In the story was spoken about the U position or grapevine.
I could not find an explanation.
In the story I read:
".. lie on the soft shag carpet face down. He laid down on top of me, hooked his feet on the inside of my ankles, and stretched his legs apart.
... My crotch could handle this V position. If he got aggressive and tried to make it a U position, I'd cry uncle then. "This is called a grapevine," he said. ..."
My question:
Does it means, in a V position is the body completely on the ground and the legs streched out and opened like a V. But in an U position the legs can not open any more without lifting the ass and flexing the knees?
Note: If you think this reminds you of something, I posted this story previously on another site. I did NOT steal it from there.
"Hey Chris, the new guy at the office has a son about your age. He'll be coming over with his parents Sunday night for dinner, we're welcoming them to town." Yep, that's my Dad, Mister Nice Guy. I know selling insurance is about making contacts and being super friendly, but there's no need for that with somebody he works with. My senior year will start soon and I'm perfectly happy with the friends I have. I suppose I'll be expected to be his guide at school, introduce him around, all that shit. Next fall I will start the sports medicine program at Tampa State. One reason I chose that is because it's as far from selling insurance as anything I could think of. Not really, I have always loved sports but when I played them I was average at best. There was no way I could move on to a higher level, and I was honest enough to admit that to myself. So after freshman year I gave up being reserve outfielder and reserve point guard and reserve goalkeeper in favor of the position of assistant student trainer. The next year, I got the head student trainer job and will have it again this year.
I am gay. I can't pinpoint when I knew, it was some time in middle school when the boys were starting to lust after the girls, and I could not feel any of that in me. At first I thought it would come later, the way girls get their periods at different times. But when I started jacking off, the images that came to me were pictures of guys modeling underwear in magazines and memories of real guys prancing around the beach in their tight trunks. After the usual uncomfortable acceptance phase I was cool with it.
I did not have sex, other than solo, until I got a car when I was sixteen. In our small suburb outside of Tampa, everybody knows everybody's business. It seemed like a third of the people went to the Baptist Church, a third went to the Catholic Church, and a third went to both. That's how big religion is here. I knew there were families who were rumored to have one of those sinful gays stashed away at a distant prep school. They wanted to avoid the shame of having to admit that Trevor didn't walk funny and talk funny because of birth defects, or that Carlton got banned from the little kids' playground when he started playing tackle with the boys and staying on top of them too long. I can see the wedding announcement, Trevor and Carlton request the honor of your presence as we become husbands. I knew those stereotypes were bullshit of course. Thank God for Shift-Control-P, the private browsing setting on Internet Explorer. The site visit log on the laptop I share with Mom looks positively wholesome. Half of the sites are for recipes and half are for sports. My Facebook page has no rainbow at the top and no queer content. I will come out to my parents and sister right before I start at Tampa State, and then on Facebook to my friends. I expect a few unfriendings. Maybe more than a few. TSU is gay-friendly, I've already made contact with some of the advisors and students in the LGBTQ student support office. My sister Kathy will be cool with it. How my parents react does not concern me. How it affects Dad's business does not concern me. That sounds harsh, I know. It doesn't mean I don't love my parents, I do, very much. I decided to stay in the closet until I leave home for college but not one day longer. It could be a bit tough but I'll manage.
After I come out, some people will suspect I became a student trainer to get to be around naked guys and to do lots of massaging. Not true. That attitude reflects the misconception that gays are constantly stalking hook-up possibilities like lions stalk prey. I have had a number of sexual encounters, all with guys from out of town I met online. That was great. But sex is only part of me, separating work from my personal life has been no problem. Two years of being student trainer have produced exactly zero locker room/training room/shower room erections. When the best player on the soccer team pulled a groin muscle, he and everyone else made the usual crude comments while I worked on it. I just smiled. It produced no sexual feelings, I was doing my job and that doesn't include getting cheap thrills while I'm doing it. Some would say I am "hurting the cause" by not objecting to comments like that and coming out right then. I respect that opinion, but I believe it's something everyone has the right to do in their own way. Next fall will be out of the closet time. For now, the reality is that our high school is a jungle, and anyone who does not fit the mold, including gay students, are the prey. I understand it has gotten a lot better in some places, but not in this shithole. If I came out now, it is very possible that all the athletes would support me. But it is highly likely a lot of the parents would demand my removal as trainer because they are afraid I will corrupt the youth, like Socrates supposedly did. I think those people deserve a heavy dose of hemlock, administered in suppositories. I do not feel one iota of shame about being gay. Iota ... I am learning the Greek alphabet because I want to pledge frats. Reject me for being gay if you want, frat boys, if that happens I would not have fit in anyway. We'll see how it works out.
My parents respect my decision not to attend church with them. There's an occasional "I wish you would" from Mom but when I just smile in response she smiles back. My sister goes with them, which means I have the house to myself Sunday mornings. No, I don't have orgies with Trevors and Carltons then. I usually read or work out in our guest room which has some exercise equipment. After lunch that Sunday as I was leaving to hang out with some friends I heard "be on time for dinner, we're having company." Oh well, how bad could it be? The guy might be an incredible dork, but I have never disrespected people for dorkishness or geekishness or any other ness. The first day of school is club sign-up day, so if he's that way I'll direct him to the Chess Club or Science Club and he'll be happy with his peers there.
