Adam and Kyle Ch. 02

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Hey everyone! This is chapter 2 of the Adam and Kyle Series. I hoope you enjoy!

Finals came and went. Okay, not really, they came, consumed our lives and ruined relationships, and then went. Either way, it was all worth it now that school was done with…forever. Okay, once again, not forever, but for a few short months until Kyle and I go off to UCLA. We made it! It turns out Zihlman didn’t give any crap to Kyle for his paper, so in essence, I didn’t really need to help him with it a few weeks ago, and the whole embarrassing incident could’ve been avoided. Although bitching about it now doesn’t really do much, the damage has been done. The funny thing is that Kyle doesn’t seem fazed at all. He stills jokes with me about being gay (that fucking bitch, Missy), but what teenage boys don’t joke about each others’ sexual orientation? Honest to God, at Thurgood, “Hey, fag” was the new “What’s up?” Anyway, he never brought up the incident again and he certainly doesn’t treat me any differently. It’s like it never happened. Me on the other hand, I’m completely baffled. I don’t know what this means. Am I gay? No, I can’t be. I find women attractive, yet am unable to have sex with them. I chalk it up to just being so emotionally connected to the guy; I mean, he’s been my best friend for 15 years and I had just ended my relationship with Missy (or so it seems), so I figured my mind was just on sensory overload and reacted like any health male teenager would’ve reacted if someone was rubbing against his package. Right? Right.

I didn’t want to sit around the house for the few months I had off and wallow in my sexual confusion, so I decided to get a job at Palms, the local recreational center, working as a “Tennis Instructor’s Assistant”. This title in itself was odd; I mean, why does a tennis instructor need an assistant? Regardless, the pay was great (for someone just out of high school) and I’d be surrounded by excellent sports facilities that I had full access to.

“Is there a racquetball court there?”


“A swimming pool?”


“A sauna?”

“Yes, damn it. They have everything there.”

“Okay, okay. Keep your dick in your pants…please.”

“Fuck you, asshole.”

Once again, Kyle’s ribbing had gotten the best of me. I had just finished my training and was in a lousy mood. This walk home was gonna be a long one if it continued this way.

“So, I mean, why the hell did you take a ‘Tennis Instructor’s Assistant’ job? When was the last time you actually played tennis? Freshman year?”

“Hey! I was pretty good at tennis. Obviously, if there had been a wrestling-related job I would’ve gone for it. I guess they needed someone quickly and since I have a lot of experience in sports, they figured I was the best bet. Besides, it’s $13.50 an hour and I get to ogle the goodies on all the tennis chicks.”

“Shit, you know I’ll be visiting you 24/7.”

“I don’t think Jenna would like that very much.”

He shot me a nervous glance.

“I’m just fucking with you!” He nervously chuckled. “Don’t tell Jenna I said that.”

I couldn’t hold back the snort of laughter that came out.

“I’m not kidding man! She’s become so damn possessive of me ever since she found out I wasn’t going to USC. She won’t let me go anywhere without her and she makes me call every hour, on the hour. Hell, she damn near ripped my head off when I told her I was gonna meet you at Palms and find out how your interview went. She swore I was meeting my ‘whore on the side’.”

“Pfft. And you said I was whipped when I was with Missy.”

I shuddered at the sound of her name.

After about 10 minutes of brisk walking, we arrived at Buster’s, the local pizza and beer joint. The fact that we were only 19 didn’t stop us from enjoying alcoholic beverages. Since Kyle had been a part time employee there since he was 14, we pretty much had full access to the bar, and Kyle’s rapport with Vince, the manager, gave us plenty of benefits.

We sat down at our usual corner table with its gaudy plaid tablecloth and worn-out red leather booth seats.

“Kenny, we’ll take the usual!” Kyle screamed across the way. “So, what’s up with you and her? Is it really over?”

“Missy? Uh…YEAH. She’s a damn psycho. And a nympho. I can’t keep up.”

“I heard she’s been asking about you. You know, what you’re up to and if you’re working.”

I hadn’t spoken with her since that fateful day in the bathroom. I didn’t even give her the obligatory hug at our graduation. It’s not that I hated her, I mean, you couldn’t really hate someone who looked like she does, but rather, I felt that our “relationship” had ran its course, and it was simply someone else’s turn.

“Who cares? The only thing I miss is my Letterman jacket I left in her room. That thing cost me a mint.”

“Here you go, guys. Two Buds and a cheese pizza.”

A young, handsome guy had come over and placed down the deliciously greasy pizza.

“Thanks man” replied Kyle. “I haven’t seen you around here? You new?”

