exultant smirk, he said as we rose to make our exit, āPerhaps during the commercials weāll come up with a suitable punishment for Stubbyās little infraction tonight, huh? And maybe, just maybe, if by the end of the evening I feel like youāve earned itāand if it pleases meāyouāll enjoy a real orgasm.ā
I was fully erect again before we reached the elevator.
Chapter 2
Gym Class
Fall 1998
I grabbed my backpack and made my way off the stuffy, noisy school bus. My first day attending Cheyenne Mountain Junior High School was behind me, and as I walked up the driveway, I felt an almost overwhelming sense of relief; Iād never been so glad to be home in my life.
Closing the front door behind me, I smelled one of my favorite thingsāfresh banana bread. Normally I wouldn't have been able to resist the temptation of a detour into the kitchen, but right now, the thought of eating made my stomach roll.
"Mom? Dad?" I called out and hesitantly waited for a response. Relief spread through me as it seemed no one was homeāwhich meant I wouldnāt have to make small talk. I made my way down the hall, past Micah's and Meaghan'sāthe twinsārooms and into mine. Once inside, with the door firmly locked, I stripped and headed for the shower. Iād wanted to do this all day long; I needed to wash the smell off!
Attending junior high school was something Iād been looking forward to all summer. It meant all sorts of new, cool classes like a real art program and playing real sports. I wanted to be on the baseball, football, and soccer teams. It wasnāt so much the competition, as much as it was being part of a team and using my body. I get such a high when Iām physically active.
My first period of the day was gym class. Iād planned it that way knowing Iād have the most energy first thing in the morning, and also that Iād be able to skip my morning shower at home.
~~~~~
I made my way toward the back of the campus, heading for the Physical Education buildings, and caught glimpses of the mountains now and again. Iād grown up in Colorado Springs and Cheyenne Mountain was a backdrop to everyday life. However, I didn't take it for granted. I loved this part of the Rockies and my family spent lots of time hiking, biking, and camping in the mountains a few miles from our home.
I rounded to the front side of the gymnasium and found a teacherās assistant directing students to wait for the coach inside.
The actual physical activity part of the morning ended up being pretty light. After roll call and assigning our lockers, there wasnāt much left of the period. The coach told us to suit up and run a few laps before the end of class.
I found my locker, changed into my gym clothes, and made my way out to the track. There was a bunch of people hanging around on the field waiting for Coach Armstrong to arrive. I knew a few of them from primary school, but there wasnāt anyone who Iād really call a friend, so I stuck mostly to myself.
The next half hour passed quickly as I ran and found a nice pace. I lost myself, as I usually do, in the sound of my footfalls and my deep breathing. I managed to do ten laps before the coachās whistle sounded telling us it was time to hit the showers.
I walked along with a bunch of other guys, wiping the sweat from my face with the front of my shirt, as we all piled into the noisy, slightly tangy smelling locker room.
At thirteen, Iād never had the opportunity to shower with other guysāin fact, Iād never seen another naked male before at allāand I looked forward to the new experience with nervous anticipation. The excitement, unfortunately, was short lived.
I made my way through the maze of half-naked guys and, once at my locker near the end of the row, stripped off my sweaty clothes without so much as a glance around me. I wrapped one of the school's scratchy towels around my waist and headed toward the sound of running water.
Two rows over I found the large, crowded shower bay. As I approached,Ā the athletic smell of the locker room was replaced by the scent of fresh water and shampoo. TheĀ sounds of talking and joking grew louder and filled me with a tremendous sense of camaraderie; Iād waited so long to be part of a team.Ā And what a team it wasāwet, naked, and male.Ā Wow, I couldnāt believe it; so much nudity right there in front of me and all I had to do was look, discreetly of course, and take it all in. The manly, adult-feelingĀ atmosphere had me buzzing with excitement.
A pentagon of poles, arranged in the center of the bay, held four shower heads each. I found an empty one toward the center, twisted it on, and was enjoying the hot, steamy water pounding over my neck and shoulders when I dared my first glance. The tall jock across from me had wavy dark hairānearly blackāand looked to be about sixteen years old. His chest was broad and well defined with a light dusting of fur leading downward.
Unable to resist, I followed the soft trail with my eyes, enjoying his bronze skin and how the water flowed over it, until my gaze finally landed on his crotch. I nearly gasped when I saw his long, thick dick swaying back and forth as he moved a soapy hand over his neck. God, it was so big!
I glanced toward the floor and washed my feet before sneaking another peek. Jesus, he was incredible. Feeling the all-too-familiar tingle of excitement in my balls, I decided it was best to avert my gaze, so I turned my back to him. The last thing I wanted was to get a hard-on in the shower bay.