"Chris, this is John and Marie and their son Trevor." Nice. Not because he had one of my made-up flaming gay names, but because he was the most beautiful teenage guy I'd ever seen. My height, probably around my weight, with dark buzz-cut hair and eyes the color of the sea. I have no gaydar to speak of, maybe that comes later. I gave up hoping someone I was attracted to might be gay long ago. With the internet, I have enough gay contacts... ...ok I've been fucked by enough of them...... to avoid having to play that guessing game. "Call me Trev," he said, shaking my hand firmly. Calluses, which means he either works out a lot or jacks off way more than I do. I ditched the latter possibility when I saw he used his fork with his left hand. He probably has all the girl-sex he wants, looking like he does. So it was working out then, which means we have at least one thing in common.
The dinner conversation was pleasant and our parents gushingly said what their children are into and proudly listed their accomplishments. All three of us squirmed when it was our turn for that. Trev is an only child and his little biography was sandwiched between Kathy's and mine. Ladies first. When his Dad said Trev was an all-state shortstop and also a wrestler, a little shiver went through me. I was concerned that I might be popping my "no erections at work" cherry soon, despite my conviction that should be avoided. I made a mental note to get a tight jock to deal with that possibility. When my Dad said "head student trainer" Trev's eyes met mine. When he added "so it looks like you two will be seeing a lot of each other" we both smiled. I wondered.
After dinner, I invited Trev to accompany me to the mall, knowing he wasn't likely to decline because he had other plans. It was his first weekend in Tampa and I doubt he had arranged to hook up with some friends from Burlington, Vermont, where I'd learned he lived for about five years before his family's move here. His "sure" response to my invitation sounded sincere rather than dutiful. Even though it was August, his skin looked pale compared to my typical Florida bronze. I told him he needed to use lots of sunscreen if he went to the beach, or even if he was outside for a long time. He said he knew that. I told him he'd probably have no problem fitting in with the wrestlers and ballplayers at school. He said he knew that. He did not say it in a condescending tone, it was matter of fact. I decided he wasn't being a jerk, he was just being himself. I wasn't wrong. I soon saw his less serious side. At the mall he insisted on paying for the ice cream and when I told him he was my guest, he feigned a menacing look and reminded me he was a wrestler. I already could tell I would like him as a friend. I tried to avoid hoping for more.
Dad and I had our usual end of summer father-son event planned the weekend after that dinner, at a beachfront condo in Clearwater. We had done that since I was twelve. He and his father used to spend a week in the mountains of Pennsylvania every summer, and Dad said our weekend journey across the causeway that connects Tampa and suburbs like ours to Clearwater was his big-city version of that tradition. I think in Canada that's referred to as cottage time. It was always a blast. The summer after I turned sixteen, he made a big deal out of letting me have one beer, not knowing my weekend sleep-overs that summer with friends whose parents were away provided me with an average of one beer per hour. Not all the money I earned cutting lawns in 90 degree heat with 80% humidity had been used to keep my car running. About the only positive thing I can say about selling insurance is that your kids sure appreciate not having to pay for it when they get cars in high school, the agents get it for virtually nothing. Good thing we have great health insurance too. A couple of days before our Clearwater weekend, Dad wasn't looking down as he was carrying his golf bag up our porch steps and he fell. Trev and I had hung out some, and at that moment we were the only two in the house. I was the athletic trainer, the first aid guru, but Trev looked at Dad's ankle and told me to get ice for it. I was pissed off for a second or two before I realized he did not know where to look for something to use as an icebag and I did. I had some of my trainer equipment at home and applied an instant ice pack, the kind where you crush the pellets inside to activate it. We got Dad into his big SUV and I drove us to the emergency room. In the waiting room, since Trev and I knew his injury was not serious we traded stories about the worst athletic injuries we'd seen, knowing that we both were exaggerating their gruesomeness for effect. The good news was no broken ankle. The bad news was that Dad had a high ankle sprain, the worst kind. He'd have to stay off his feet for a few days and then wear a boot for a while.
On the drive back home, Dad said he was sorry our weekend condo thing would be off. I told him I'd miss it, which was how I really felt, rather than just an effort to make him feel good. He paused for a bit and said that it was too late to get a refund on the condo rental. He said wasting that would be a shame. Maybe Trev might want to go there with me. He said "sure." He says that a lot. I'm glad he said it then. Dad told him he'd need to get permission from his parents of course. He said "I know that." He says that a lot too. But don't get the wrong idea, he had no trouble making great conversation. We have long intense discussions about sports and school and future plans, the usual shit. Trev just seems to have a knack for knowing when a short answer is the best answer. It was a skill I wish I had.
When I picked up Trev at his house, I didn't ask him if he had remembered to bring sunscreen. His ability to plan things out, which sharply contrasted with my haphazard approach to everything except my sports medicine work, had become obvious soon after we met. He asked me if I had remembered to bring the Playstation. The trip back to my house to pick it up was punctuated by good-natured exchanges of "dumb ass" and "anal asshole" and "fuck you." Our friendship had progressed to that level.
