Pool wasn't something I excelled at but Greg certainly did. He could run the table at will but he chose to miss a shot from time to time so he could lean erotically against his stick while eyeballing my technique. I guess having a pool table in your basement did make it a lot easier for him. I'd have done better but for some reason I couldn't keep my mind on my game and therefore I mostly watched him shooting pool. His air of superiority was obvious as he danced around the table calling his shots while I sat patiently by waiting for his occasional miss.

Half way through the second game he unexpectedly took his T-shirt off. He extended his arms straight up over his head. The fluffy tufts of hair under his arms showed for a second. It was a lighter blond than the hair on his head, perhaps a shade or two lighter, but it was a quick look and the sweat might have changed the natural color.

There were tracks of similarly colored hair running just below his belly button, the "honey trail" disappearing at his belt buckle. They were sparse but evident. His pants hung low on his hips well below the waist I wasn't sure was there. His stomach was flat and refused to hold up his pants no matter how tight they were.

His shoulders were wider than what I would have expected, considering he was only two or three inches taller than I was. His arms had a fine definition with little or no bulging and they fit his thinner build perfectly. His chest showed surprising definition for his age and I found myself self-consciously looking at my own fixtures, noticing this boy was way better built than I was.

His nipples were the size of nickels, darker than light chocolate but not as dark as the bittersweet. They weren't completely round, being more oblong with an odd shine to the flesh when I caught more than a passing glance. They perked out a bit in an exciting display of boldness, but they weren't ostentatious or feminine in the least.

"Get comfortable," he said, pressing his package against the table as he considered his next shot.

The invitation was subtle and he didn't seem to care if I stripped off or not, but of course he wouldn't. Greg was a stud and he had everything a well-equipped stud needed, and he wasn't afraid to show it off. In fact he liked showing it off. Most of the guys my age were just then getting some kind of separation between chest and waist. Greg was already built like a man, lacking only a few pounds here and there to take his body over the final hump into manhood.

My eyes lingered for too long in places where I'd never let them linger before. Knowing what I knew about him, I knew that was stupid, but for some reason I didn't have the self-control around him that I'd always exercised around the boys I knew all my life. When I realized he was watching me watch him, I tried to stop looking at his chest, the bulge, those lips, and the deceptive warmth in his clear blue eyes.

I watched as he stood with his legs spread apart with the pool cue running up between them and across the bulge, and up through his right hand. He used his hips on the stick from time to time, pushing the bulge hard against the wood, rubbing it up and down just enough so I could tell he was humping it.

Greg even strutted while he was standing still. I sheepishly looked at the table wondering whose shot it might be when he caught me watching him use it on the stick. My diverted eyes somehow ended up on his pool cue again and in an understandable progression, I was watching as he rubbed it across the lengthening bulge with more exaggeration than before.

Each time he came away from a shot he was in a different state of arousal. The more difficult the shot and the more he studied it, the more likely he was to come away with a maximum display. Other shots were quick and it slid around in his jeans when it wasn't extending down the leg or pointing out to one side. He caught me staring at it on numerous occasions and I stopped trying to hide the fact I was enjoying the view. My own display rose and fell with the intensity he showed. He didn't seem to notice or if he did I never caught him.

Then there were the times my chair was in the way and he'd brush me with his arm or his leg as he posed or positioned himself. Only once did he pass behind me when I was positioning for a shot and I felt it as he rubbed it against me in a slow motion move that he apologized for, but only if he'd broken my concentration. I had no concentration as long as he was around. I looked back to check it's condition and position in his pants once he'd worked himself to the other side of where I was standing, and he hadn't found our physical contact any hindrance to his ongoing arousal as far as I could tell.

"You're low balls?" he said after one particularly long eye engagement

"I was thinking you had the low balls," I said, when he looked at me as thought he was serious.

"Low enough," he said. "Your shot."

"Yeah! Just looking for a shot," I said, with a very bad case of dry mouth.

"We could make this interesting, you know, since you get to play free. We ought to have a bet or something to make it interesting," Greg suggested.

"I only got six cents left from lunch," I said.

"Not money. I've already got my shirt off. We'll play strip pool. I'm at a big disadvantage. You've got enough clothes to hold out until it's time to quit. Who knows, you might get lucky and get a real good look, Martin."

I knew the answer was no, but then did I leave and if I left when would I get this chance to be this close to him again? I thought about the day I met Greg, and how I couldn't take my eyes off him. He knew what I was thinking all right. Greg had been around. He was a year ahead of me in school and a light year ahead of me in experience. I just wasn't sure what his game really was or where I would eventually fit into it.