“Yeah, actually. My family just güvenilir canlı bahis siteleri moved from Yuma and my dad’s a good friend of Vince’s so he hooked me up with a job as a menial pizza-serving waiter. The name’s Corey.”

“Good to meet you,” we both rang in unison.

“My name’s Kyle and this is Adam.”

I nodded in acknowledgement.

“I myself am a menial waiter here,” Kyle added.

“Oh, sorry man. I didn’t mean to offend—”

“—Ha! No, you didn’t offend me man, I know how it is. I’ve been working here since I was 14.”

At this point, their conversation was drowned out. I saw lips moving, but heard no words; I was too busy drinking in Corey. He too, was rather tall. I would say 6’2″. His short spiky jet-black hair seemed groomed to perfection. His eyebrows were handsomely thick, and perfectly complemented his icy-blue eyes. His square jaw was hypnotizing, so defined and cut; like it was carved out of a slab of marble. And those lips, so full and thick perfectly paired with a mouthful of perfect teeth that he was constantly flashing, and his face was only the beginning. That prominent Adam’s apple, tight pecs, what was sure to be washboard abs beneath his thin cotton t-shirt, damn-near perfects calves, and a fairly large bulge in his khaki board shorts—Wait. What?? What the hell is wrong with me?? What am I doing? Shit. I’m staring at the guy like he’s some hot chick. Maybe I should’ve taken the number of that therapist my mom wanted me to see.

“So what do you think, Ad?”

The question brought me back from my eye-raping session with Corey.


“Shit man, are you thinking about Eldridge’s tits again?”

This too, was a long-running joke that we had going. Mrs. Eldridge –being our 56 year old Government teacher—had tits that she could damn near trip over.

“You’re sick, asshole.”

“What I was saying, was if you’d be able to get Corey into that fancy tennis class of yours.”

“Uh, well, I don’t know. I haven’t even met the instructor yet and I think it would be kinda presumptuous to bring someone in and insist that they be enrolled. I mean, I’ll try and bring it up after I get to know the guy.”

“Aw, come on, I’m sure if you just, you know, do him a “favor” he’ll let Corey in aces.”

I felt the blood rushing to my face and go all the way to the tips of my ears. I was damn near about to slam his face into the greasy, untouched pizza on the table when I saw Corey smirk. I know that smirk. That’s the “I Know What You’re Talkin’ About” smirk.

I tried to think up a quip as fast as my brain would operate.

“Oh yeah? I’m sure if you…You’re the…”

“Yeah, yeah. Too slow. Whatever.”

I slumped back in my chair; a sign of resignation and defeat. I had been thoroughly embarrassed and beaten. Corey hung around for another minute or two before Kenny yelled for him to get his “GQ-looking ass over here and give the paying customers their pizza.”

Corey said his “See ya later”s and I nodded in acknowledgement, yet again. He started to walk away when suddenly I felt the urge to yell, “I’m not actually gay, by the way!”

Oh. God. Kyle starts howling with laughter and a few other customers snicker. Corey only flashes his perfect smile and salutes me. It’s official: I’m a damn idiot. Not only was I embarrassed, but now I was pissed. People were going to start believing this shit.

Once Corey was out of sight and I stopped receiving weird glances from the patrons in Busters, I reached across the table and punched Kyle square in the arm.

“OW! What was that for?!?”

As if he didn’t know.

“Dude, what the fuck?! That was humiliating!”

“Chill man, we’re all men here,” he said as he finally took a swig of his beer and rubbed the sore spot on his arm.

I feel like a kid in elementary school. You know the one I’m talking about. The teacher asks a question and the kid is so sure he has the right answer, so he just yells it out before some other greedy kid gets a chance to, but then realizes that he’s wrong once all the other kids start laughing at him. It’s a bad feeling.

“Whatever. You’re an ass.”

I get up to leave and throw a crumpled $10 bill on the table. Kyle is unfazed, as usual.

“See you after work tomorrow?”

“Fuck off.”

“Cool. I’ll pick you up at 6.”

Kyle is smiling, and so am I as I push through the dingy double glass doors. He is an ass, but he knows I’ll forgive him for pretty much anything.


I was halfway home when it started to rain, so I had to run a few blocks to avoid catching a cold. I arrived at the front door, panting and sweating even though it’s raining out.

“Mom! Ben! Anyone home?”

“I guess they’re still at the parent-teacher conference meeting,” I say to no one in particular.