The condo was nice, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a small kitchen, and a large living room. Big beach towels were provided. After unpacking we hit the beach. Ever since Trev agreed to replace Dad on the trip, I had been thinking about how it would go after I offered to put sunscreen on Trev's back. I had plotted my strategy. If he agreed, I would not tell him when I was finished. I would quickly return to my towel and lie down on my stomach concealing what would certainly be a massive boner. I never got to execute my plan. Trev applied sunscreen to his arms and legs and neck with his shirt on. I gave him a puzzled look. Surely even in Vermont people know if you do it that way when you take off your shirt it will get messed up from the suncreen on your arms. It was the only dumb thing I'd seen Trev do. Well, I thought it was dumb at first. He saw my expression and said that since the first wrestling practice was only about a week away, he did not want to risk getting sunburned on his back. He laughed and said if he moaned in pain whenever his back hit the mat he probably would not make the team. I laughed too, hopefully hiding my disappointment. Even with his shirt on, Trev swam like an Olympian, although I kept up with him pretty well. I told him I thought keeping his shirt on was a good idea, which technically it was. I could never be a lawyer. I hate technicalities.
After showers we put on bathing suits number two and went to the condo pool. Trev had traded his "Ski Vermont" t-shirt for one with the Boston Red Sox logo. While the massive kidney shaped pool held water that had probably been warmed almost to body temperature by the summer sun, we passed on it. We were there for another reason. We were scouting poolsiders for possible beer-purchasing. A couple of girls who looked to be of college age appeared to be decent prospects. We went over to where they were and asked if the cabana chairs next to theirs were occupied. They said they weren't so we took them. My ego wasn't bruised when they seemed way more interested in talking to Trev than to me. That meant he would be the one to pop the question. When no one else was within hearing range, he said we were both twenty and a half and were visiting from Vermont. They seemed not to wonder why one "Vermonter" looked like he could pose for a Coppertone billboard and the other had skin that matched Ben & Jerry's Just Plain Vanilla. Trev launched into a litany of the glories of the Green Mountain State, with a vigor suggesting he would continue for hours, until one of them said "what kind of beer do you want?"
After a fabulous seafood dinner and an hour or so of couch time to recover from the piles of fried everything we'd consumed, we decided to watch a DVD I had just gotten, American Sniper, neither of us had seen it. We could do that anywhere, but we were pretty beat from seeing which of us could body-surf the furthest, and which of us was better at having waves break on him without getting knocked down. The two twelve packs of Coors Light were chilled and we started on them. I told Trev to watch it, he might not make his usual wrestling weight if he had too many and then I said "I know that" in harmony with him. We tried to avoid laughing, without success.
The hero in that movie cries. After it was over we discussed it, and Trev asked me how
I felt about men crying. I told him I hadn't cried since my grandmother's funeral three or four years ago. He hesitated for a second and said he did not cry in public but sometimes when he was alone at home, if he thought of something that had not gone well for him, he cried a little. I felt ok with getting personal and asked him if he minded telling me what triggered that. He said that the more his parents and other people praised him for being a top student and an athlete and a good person, the more he felt his life was worthless. He didn't elaborate and I didn't ask him to, because I knew he'd discuss it more when he felt comfortable doing it. Before long he did. He said that all his life, he'd lived for other people, to impress them, to make his family proud. He wanted a life free from those expectations. The difficult part, he said, was that the people with the expectations were the ones he cared about most. I tried to compare that to my feelings on the subject, but couldn't quite do it. Not because I didn't want to, but because it was just too deep for me to figure out. Give me a wrist to tape or a charley horse to work on and I'm good. Heavy, introspective thinking has always pretty much eluded me.
We'd gone through the first twelve pack and video games seemed wrong. He asked me if I know how to pop a dislocated shoulder into place, that had been his only sports injury. I told him the adult trainer would be the one to do that but I'd seen it done enough that I was sure I could. He asked me to demonstrate it on him, and I did. Except for handshakes and a few fake arm punches when one of us made a bad pun, I had not touched him. My beach plan to change that had fizzled, but now it would happen. We were wearing gym shorts, no shirts, typical Florida teen summer lounging/drinking attire. As I demonstrated the technique I could feel myself getting slightly hard so when I returned to the couch I re-positioned myself facing a little away from Trev. A little later, three beers later to be precise, he thanked me for showing him the shoulder thing again, and asked if I wanted him to show me a wrestling move or two. Apparently the student trainers at his old school were not into athletics. At my school we trainers threw footballs and baseballs, kicked soccer balls, and did a little wrestling with the guys on the team. They took it easy on us of course. The two times they pretty much insisted that me and the assistant trainer wrestle each other for real I sucked at it. But I knew most of the moves and was about to decline Trev's offer when my urge for more body contact with him kicked in. It was my turn to say "sure."
Trev told me to lie on the soft shag carpet face down, which lessened my fear that my shorts would be unable to contain what might be about to happen in them. He laid down on top of me, hooked his feet on the inside of my ankles, and stretched his legs apart. Mine went with his but being the outside pair, they were stretched wider. "Fuck dude, that hurts," I said. He offered to let me go, but I said I was ok. My crotch could handle this V position. If he got aggressive and tried to make it a U position, I'd cry uncle then. "This is called a grapevine," he said. "Cool," I replied, managing a forced laugh to show I was ok. I was more than ok. In my mind I painted a mental image in which Trev replaced one of the guys who had fucked me in a very similar position, minus the feet on ankles part. I realized something else too. The body contact was hot of course, but the mild pain seemed to make it even better. For a second I wondered if the next step in the progression be a trip to one of those places where women in leather outfits whip guys, then I realized it would be a man on man version of that. But I banished that distraction quickly and hoped Trev kept me grapevined until I said I could not take it any more. I had already decided that if it felt like he was about to release me, I'd ask him to keep doing it because I wanted to see how long I could take it.