I used the dispenser to gather shampoo and worked up a deep lather while the prickle in my dick subsided.
Facing the opposite direction from the dark jock, not more than five feet in front of me, was a blond. He was at least five inches shorter than the stud behind me and much stockier. Casually, I peeked down at his crotch as he closed his eyes and scrubbed his face. His dick wasnāt quite as long as the jockās, but it was still large.
I rinsed off while discreetly scrutinizing the twenty-some-odd dicks around me. It seemed everyone had a huge cock. My mind swam with confusion, and I found myself looking back toward the blond across from me. Iād turned in time to see him check out my crotch and then look away with a strange expression on his face.
I tried to decipher exactly what it was. Sadness? Pity? I wasnāt sure. But I suddenly had the overwhelming urge to get out of there; Iād never felt so exposed in my life.
Flipping off the water, I grabbed my towel, and hustled out of the bay. Back at my locker, I made a halfhearted attempt at drying off and then slipped my jeans over my still damp legs. Only then did I begin to feel like I could breathe normally again.
~~~~~
Leaving my clothes where they fell on my bedroom floor, I headed for the adjoining bathroom. Twisting the shower on, I brushed my teeth as the water warmed. Even though itād been over eight hours, I could still smell it: the locker room soap and the school's bleached towels. I wanted the odor off of meāout of meāgone!
I stepped into the hot shower and let the familiar scent of my soap and shampoo wash away all the other smells. Safe, in my room and my shower, I let myself really think about what Iād seen that morning. Everyone had a bigger dick than I did. Everyone! And, not only slightly bigger; I wasnāt even in the same league.
As the water pounded against me, I remembered an overheard conversation from last summer. At the time, I hadnāt given it much thought, but now it took on an entirely different significance.
Weād all sat down at the dining room table for pizza night, and Iād eaten a few slices when I was overcome with sudden stomach cramps. My mom, not overly concerned initially, suggested I lie down on the sofa and rest for a while. However, twenty-five minutes later, when it was clear I wasnāt getting any better, I was whisked to the emergency room. By the time weād arrived, I was in pretty severe pain.
The doctor appeared through the curtain and, after introducing himself to my parents and me, asked them to step outside the curtain, so he could perform his exam. He'd explained he was going to be feeling around my abdomen and I should let him know if any area was more painful than another. Heād lifted up my gown to begin. My parents hadnāt been able to persuade me to wear underwear for yearsāapparently I'd come out of the womb with an aversion to anything which hugged my crotchā so the gown was the only thing I had on. When his exam was complete, he brought the gown back down to cover me up and stepped around to the other side of the curtain.
I heard him speaking with my parents, but the Emergency Room was noisy, not to mention I was in quite a bit of pain, but I did manage to catch snippets of the conversation; āappendixā¦needs surgeryā¦small for his ageā¦should be largerā¦donāt be too concerned yet.ā
My hand absentmindedly ran over the wet scar on my lower abdomen as I shut off the water and dried off. Once Iād finished, I closed the bathroom door and stood looking in the full-length mirror on the back of it.
Staring at my reflection, I started a critical appraisal of what I saw: I was tall for a thirteen-year-old, standing at five foot eight already. My fit body had the beginnings of a nice chest, well defined arms, and toned legs from the physical activity I enjoyed.
But there were two major differences between myself and the jock in the shower: hair color and cocks. Where he was dark haired, I was sandy blond, and where his dick was quite large, mine wasnāt. But, most frightening of all, was remembering that the jockās dick wasnāt really much different from everyone elseās in the shower. In fact, the only different one was mine.
~~~~~
The next morning, when I should have been in gym class, I sat in the school library with several anatomy books opened in front of me. Iād started out with only one but, not at all liking the answers I was finding, I gathered a couple more. I wanted to find out if what I suspected was true; that I didnāt measure up.
After reading everything I could find, which wasnāt as much as I would have liked since it was a junior high school library, I finally and reluctantly admitted what Iād realized in the locker room; I was small. Based on the information I was able to find, the average size dick was apparently somewhere around six inchesāand I knew I was well below that. However, I also came across the term micropenis, which referred to guys measuring less than two and a half inchesāand I was well above that. I sat there, completely unnerved at my undeniable findings.
I was undoubtedly much smaller than average. Instantly, I made a critical decision; I was never going back to gym class!