Ben had been having problems socializing with other kids for as long as I can remember. I blame my dad for that. The asshole left my mom when she was 7 months pregnant with Ben, and when he was güvenilir illegal bahis siteleri born, she never had the chance to properly socialize him due to the fact that she was working 2 jobs and going to night school. I keep telling Ben that it’s just because he’s so damn smart, like Stephen Hawking or something– except for the whole wheelchair and robot-voice box thing—which is why he’s always separating himself; his brilliance gives him the right to be highly selective.

I run upstairs and kick off my wet tan chinos and throw my not-so-white Ralph Lauren shirt in the hamper. This was my only “nice outfit”. The outfit I wore to job interviews, weddings, funerals, school dances, and the like.

I turned on the shower and ran back into my bedroom for my dirty little vice. I jog over to my CD rack, grab my Motley Crue CD, open the case, and pull my “George Michael: Greatest Hits” CD from its deceptive case and pop it into the boombox in the bathroom. If anyone found out about this, I could kiss my so-called heterosexual title goodbye.

I put it on track 09, “Faith”, and stupidly jumped into the shower before testing the water one more.

“MOTHERFUCKER, that’s cold!”

After promptly turning up the hot water, I try to sing along with George as I do my best to dance in my tiny shower.

“Well I need someone to hold me, but I’ll wait for something more–“

I stop and realize how gay I’m acting at this moment, so I immediately stop singing and just stand there. I need to stop this.

I squeeze out a huge dollop of Herbal Essences (gay omen

?) and start massaging my scalp. I close my eyes and a groan of contentment escapes my throat. I begin to think about work tomorrow, but I can’t seem to focus. I keep thinking about the embarrassment at Buster’s, the people snickering, and Corey’s knowing smirk. His smirk…his perfect teeth, his washboard abs.

I don’t know what’s come over me but it feels like the blood is draining from one head to the other. My fingers wrap around my filling cock and I slowly begin to jerk off. Corey’s body…Those blue, blue eyes…those muscular arms…My breathing becomes faster. My hand is becoming a blur on my now rock-hard cock. He’s on his knees in front of me…he grabs my ass and puts my steel cock inches away from his lips…he licks the sweet nectar dripping from me…My knees are beginning to shake and I feel that all familiar feeling in my balls. He swallows me whole and I can feel my dick hitting the back of his throat…I grab his head and begin fucking it relentlessly…he groans in pleasure and slaps my ass in encouragement…”Oh baby, I love your cock… I want you to fuck me all night long… I want your cock up my tight little ass and I want you to come inside of me”…I can’t hold back anymore. Ropes of hot thick semen spray the shower wall and I have to grab the soap tray as my knees buckle so I don’t crack my head open if I actually collapse. My legs won’t stop trembling and my chest is still heaving as I slowly sit down in the tub. The hot water from the showerhead is getting a little bit colder, but I don’t care.

This was the most intense jerk-off session that I’ve had. And it was…thinking of a man. Holy shit. I am gay.

I can’t be. I CAN’T be.

The hot was has run out, but I can’t seem to get myself to get out of the tub.

After what seems to be hours, I finally get out of the tub, turn off the boombox, wrap a towel around my waist, and give myself a long hard look in the mirror and say it.

“I’m gay.”


“Hi, I’m a homosexual!”

I’m an idiot.

“I think about naked men and jerk off in my shower!”

I actually let out a giggle at this.

“Jesus, Adam. What’s wrong with you?” I say to myself.

Walking out of the bathroom, I feel like I’ve had some sort of epiphany; some sort of progress towards my sexual orientation declaration. But there’s only one way to be sure of it: the Internet! Oh come on, with all the reliable research to be done (gay porn websites, hours of cyber-sex, online communities that hook you up with literally thousands of willing participants that wanted nothing more than to help you get your rocks off, etc.), the internet would definitely help me solidify my existence.

The computer makes some sort of odd, whirring noise as it boots up.

“Piece of shit. Thanks again, dad, for the only thing you gave me; a 1991 IBM. Bastard.”

After about 15 minutes of odd noises, the computer finally logged me onto the world wide web.

“Where to start? Where to start?”

Gay porn? Too intense. Might scare me off. Local hook-ups? Way too intense. I may be ready to think about naked men, but I don’t know if I can actually see them.

I figure I should start off with what every other 12-48 year old pervert was doing:

“Cyber-sex it is.”

I couldn’t get the clap from a little dirty talk with some willing participants, and I wasn’t afraid of being discovered.

I click on the little “Chat” icon and a whole new window pops up. What the hell güvenilir bahis şirketleri is all this? “Gay Bears Chat”? “Gay Twinks Chat”? “S&M Gay Chat?” Who knew that being gay had so many different options?