I finally told him I'd had enough. He slapped me on the back, a typical "good game" gesture between athletes, although it had not been a competition. We laid on our backs and stared up at the ceiling, it had that bumpy texture that's popular here. The beer and the beach frolicking had taken its toll. We were exhausted. Time for small talk. "Nice grapevine Trev," I said. "Eh, I'm not that good at wrestling, more times than not I am the guy getting put in moves like that," he replied. "Honestly, I am not into wrestling, baseball is my sport." I asked him why he even bothered with wrestling. Ben said "I like team sports, plus some cool guys at my old school were only on the wrestling team and hanging out with them was fun." "Are you sure it isn't because rolling around with sweaty male bodies turns you on?" My big mouth gets me in trouble sometimes. This was one of those times. Trev sat up and put an arm under my thigh, the one closest to him, then he trapped my other leg with his legs. He rolled me over and my legs were straight up in the air, I looked like a human goalpost. "I'm not putting any pressure on this," he said, "if I did it would hurt a lot." Fuck. The dreaded U. "I was just kidding Trev, come on man, chill." He was right, being held this way did not hurt, but I could see how much it would if he wanted that to happen. I was about to ask him to let me go when I felt his free hand on my crotch. He rubbed for a couple of seconds and let me go. We both got up and sat on the couch, nowhere close to each other. Silence prevailed for what seemed like an hour but was only just a few minutes. I was the one who had just been stretched like a rubber band, but he was the one who looked like he was about to cry. "I don't know Chris, I don't fucking know. Just those couple of seconds did more for me than going all the way with girls ever has." "Right, you jocks do attract the ladies." "What's freaking me out is that I am not sure they are the ones I want to attract. Me, a jock. My Dad will be thrilled when the office conversation turns to how the offspring are doing and nobody makes eye contact with him. I'm really close to my grandfathers and both of them are retired cops. I'm totally fucked." Then Trev, drunk as he was, realized that when he let me go after the crotch rub, I did not react with the expected "what the fuck was that?" He looked at me differently than he ever had before. He started to cry. It looked like a hug was called for, but I weighed that thought against the chance he would take it the wrong way and I'd end up looking like a different letter, S maybe. I settled for an arm across his shoulders. Trev initiated a hug. He didn't squeeze.
After Trev regained his composure, he said "I'm sorry if the wrestling stuff hurt," "Well, the first thing did, a little, but it was ok. I almost liked it," I replied. He smiled and said "damn, we're a great pair, I'm turning gay and you're turning into a bondage freak." I smiled back, knowing he did not mean the second part of that. I decided I may as well be honest with him. "Cruising the internet about kinky sex like I guess everyone does," I said, "I saw some of that kind of stuff. It looked interesting." He seemed a little horrified so I assured him I would never consider going to a leather bar or bondage place for some of that action. Trev looked relieved. "Realizing I'm gay is something I will have to deal with, God knows how," he said. But I'll get through it ok. Seriously though Chris, do you really get some kind of sexual pleasure from pain? That sounds a little dangerous, maybe a lot." "I don't know what to think," I responded. "Like I said, I would never go to any of those weird places where that stuff gets done, but maybe with a special friend ........ " "Uh, Chris, no way am I going to put on leather clothes and whip you." "I was thinking of something tamer," I replied. He thought about that for a few seconds. "If you are serious," he replied, "I wouldn't mind doing it. I mean, what the fuck," he said with a big grin, "now that I know I'm queer, I may as well start doing kinky shit." He'd brought his iPad and we looked for "mild S & M" youTube vids. One got my attention. There were two candlesticks on the dining room table, and after a short hunt we found matches in one of the kitchen drawers. We put down two of the big beach towels, because getting candle wax on the expensive rug would be uncool. I laid down on them, he lit one of the candles, and our imitation of a scene we'd seen online began. Trev started just below my neck. The first drop of hot wax hurt like a bitch. But as he progressed down my back, each drop hurt a little less and the pleasure kicked up a notch. The last drop landed right above the waist of my gym shorts. I thought we were finished, but Trev continued to straddle me. He massaged my shoulders for a few seconds, then he removed the first wax deposit. He removed them all, slowly, giving me a brief massage after each one came off. When he got to the last one, he pulled my shorts down and off, stood up, and took off his. He grabbed my shoulders and gripped them as if they were the handle bars of a bicycle racing out of control down a steep hill. I could feel his hard cock searching for its target as it seemed to circle my hole. "I have condoms in my car," I said. "This time I'll risk it, there's no risk to you," he replied. I told him I'd been tested a few months ago, but you never know. He said "I know that."
The rest of our condo weekend pretty much served as make-up time for Trev. Let's just say that first visit to the beach was our last. We could have left the Playstation home. We invented our own games. My favorite was when we got into the two person Jacuzzi and bobbed for cocks. During one of the intervals between things like that, I told him what my plan had been if I got to put sunscreen on his back. He laughed and said he had fantasized about that too. But he had meant what he said about avoiding sunburn. He said he would have loved a sunscreen massage, but decided he'd forego the rush from that one time at the beach to protect his chances for multiple massages later if he made the wrestling team. He said we could do the beach thing again in the spring. It was my turn to laugh. I knew that up north the beaches shut down after Labor Day, which was coming up. "Dude, this ain't fucking Vermont, the beach season never ends here."
I added "and neither does the fucking season." He said "I know that."
Slookm (2)
17/4/2016 03:05Thanks man, I enjoyed the read. A few good laughs and a bit of inside touch. Good story...