I knew the answer was no but knowing what no might mean to the hope that I would be seeing more of Greg kept me from saying it. I searched for a polite way to decline this suggestion without creating the idea I wasn't interested in whatever it was that the strip pool game might be leading us toward. While that mystery bothered me, it didn't bother me as much as I thought it should. I wanted more but not knowing what more was kept me cautious but not too cautious.

"Is this what you do with Alfred and the farm boys?"

"Something like that."

"Something like that? There's more than stripping?"

"That's up to you. Some people like more. Some don't. You decide what you like."

"Strip pool? Your invention?"

"German boys taught me. Breaks the boredom. Funny how getting naked lightens everyone's mood. They do it while drinking beer."

"The party this weekend. This part of that?"

"Usually. Depends on the mood and what guys want to do."

"Farm boys?"

"Not usually. One or two come up now and again. Mostly air force brats like me. They're all cool enough, the ones I hang with anyway."

"No one I know?"

"Maybe Alfred. I haven't decided. He's cool but a little much at times."

Greg didn't seem to mind the questions. For the first time we talked normally, no stares, and we didn't create some super strain of energy that demanded you collide with something. I was communicating with a guy that threw me for a loop. I didn't have a clue what love was and I wasn't sure about liking people. It was all very complicated and painful.

I wasn't sure what the rules were or how you decided which people to like and which to leave alone. With Greg there were no decisions. It wasn't a question of yes or no. It was the question of how do I get to spend more time with him while looking like I wasn't a faggot which I was sure he thought I was, but then if I was, what the hell was he?

"Sure, I'm game."

Greg broke the next game and sunk the eight-ball, along with the cue ball. I don't know if he was that good and did it on purpose to break the ice or if it was by fate. I expected him to toss one of his shoes aside but instead he carefully unsnapped his jeans, sliding the zipper down in slow steady motion as he watched my face. He peeled the jeans off over his shoes and tossed them inside out into the corner.

His boxers were sparkling clean. The bulge was obvious and moved around when he moved. Each time I lost something, I was in more distress. When I finally lost my T-shirt, my own excitement became more evident. There was no way to push it or move it so it didn't show. He now got a good look at my skinny narrow chest, tiny waist, and the bulge that would not die.

It was then I felt like the fly that had just discovered he has landed on the spider's web. I kept trying to hide it down in-between my legs each time he was sizing up a shot, but it just refused to stay there, and he found my attempts to force it humorous. Every time I bent to take a shot, when I stood up, it was saluting him. He looked at it long enough to let me know he knew I was horny as he was. There was no prolonged interest beyond that or if there was he wasn't showing it.

"What happens when you win them all? You gonna make me go home naked? You know you're going to win. I know you're going to win."

This is the kind of question that comes to you as time goes on. I hadn't considered what the result of losing these games to Greg might be, but with only my pants and underwear left between me and glory, I wondered about it. At the pace my clothing was dropping by the wayside, it occurred to me that he might have a plan like that in his mind. Humiliation is a potent weapon in the toolbox of a sadistic boy.

"No. No. I'm not that cold hearted. We'll see if we can't work something out. You can do something for me to get me to give them back. Fair enough? I mean I could make you walk home naked if you lose them to me."

"Is this how the farm boys escape your basement with their clothes?"

"They aren't very good pool players. Play you got to pay don't they say."

"They've got to perform for you to get them back? Some of those guys look like they could get pretty mean."

"Perform? That's a neat word. I like that. Sometimes they ... perform. They're honorable guys and when they agree to terms, they pay up."

"Alfred?"

"He's too easy."

"In front of his friends?"

"They mostly come up together and so it limits what they'll do. It's when one of them comes back that it can get interesting. Farm boys just want to have fun."

"You always win? They always perform?"

"So far. A few come back claiming what they really want is a rematch. They're the most fun."

"I'm not a queer if that's how cool you're talking about."

It's not something I would have said to anyone else. It isn't a word I would use on anyone else I knew, but Greg had said it first, and I was becoming a little worried about the something he might have in mind for me to do. I might do anything with Greg he wanted, but I wasn't just going to dive for it. He was the kind of boy, once he got the upper hand, he'd never give you a chance to turn the tables on him. I was sure Greg wanted what he wanted and there was only so much he was going to pay to get it. There were still more questions than answers when it came to him.

"I didn't say you were, now did I?" he said, smirking. "I have trouble with my shoulders. You could give me a massage when you want your clothes back. That's when you decide you've had enough. Like I said, you go as far as you like. I just go along for the ride."

"And the performance."

"When possible," he said more seriously. "I'm easy."

"That's cool. I could do that," I said. "But nothing else, okay. I don't think I want to do more than that. I don't really know you."

"Sure, nothing more than that."