Chapter 3
Lookout PointĀ
Late Fall 2004
We drove along the quiet residential streets of San Diego with the windows down and enjoyed the evening breeze. Rounding the bend, we got a look at what weād come to think of as Lookout Point, but in reality, it was called University Heights Park. It was nice to see it emptyāas it nearly always was. I briefly wondered why more folks didnāt come up here, but then decided I was just grateful they didnāt.
I pulled up and killed the engine. The view, which looked out over Mission Valley, Fashion Valley and, on a clear day, Point Loma to the far west, was as captivating as always. This high up, and at the brink of dusk, the city lights flickering on were absolutely amazing. From every angle, it looked like a Christmas village full of twinkling lights.
Beside me sat Tate. One of the best things about our relatively young friendship was the companionable silence. We could hang out for hours and Iād never feel the nagging need to fill the silence I so often felt with other people. From the first day weād met a few months ago, we had steadily grown closer, and I now considered him my best friend. It was so easy and comfortable being around him.
āNice, huh?ā I asked, as we both sat and looked out at the beauty from our spot.
Tate nodded and said, āIt really is. I love it up here.ā
I knew he did, probably as much as I did. Tate and I had been coming up here to chill at least a few times a week since we'd discovered it. Sometimes weād bring beer, like we did tonight, and other times weād bring takeout. But mostly we just jumped in the car and drove up without much planning ahead. I was driving his car as heād gotten a head start on a buzzāand because I couldnāt stand to be a passenger to Tateās driving.
Up here, in the quiet, weād mostly sit in silence. But, occasionally, weād talk about our problems, our college classes, or Tateās girlfriend-of-the-week.
āI heard you on the phone with your advisor this afternoonā¦everything okay?ā Tate asked, as he finished off another beer.
He held the empty can between his legs on the car seat, and it made a slight crunching sound as his legs gripped it a bit too firmly. The noise echoed in the quiet car, and I naturally turned my head while glancing down. I missed the can altogether and instead found myself noticing his crotchāsomething I realized I'd been doing more and more of since we met. I hastily turned away and stared back out over the valley.
āYeah, something about this semesterās financial aid not arriving yet. Iām sure itāll all be okay though,ā I answered with a slight catch in my voice.
I tried to reason out why Iād suddenly started noticing Tate in a sexual way when, at first, I hadnāt. I mean sure, Iād noticed he was handsomeāwho wouldnātābut lately all sorts of sexual fantasies would start popping into my head nearly every time I looked at him. It unnerved me a bit because nothing had really changed in our friendship to prompt these fantasies; he wasnāt any different, I wasnāt any different. And yet, more and more I found myself thinking about what heād look like nakedānaked and standing over me.
āGrif...,ā Tate started. But then stopped and pulled out another beer. He seemed to have something on his mind, like he was mulling something over. This was new. Since the first time weād met, one of the easiest things between us was talking.
āIs something bothering you, Tate?ā I asked, as I dug in my back pocket, found my wallet, and pulled a joint from between the folds.
His eyes lit up, and a big grin replaced the pensive one of moments before as he focused on the joint.
He looked out the front windshield for a few seconds, the rather serious expression returning to his handsome face, before continuing, āNah man. I wouldnāt say bothered, but I did sorta want to ask you something.ā
āSure. Is everything okay? Do you need some cash or something?ā
Tate didn't ask for muchāand never money. In fact, he rarely talked about money at all. But clearly something important was on his mind.
āNah, itās all good,ā he said, turning back to look at me.
I lit the joint, took a long drag, and passed it to him.
He took it with a āThanks,ā and held it between his fingers, looking at itāalmost fondling itāwith a wide smile.
As he took a hit, I couldnāt resist sneaking another look at his crotch. As always, the bulge was large and round and, at the moment, it sat at the top of his now outstretched legs. It lookedā¦well, it looked casual, and manly, and sexy, and tempting; exactly as one would imagine the ideal package looking.
I peeked up to find his perceptive gaze fixed on mine. Flooded with embarrassment, I took a long swallow from my bottled water and avoided his eyes.
Shit, Iāve been caught.
āGood weed, huh?ā I said lamely, attempting to smooth over the awkward moment while I screwed the lid back onto my water.
Tate acted like he hadnāt heard the comment and instead said in an even tone, āWellā¦Iād planned on asking you if you were gay tonightā¦but I donāt really see the point now, do you? I think we both know the answer.ā
The silence was deafening as he waited for me to respond. I felt sick and my face burned. I fumbled with the door handle and scampered out of the car.