Ralle (1)
30/12/2023 11:06(em resposta à...)
In the story was spoken about the U position or grapevine.
I could not find an explanation.
In the story I read:
".. lie on the soft shag carpet face down. He laid down on top of me, hooked his feet on the inside of my ankles, and stretched his legs apart.
... My crotch could handle this V position. If he got aggressive and tried to make it a U position, I'd cry uncle then. "This is called a grapevine," he said. ..."
My question:
Does it means, in a V position is the body completely on the ground and the legs streched out and opened like a V. But in an U position the legs can not open any more without lifting the ass and flexing the knees?
Landshark (4)
16/4/2016 04:53Note: If you think this reminds you of something, I posted this story previously on another site. I did NOT steal it from there.
"Hey Chris, the new guy at the office has a son about your age. He'll be coming over with his parents Sunday night for dinner, we're welcoming them to town." Yep, that's my Dad, Mister Nice Guy. I know selling insurance is about making contacts and being super friendly, but there's no need for that with somebody he works with. My senior year will start soon and I'm perfectly happy with the friends I have. I suppose I'll be expected to be his guide at school, introduce him around, all that shit. Next fall I will start the sports medicine program at Tampa State. One reason I chose that is because it's as far from selling insurance as anything I could think of. Not really, I have always loved sports but when I played them I was average at best. There was no way I could move on to a higher level, and I was honest enough to admit that to myself. So after freshman year I gave up being reserve outfielder and reserve point guard and reserve goalkeeper in favor of the position of assistant student trainer. The next year, I got the head student trainer job and will have it again this year.
I am gay. I can't pinpoint when I knew, it was some time in middle school when the boys were starting to lust after the girls, and I could not feel any of that in me. At first I thought it would come later, the way girls get their periods at different times. But when I started jacking off, the images that came to me were pictures of guys modeling underwear in magazines and memories of real guys prancing around the beach in their tight trunks. After the usual uncomfortable acceptance phase I was cool with it.
I did not have sex, other than solo, until I got a car when I was sixteen. In our small suburb outside of Tampa, everybody knows everybody's business. It seemed like a third of the people went to the Baptist Church, a third went to the Catholic Church, and a third went to both. That's how big religion is here. I knew there were families who were rumored to have one of those sinful gays stashed away at a distant prep school. They wanted to avoid the shame of having to admit that Trevor didn't walk funny and talk funny because of birth defects, or that Carlton got banned from the little kids' playground when he started playing tackle with the boys and staying on top of them too long. I can see the wedding announcement, Trevor and Carlton request the honor of your presence as we become husbands. I knew those stereotypes were bullshit of course. Thank God for Shift-Control-P, the private browsing setting on Internet Explorer. The site visit log on the laptop I share with Mom looks positively wholesome. Half of the sites are for recipes and half are for sports. My Facebook page has no rainbow at the top and no queer content. I will come out to my parents and sister right before I start at Tampa State, and then on Facebook to my friends. I expect a few unfriendings. Maybe more than a few. TSU is gay-friendly, I've already made contact with some of the advisors and students in the LGBTQ student support office. My sister Kathy will be cool with it. How my parents react does not concern me. How it affects Dad's business does not concern me. That sounds harsh, I know. It doesn't mean I don't love my parents, I do, very much. I decided to stay in the closet until I leave home for college but not one day longer. It could be a bit tough but I'll manage.
After I come out, some people will suspect I became a student trainer to get to be around naked guys and to do lots of massaging. Not true. That attitude reflects the misconception that gays are constantly stalking hook-up possibilities like lions stalk prey. I have had a number of sexual encounters, all with guys from out of town I met online. That was great. But sex is only part of me, separating work from my personal life has been no problem. Two years of being student trainer have produced exactly zero locker room/training room/shower room erections. When the best player on the soccer team pulled a groin muscle, he and everyone else made the usual crude comments while I worked on it. I just smiled. It produced no sexual feelings, I was doing my job and that doesn't include getting cheap thrills while I'm doing it. Some would say I am "hurting the cause" by not objecting to comments like that and coming out right then. I respect that opinion, but I believe it's something everyone has the right to do in their own way. Next fall will be out of the closet time. For now, the reality is that our high school is a jungle, and anyone who does not fit the mold, including gay students, are the prey. I understand it has gotten a lot better in some places, but not in this shithole. If I came out now, it is very possible that all the athletes would support me. But it is highly likely a lot of the parents would demand my removal as trainer because they are afraid I will corrupt the youth, like Socrates supposedly did. I think those people deserve a heavy dose of hemlock, administered in suppositories. I do not feel one iota of shame about being gay. Iota ... I am learning the Greek alphabet because I want to pledge frats. Reject me for being gay if you want, frat boys, if that happens I would not have fit in anyway. We'll see how it works out.
My parents respect my decision not to attend church with them. There's an occasional "I wish you would" from Mom but when I just smile in response she smiles back. My sister goes with them, which means I have the house to myself Sunday mornings. No, I don't have orgies with Trevors and Carltons then. I usually read or work out in our guest room which has some exercise equipment. After lunch that Sunday as I was leaving to hang out with some friends I heard "be on time for dinner, we're having company." Oh well, how bad could it be? The guy might be an incredible dork, but I have never disrespected people for dorkishness or geekishness or any other ness. The first day of school is club sign-up day, so if he's that way I'll direct him to the Chess Club or Science Club and he'll be happy with his peers there.