After poring the long list of possible chat rooms, I stumbled upon a surprising Chat Room Title and actually laughed when I read it: “Am I gay? Chat” You’ve gotta be shitting me. It’s a sign, right?

Here goes nothing. The double click of the mouse opens up a new window where there are already several different conversations going on.

UnReAlBoDy17 says he’s having wet dreams about men in bicycle shorts.

Sk8rBoi87 says he gets “weird feelings down there” when he looks at this guy in his Chemistry class.

Who are these people? Since I don’t feel the need to put out any more sexual ambiguity, I type what I see as “basic information”.

AJD195: 19/m/Los Angeles

Within a matter of seconds, I’m barraged by several instant messages, all with messages akin to “How big is your cock?” or “Are you a top or bottom?” and “Do you use any toys?”

I dig through the IMs and find a seemingly innocuous one from someone called BBallerChris.

BBallerChris: Hey, how’s it going?

AJD195: Good, thx. And u?

BBallerChris: Good. Thx. So u r having a hard time figuring out if ur gay?

AJD195: Kinda. I had a weird experience with my close friend a few months ago and I keep thinking about this one guy’s body. It’s really weirding me out.

BBallerChris: O. I c. Well, I think I can help you.

AJD195: O yeah? How?

BBallerChris: Well, if you don’t want 2 burn in the fiery pitz of hell, you’ll stop thinking about sucking cok you dirty lil’ fagot.

What the hell? A religious fanatic who uses AIM talk and misspells such key words as ‘cock’ and ‘faggot’? Just my luck.

I guess trying the chat rooms was a mistake. I quickly close the IM and the chat box. To hell with it. I glance over at my bed and it’s looking unbelievably comfy to me. I throw off my towel, climb under the sheets, and manage one last glimpse at the clock before I drift to sleep. It’s only 6:38pm.



What the hell?


I look over at the clock; 8:42pm.

Only two hours have passed.


Anyone short of John Lennon rising from the dead wouldn’t be able to wake me from my sleepy stupor.

“Knock, knock!’

NO. FUCKING. WAY. That shrill voice could be only one person; the last person I ever wanted to see again.

I jump out of bed and quickly look around the room. Shit. Nowhere to hide. AND, I’m as naked as the day I was born. I decide in bed, under the sheets was the safest place for me to be (I don’t know how I came to this conclusion, but it seemed safe at the time). Maybe I could feign sleep, or illness? Oh God, no, then she would try to take care of me. I would just have to face her…Like a man.

The door creaked open and there she was in the skimpiest outfit I’d ever seen. “Baby, you left your jacket at my place.”

Any man, gay or straight, would have no choice but to look twice or three times at Missy if she had walked by. Her wavy auburn hair was done up in pigtails. The “Golddigger” halter top she was wearing seemed to be smothering her D-cup breasts, and ended just above her shiny belly ring which really brought attention to her perfect abs. Her tight denim ultra-mini skirt topped off her extra-long legs and black stilettos. She had slutted it up for me, I assume. She had strategically dressed to make any straight man stand and salute, and God help me, I was.

Why was this happening? Hadn’t I just come to the conclusion that I was gay? That I prefer rock hard chests to big bouncy breasts? But I mean really, I’m a 19 year old dude. I get a half-chub watching a bathing suit segment on QVC.

“I tried to call you earlier, but your line’s been busy since 6.”

Shit. I forgot to log off the internet. Ah; the joys of having a Dial-Up ISP.

“Thanks for bringing it back,” I managed to croak out.

She seductively placed my letterman jacket on the back of my computer chair.

Her back was facing me for what seemed like forever; plotting her next move, I supposed, when she suddenly whipped around and gave me her best “You know You Want to Fuck Me” look.

“Baby, you’re not still upset about what happened, are you?”

She began to approach me, fluttering her extra-long eyelashes.

“Uh…Missy…I think that…Well…what I said earlier…I still mean it. I’m just not ready to have sex with you.”

Somehow, at this point, she had teleported across the room and was now sitting on my bed, massaging my thigh through my navy-blue sheets.

“Oh baby. You don’t have to do anything you want to do. We don’t have to have sex, but I’ve been thinking about you for so long, and I came all the way out here to return your jacket. Doesn’t that mean something to you, baby?”

My heart was pounding, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop this. I was completely naked and felt like my dick could punch a hole through a brick wall. The last time I’d done anything physical with another person was the “wrestling incident” with Kyle a few months back. Before that, I couldn’t even remember when the last time I got a good blowjob was.

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