"Cool."

"You going to shoot today or what?"

I wasn't about to tell him I was already thinking about being able to touch his body. I became worried about making a mess in my jeans if I touched him. That's if I still had my jeans. What if I didn't? What if I made a mess in my underwear and he saw it?

My heart began to race with anticipation. I'd never really felt anyone else's skin before. Not in a way like I was going to get to feel his. I knew he'd give me any access I wanted but how far could I go without admitting something about myself I wasn't ready to let anyone else know about? How did I manage to get myself into this spider's trap? Had there ever been an option?

There was an immediate escalation in my expectation for this get together. If I was to have a heart attack, I hoped it would hold off until after I gave him the massage. I lined up another shot, trying to look as casual as possible, and then I accepted defeat gracefully. I didn't make much of an effort at getting my balls into his pockets and sat down to and took my time taking my jeans off over my bear feet.

"You rush your shots. You've got to draw lines with your eyes to figure out where the ball will go once you hit it. You need to take your time."

He seemed sincere in his criticism.

"I do that a lot. Rush! I'm just a kid you know?"

"Here, let me show you. Come on over here and take your cue."

He held out my stick and watched me fold my jeans neatly and place them in the middle of the chair. Even with my underwear on I felt naked when I turned around to face him. There was no way to hide it so I let it push out the front of my white briefs. I knew the leakage was probably a stain by now and so he was going to see it anyway. I was just going to go with it and try not to look any worse than I had to.

I took the cue while he set up my last botched shot which I hadn't really intended to make anyway.

"Now check your angles. Pick a pocket and decide how you need to strike your ball with the cue ball.

"My angles?"

I looked at the ball down the barrel of the cue and tried not to look out of the corner of my eye at the way the front of his boxers stuck out. I hit the ball without really seeing it and it bounced around and rolled into the middle of the table about an inch from where it had been before I moved it.

"Here, let me set it up again," he said, moving balls around.

He moved behind me and leaned over my back with his lips almost on my ear.

"Now, remember the angles. It's all in how you line up the cue ball on your ball. You know if you just clip the ball you'll get a big angle and if you hit it square you'll get a small angle. It'll come off the bumper at an equal angle according to how you strike the ball."

His chest barely brushed my back and my eyes closed and I was feeling warm all over. He reached across my back and rearranged the way I had the cue, placing his arms on top of mine. His chest now covered my entire back. He was sweating slightly and I could feel the dampness of his underarm on my shoulders. His face brushed mine ever so slightly as we studied the table.

His smell drifted into my nose and my eyes closed again. I was feeling dizzy and alive and wonderful.

"Line up your angles and I'll show you where you need to make contact with your ball."

He leaned forward forcing the front of his boxers into my thigh as he reached across the table, placing his finger right where he wanted me to hit the ball. I started to sweat. His face pressed against mine as he checked the angle again. I gasped as he stood up and away from me.

"Stroke it easy. One motion. Don't jerk your shots."

"Stroke it easy. Don't jerk it," I said.

"You've got a one track mind. Just shoot," he said.

"Just shoot," I repeated for him with the bulge in his boxers now right next to my face. "Just shoot. Right!"

"You're taking too long, Martin. When you line it up just go for it. They aren't going to move."

"Like this?" I asked, hitting the ball lightly and it ran out of gas four inches from the pocket we were lined up on.

"That's enough. It's getting late. I can show you next time. You don't concentrate. You need to concentrate."

When I stood up after the shot, he was turning at the same instant and the front of our underwear ended up colliding with a predictable result. We both hesitated keeping our mutual bulges engaged albeit through the material in our undershorts. I was surprised to see Greg looking at where we had come together. The power of our hard wired connection kept us pressing together as it sent an electric shock through me. I couldn't break the contact and for some reason Greg didn't until for several long seconds.

Greg seemed flustered once he backed away. It wasn't a shaky kind of flustered like I might have experienced, but it was obvious he had been thrown off his game for a minute. There was this incredible awkwardness that followed. It kept us from looking at each other as we went to neutral corners for the mandatory eight count. He grabbed his jeans and started to turn them right side out.

"The massage?" I said, not wanting to end it yet. "I can't go home like this. You said if I...."

Greg was standing back in the shadows so I couldn't see his face. He stepped forward and sat on the corner of the table, letting his jeans fall back onto the floor.

"I forgot you owed me."

He stretched out with his stomach pressed against the felt. I stood to one side looking at his golden skin. My fingers were frozen at my sides while perverted thoughts of what I wanted to do to him ran around inside my brain.

"Come on, get with it, we don't have all day. My father will be home soon. Just a quick once over."

"How do I? I mean I can't ..."