"Chris, this is John and Marie and their son Trevor." Nice. Not because he had one of my made-up flaming gay names, but because he was the most beautiful teenage guy I'd ever seen. My height, probably around my weight, with dark buzz-cut hair and eyes the color of the sea. I have no gaydar to speak of, maybe that comes later. I gave up hoping someone I was attracted to might be gay long ago. With the internet, I have enough gay contacts... ...ok I've been fucked by enough of them...... to avoid having to play that guessing game. "Call me Trev," he said, shaking my hand firmly. Calluses, which means he either works out a lot or jacks off way more than I do. I ditched the latter possibility when I saw he used his fork with his left hand. He probably has all the girl-sex he wants, looking like he does. So it was working out then, which means we have at least one thing in common.
The dinner conversation was pleasant and our parents gushingly said what their children are into and proudly listed their accomplishments. All three of us squirmed when it was our turn for that. Trev is an only child and his little biography was sandwiched between Kathy's and mine. Ladies first. When his Dad said Trev was an all-state shortstop and also a wrestler, a little shiver went through me. I was concerned that I might be popping my "no erections at work" cherry soon, despite my conviction that should be avoided. I made a mental note to get a tight jock to deal with that possibility. When my Dad said "head student trainer" Trev's eyes met mine. When he added "so it looks like you two will be seeing a lot of each other" we both smiled. I wondered.
After dinner, I invited Trev to accompany me to the mall, knowing he wasn't likely to decline because he had other plans. It was his first weekend in Tampa and I doubt he had arranged to hook up with some friends from Burlington, Vermont, where I'd learned he lived for about five years before his family's move here. His "sure" response to my invitation sounded sincere rather than dutiful. Even though it was August, his skin looked pale compared to my typical Florida bronze. I told him he needed to use lots of sunscreen if he went to the beach, or even if he was outside for a long time. He said he knew that. I told him he'd probably have no problem fitting in with the wrestlers and ballplayers at school. He said he knew that. He did not say it in a condescending tone, it was matter of fact. I decided he wasn't being a jerk, he was just being himself. I wasn't wrong. I soon saw his less serious side. At the mall he insisted on paying for the ice cream and when I told him he was my guest, he feigned a menacing look and reminded me he was a wrestler. I already could tell I would like him as a friend. I tried to avoid hoping for more.
Dad and I had our usual end of summer father-son event planned the weekend after that dinner, at a beachfront condo in Clearwater. We had done that since I was twelve. He and his father used to spend a week in the mountains of Pennsylvania every summer, and Dad said our weekend journey across the causeway that connects Tampa and suburbs like ours to Clearwater was his big-city version of that tradition. I think in Canada that's referred to as cottage time. It was always a blast. The summer after I turned sixteen, he made a big deal out of letting me have one beer, not knowing my weekend sleep-overs that summer with friends whose parents were away provided me with an average of one beer per hour. Not all the money I earned cutting lawns in 90 degree heat with 80% humidity had been used to keep my car running. About the only positive thing I can say about selling insurance is that your kids sure appreciate not having to pay for it when they get cars in high school, the agents get it for virtually nothing. Good thing we have great health insurance too. A couple of days before our Clearwater weekend, Dad wasn't looking down as he was carrying his golf bag up our porch steps and he fell. Trev and I had hung out some, and at that moment we were the only two in the house. I was the athletic trainer, the first aid guru, but Trev looked at Dad's ankle and told me to get ice for it. I was pissed off for a second or two before I realized he did not know where to look for something to use as an icebag and I did. I had some of my trainer equipment at home and applied an instant ice pack, the kind where you crush the pellets inside to activate it. We got Dad into his big SUV and I drove us to the emergency room. In the waiting room, since Trev and I knew his injury was not serious we traded stories about the worst athletic injuries we'd seen, knowing that we both were exaggerating their gruesomeness for effect. The good news was no broken ankle. The bad news was that Dad had a high ankle sprain, the worst kind. He'd have to stay off his feet for a few days and then wear a boot for a while.
On the drive back home, Dad said he was sorry our weekend condo thing would be off. I told him I'd miss it, which was how I really felt, rather than just an effort to make him feel good. He paused for a bit and said that it was too late to get a refund on the condo rental. He said wasting that would be a shame. Maybe Trev might want to go there with me. He said "sure." He says that a lot. I'm glad he said it then. Dad told him he'd need to get permission from his parents of course. He said "I know that." He says that a lot too. But don't get the wrong idea, he had no trouble making great conversation. We have long intense discussions about sports and school and future plans, the usual shit. Trev just seems to have a knack for knowing when a short answer is the best answer. It was a skill I wish I had.
When I picked up Trev at his house, I didn't ask him if he had remembered to bring sunscreen. His ability to plan things out, which sharply contrasted with my haphazard approach to everything except my sports medicine work, had become obvious soon after we met. He asked me if I had remembered to bring the Playstation. The trip back to my house to pick it up was punctuated by good-natured exchanges of "dumb ass" and "anal asshole" and "fuck you." Our friendship had progressed to that level.