I tried to sound casual when I said, āI gotta take a leakā¦be back in a few.ā
I made my way down a rough path and eventually found a tree to lean against. I stood there trying to get my breath under control and thinking I couldnāt stand losing him; heād become my best friendāhell, nearly my only friend.
Iād always found it rather complicated to make friends, but that hadnāt been the case with Tate; weād become so close so easily that I had to occasionally remind myself we really hadnāt known each other long at all.
I gently slid down the tree, bent my legs to my chest, rested my elbows on my knees, and held my head in my hands. I knew heād caught me looking. I knew Iād been found out.
Fuck!
I donāt know how long I sat there, trying to think of a way to salvage our friendship, but at some point I realized I was no longer alone. I looked up and into Tate's unreadable face.
āHey,ā he said softly.
āHey,ā I replied in a weak voice, and dropped my gaze back to the ground.
āLook Big Guy, I didnāt mean to freak you out back there. Itāsā¦wellā¦weāre buds, right?ā
Unsure, I looked back up. āAre we? Still, I mean?ā
He walked the few feet over, leaned against the tree, and slid down to sit next to me.
We sat in silence for a while and watched the lights below. He finally said, āWhat I wanted to say tonight was...I know youāre gay. I mean, Iāve seen the way you check me out.ā He glanced over at me and quickly added, āAnd itās all cool. I mean, you know Iām not, right?ā
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
This is exactly why I neverāeverāwanted him to know. Every time we watch a game, every time weāre at a movie, every time he sees me looking at him now, heāll wonder what Iām thinking.
Things will never be the same.
I was filled with an immediate and deep sadness.
āTate...,ā I began.
āNo, please let me finish. Okay?ā
I nodded.
āI wanted to say,ā he started hurriedly, as if he had to get the words out before I interrupted again, āI know, Grif. Iāve known for a bit now.ā He took a quick breath and continued, āAnd, Iām straight. But notā¦narrowā¦and I know you donāt dateā¦so, if you wantā¦wellā¦Iāll never turn down a blowjob. In fact, Iām sure itās something I could talk myself into suffering through wheneverā¦.ā
Shocked, I whipped my head around to look at him. Not only did he have a huge grin on his face but, with his legs stretched out in front of him, I couldnāt miss the huge boner he had, too.
I couldnāt think. I couldn't breathe. Iād gone from being certain our friendship was over toā¦ummā¦being told I couldā¦. What? Give him a blowjob? Whenever I wanted? I had to get upā¦I had to moveā¦to walkā¦to think.
āHey, I think I need a beer,ā I managed to choke out as I pushed my way up from the tree. Dusting my ass off, I stumbled to the path back up to the car.
A few moments later, I felt him on the trail beside me. He laid a firm hand on my arm and said, āGrif, buddy, I kinda laid a bunch of stuff out thereā¦and your only response is āI need a beerā?ā
Looking down, not able to meet his eyes, and thankful for the growing darkness, I said, āIāmā¦,ā then my voice made a weird cracking noise, and I stopped to swallow,Ā āIām not sure what to say, Tate. I feel as if I should apologize forā¦forā¦offending you, or making you feel uncomfortable. But it doesnāt seem as if Iāve done either of those thingsā¦soā¦and youāre straight, soā¦. Iām confused. I donāt know what to say.ā
He gave me a friendly shove, āNah, man, it seems like Iām the one who should be apologizing. Iām the one who made you uncomfortable.ā
I laughed at the absurdity of the situation and continued walking back up the trail. āSo Iām apologizing for wanting toā¦ā well, there was no way in hell I was gonna finish that sentence, ā...and youāre apologizing for offering to let meā¦ā nope, not gonna finish that one either.
Weād reached the car, and I pulled open the door. āHow about we grab a few beers, smoke some pot, accept one anotherās apologies, and let this conversation rest awhile, huh?ā God, please let him go for thatāplease.
He grinned over the roof at me, āYep, Iām good with that.ā
I let out a breath and started to slide in, but noticed his continued grin, āSo long as we understand each other, Grif; you wanna suck me, and I like blowjobsā¦nothing more to it than that. No apologies necessary.ā
Oh Christ, I knew moving in with him had been a spectacularly bad idea. But, I couldnāt deny my rigid dick certainly had a differing opinion on the subject.
āNo apologies,ā I agreed, and hoped like hell it would be the end of this particular topic of conversation.
COLLAPSE
EXTRAS
Nominations & Awards
~~~~~
Interviews
THE BLOGGER GIRLS - Grif Character Interview.
PULLING WORDS FROM THE AIR - Personal Interview.
THE NOVEL APPROACH - Power Exchange.
~~~~~
Book Trailer