The condo was nice, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a small kitchen, and a large living room. Big beach towels were provided. After unpacking we hit the beach. Ever since Trev agreed to replace Dad on the trip, I had been thinking about how it would go after I offered to put sunscreen on Trev's back. I had plotted my strategy. If he agreed, I would not tell him when I was finished. I would quickly return to my towel and lie down on my stomach concealing what would certainly be a massive boner. I never got to execute my plan. Trev applied sunscreen to his arms and legs and neck with his shirt on. I gave him a puzzled look. Surely even in Vermont people know if you do it that way when you take off your shirt it will get messed up from the suncreen on your arms. It was the only dumb thing I'd seen Trev do. Well, I thought it was dumb at first. He saw my expression and said that since the first wrestling practice was only about a week away, he did not want to risk getting sunburned on his back. He laughed and said if he moaned in pain whenever his back hit the mat he probably would not make the team. I laughed too, hopefully hiding my disappointment. Even with his shirt on, Trev swam like an Olympian, although I kept up with him pretty well. I told him I thought keeping his shirt on was a good idea, which technically it was. I could never be a lawyer. I hate technicalities.
After showers we put on bathing suits number two and went to the condo pool. Trev had traded his "Ski Vermont" t-shirt for one with the Boston Red Sox logo. While the massive kidney shaped pool held water that had probably been warmed almost to body temperature by the summer sun, we passed on it. We were there for another reason. We were scouting poolsiders for possible beer-purchasing. A couple of girls who looked to be of college age appeared to be decent prospects. We went over to where they were and asked if the cabana chairs next to theirs were occupied. They said they weren't so we took them. My ego wasn't bruised when they seemed way more interested in talking to Trev than to me. That meant he would be the one to pop the question. When no one else was within hearing range, he said we were both twenty and a half and were visiting from Vermont. They seemed not to wonder why one "Vermonter" looked like he could pose for a Coppertone billboard and the other had skin that matched Ben & Jerry's Just Plain Vanilla. Trev launched into a litany of the glories of the Green Mountain State, with a vigor suggesting he would continue for hours, until one of them said "what kind of beer do you want?"
After a fabulous seafood dinner and an hour or so of couch time to recover from the piles of fried everything we'd consumed, we decided to watch a DVD I had just gotten, American Sniper, neither of us had seen it. We could do that anywhere, but we were pretty beat from seeing which of us could body-surf the furthest, and which of us was better at having waves break on him without getting knocked down. The two twelve packs of Coors Light were chilled and we started on them. I told Trev to watch it, he might not make his usual wrestling weight if he had too many and then I said "I know that" in harmony with him. We tried to avoid laughing, without success.
The hero in that movie cries. After it was over we discussed it, and Trev asked me how
I felt about men crying. I told him I hadn't cried since my grandmother's funeral three or four years ago. He hesitated for a second and said he did not cry in public but sometimes when he was alone at home, if he thought of something that had not gone well for him, he cried a little. I felt ok with getting personal and asked him if he minded telling me what triggered that. He said that the more his parents and other people praised him for being a top student and an athlete and a good person, the more he felt his life was worthless. He didn't elaborate and I didn't ask him to, because I knew he'd discuss it more when he felt comfortable doing it. Before long he did. He said that all his life, he'd lived for other people, to impress them, to make his family proud. He wanted a life free from those expectations. The difficult part, he said, was that the people with the expectations were the ones he cared about most. I tried to compare that to my feelings on the subject, but couldn't quite do it. Not because I didn't want to, but because it was just too deep for me to figure out. Give me a wrist to tape or a charley horse to work on and I'm good. Heavy, introspective thinking has always pretty much eluded me.
We'd gone through the first twelve pack and video games seemed wrong. He asked me if I know how to pop a dislocated shoulder into place, that had been his only sports injury. I told him the adult trainer would be the one to do that but I'd seen it done enough that I was sure I could. He asked me to demonstrate it on him, and I did. Except for handshakes and a few fake arm punches when one of us made a bad pun, I had not touched him. My beach plan to change that had fizzled, but now it would happen. We were wearing gym shorts, no shirts, typical Florida teen summer lounging/drinking attire. As I demonstrated the technique I could feel myself getting slightly hard so when I returned to the couch I re-positioned myself facing a little away from Trev. A little later, three beers later to be precise, he thanked me for showing him the shoulder thing again, and asked if I wanted him to show me a wrestling move or two. Apparently the student trainers at his old school were not into athletics. At my school we trainers threw footballs and baseballs, kicked soccer balls, and did a little wrestling with the guys on the team. They took it easy on us of course. The two times they pretty much insisted that me and the assistant trainer wrestle each other for real I sucked at it. But I knew most of the moves and was about to decline Trev's offer when my urge for more body contact with him kicked in. It was my turn to say "sure."
Trev told me to lie on the soft shag carpet face down, which lessened my fear that my shorts would be unable to contain what might be about to happen in them. He laid down on top of me, hooked his feet on the inside of my ankles, and stretched his legs apart. Mine went with his but being the outside pair, they were stretched wider. "Fuck dude, that hurts," I said. He offered to let me go, but I said I was ok. My crotch could handle this V position. If he got aggressive and tried to make it a U position, I'd cry uncle then. "This is called a grapevine," he said. "Cool," I replied, managing a forced laugh to show I was ok. I was more than ok. In my mind I painted a mental image in which Trev replaced one of the guys who had fucked me in a very similar position, minus the feet on ankles part. I realized something else too. The body contact was hot of course, but the mild pain seemed to make it even better. For a second I wondered if the next step in the progression be a trip to one of those places where women in leather outfits whip guys, then I realized it would be a man on man version of that. But I banished that distraction quickly and hoped Trev kept me grapevined until I said I could not take it any more. I had already decided that if it felt like he was about to release me, I'd ask him to keep doing it because I wanted to see how long I could take it.
I finally told him I'd had enough. He slapped me on the back, a typical "good game" gesture between athletes, although it had not been a competition. We laid on our backs and stared up at the ceiling, it had that bumpy texture that's popular here. The beer and the beach frolicking had taken its toll. We were exhausted. Time for small talk. "Nice grapevine Trev," I said. "Eh, I'm not that good at wrestling, more times than not I am the guy getting put in moves like that," he replied. "Honestly, I am not into wrestling, baseball is my sport." I asked him why he even bothered with wrestling. Ben said "I like team sports, plus some cool guys at my old school were only on the wrestling team and hanging out with them was fun." "Are you sure it isn't because rolling around with sweaty male bodies turns you on?" My big mouth gets me in trouble sometimes. This was one of those times. Trev sat up and put an arm under my thigh, the one closest to him, then he trapped my other leg with his legs. He rolled me over and my legs were straight up in the air, I looked like a human goalpost. "I'm not putting any pressure on this," he said, "if I did it would hurt a lot." Fuck. The dreaded U. "I was just kidding Trev, come on man, chill." He was right, being held this way did not hurt, but I could see how much it would if he wanted that to happen. I was about to ask him to let me go when I felt his free hand on my crotch. He rubbed for a couple of seconds and let me go. We both got up and sat on the couch, nowhere close to each other. Silence prevailed for what seemed like an hour but was only just a few minutes. I was the one who had just been stretched like a rubber band, but he was the one who looked like he was about to cry. "I don't know Chris, I don't fucking know. Just those couple of seconds did more for me than going all the way with girls ever has." "Right, you jocks do attract the ladies." "What's freaking me out is that I am not sure they are the ones I want to attract. Me, a jock. My Dad will be thrilled when the office conversation turns to how the offspring are doing and nobody makes eye contact with him. I'm really close to my grandfathers and both of them are retired cops. I'm totally fucked." Then Trev, drunk as he was, realized that when he let me go after the crotch rub, I did not react with the expected "what the fuck was that?" He looked at me differently than he ever had before. He started to cry. It looked like a hug was called for, but I weighed that thought against the chance he would take it the wrong way and I'd end up looking like a different letter, S maybe. I settled for an arm across his shoulders. Trev initiated a hug. He didn't squeeze.
After Trev regained his composure, he said "I'm sorry if the wrestling stuff hurt," "Well, the first thing did, a little, but it was ok. I almost liked it," I replied. He smiled and said "damn, we're a great pair, I'm turning gay and you're turning into a bondage freak." I smiled back, knowing he did not mean the second part of that. I decided I may as well be honest with him. "Cruising the internet about kinky sex like I guess everyone does," I said, "I saw some of that kind of stuff. It looked interesting." He seemed a little horrified so I assured him I would never consider going to a leather bar or bondage place for some of that action. Trev looked relieved. "Realizing I'm gay is something I will have to deal with, God knows how," he said. But I'll get through it ok. Seriously though Chris, do you really get some kind of sexual pleasure from pain? That sounds a little dangerous, maybe a lot." "I don't know what to think," I responded. "Like I said, I would never go to any of those weird places where that stuff gets done, but maybe with a special friend ........ " "Uh, Chris, no way am I going to put on leather clothes and whip you." "I was thinking of something tamer," I replied. He thought about that for a few seconds. "If you are serious," he replied, "I wouldn't mind doing it. I mean, what the fuck," he said with a big grin, "now that I know I'm queer, I may as well start doing kinky shit." He'd brought his iPad and we looked for "mild S & M" youTube vids. One got my attention. There were two candlesticks on the dining room table, and after a short hunt we found matches in one of the kitchen drawers. We put down two of the big beach towels, because getting candle wax on the expensive rug would be uncool. I laid down on them, he lit one of the candles, and our imitation of a scene we'd seen online began. Trev started just below my neck. The first drop of hot wax hurt like a bitch. But as he progressed down my back, each drop hurt a little less and the pleasure kicked up a notch. The last drop landed right above the waist of my gym shorts. I thought we were finished, but Trev continued to straddle me. He massaged my shoulders for a few seconds, then he removed the first wax deposit. He removed them all, slowly, giving me a brief massage after each one came off. When he got to the last one, he pulled my shorts down and off, stood up, and took off his. He grabbed my shoulders and gripped them as if they were the handle bars of a bicycle racing out of control down a steep hill. I could feel his hard cock searching for its target as it seemed to circle my hole. "I have condoms in my car," I said. "This time I'll risk it, there's no risk to you," he replied. I told him I'd been tested a few months ago, but you never know. He said "I know that."
The rest of our condo weekend pretty much served as make-up time for Trev. Let's just say that first visit to the beach was our last. We could have left the Playstation home. We invented our own games. My favorite was when we got into the two person Jacuzzi and bobbed for cocks. During one of the intervals between things like that, I told him what my plan had been if I got to put sunscreen on his back. He laughed and said he had fantasized about that too. But he had meant what he said about avoiding sunburn. He said he would have loved a sunscreen massage, but decided he'd forego the rush from that one time at the beach to protect his chances for multiple massages later if he made the wrestling team. He said we could do the beach thing again in the spring. It was my turn to laugh. I knew that up north the beaches shut down after Labor Day, which was coming up. "Dude, this ain't fucking Vermont, the beach season never ends here."
I added "and neither does the fucking season." He said "I know that."