"Climb up on the table. You can't hurt it. It's slate."

I knelt in-between his legs and leaned forward over him. I moved my legs until they were snug against the bare skin of his inner thighs. I felt flushed and the temperature was rising fast - mine anyway. I leaned forward to take my first calculated feel of his lovely skin. His face rested on the back of his hands. He held his eyes closed and waited patiently for me to take my next shot.

Putting my hands tentatively on his shoulders, the skin was softer than I expected. It took me a second to realize I was really touching him. I used my thumbs to massage his muscles and I slipped my fingers over his gentle warm skin. My heart did a tap dance in my chest and I became enraptured by the feel of him and his sighs as my hands explored his flip side.

His muscles tensed as I felt them. I leaned forward to do his shoulders and the front of my briefs leaned on the back of his boxers. His eyes swung open and were filled with a substantial fire.

"Message only, thank you. If I ever get the urge to be cornholed, I'll notify you."

"Sorry," I said, easing myself off him and cursing my stupidity.

I wasn't invited to leave and I didn't offer but I was sure I found something I liked as much as I liked looking at him. He went back into his trance and I rubbed all the way down to his waistband, taking my time to memorize his body.

"Just push your fingers under,' he said, keeping his eyes closed.

"You said!"

"I said get your dick out of my ass. You can massage me there. It's part of what you owe. Don't be such a wimp, Martin."

I slipped my fingers into the back of his underwear before he was able to change his mind. They didn't stop until I felt the top of his crack. His legs tightened against mine when the tips of my fingers were working around the split. His ass felt as nice as it looked and my mind was lost in the feel of him.

"That okay?" I asked, swallowing hard and trying to figure out the lay of the land as my fingers dipped in and out of his crack.

"Yeah, fine. Don't talk, rub, you owe me and time's short. Get my legs."

I felt a bit odd fishing my fingers out of his underwear. I wondered what the hell I was doing there. His legs spread wide a part on the table and I backed down to about his knees as I traced the black hairs from half way down the inside of his thigh, up, up, up to where they entered his boxers. It was a sparse line and the darkest hair on him.

As I started to rub the back of his legs, I could see his balls lying there in the left leg hole. I used both of my hands on his right leg while watching them. There was hair, but not enough to distort my view, and as I leaned toward the left I could see the space behind his balls and more scattered blond hairs. I changed legs, gulped as I swallowed hard as I placed my hands in a position where I could take advantage of this over exposure.

When I had leaned forward to do his shoulders, it wasn't a calculated move to get a thrill from rubbing myself against the crack of his ass, but my next movements were all thought out ahead of time. I'd take giant steps and then pause, giving him time to rebuke me, and then if he hadn't cried foul, I'd take another leap into the unknown. What had come over me I didn't know, but my entire being was bent on having as much of Greg as I could get, and I wasn't sure where my plot ended and his begun.

I let the back of my hand rest against both of his balls all at once, being sure he'd tell me to get off as quickly as the contact was made. He remained silent and did not move. I acted like I was massaging him as the back of my hand moved around on one ball and then the other. He seemed to have fallen asleep by the time I got all ten fingers up inside the leg hole as I was feeling the most adorable skin. As I reached the point where his leg ended and his crotch started, I dug my fingers into the quite hard flesh, causing him to shift ever so slightly as he raised his left knee until it was wedged against the cushion. It was then, I could see his brown spot if I tilted my head a little to the left. I let all ten fingers work the four inches of flesh between his legs. It was an all consume activity and I prayed he wouldn't make me stop yet.

He got still as death with spittle leaking from between his lips and onto the back of his hand. I became more bold and let my fingers feel one ball and then the other before taking both of them in my hand. As I suspected he stirred from this coma when I was touching his testicles.

"Do what you were doing before, dude."

"What?"

"Behind my nuts. Do that some more."

Greg's voice seemed weak and a bit taut. He lifted his head while he spoke but he didn't make eye contact and placed his head back down immediately. He liked it. I liked it. What was there to worry about. I rubbed more vigorously and I could feel him pressing his hips down against the felt. He seemed to squirm as I spent long minutes rubbing and squeezing this ever more sensitive space.

When I got to the brown spot I decided I had to see what it felt like. I knew we were getting close to forbidden ground but he'd told me he liked it. It was only an inch from where my fingers were get a great response. I continued moving my fingers until my forefinger and second finger pushed on the middle of his hole. The rest of my fingers were feeling around to distract him from this escalation. At first I was surprised he didn't jump or growl and tell me to get my fingers back where he said, but there was absolutely no reaction that I could identify.

The next thing I knew he was pushing himself off the table and my fingers ended up on his balls. With his ass in the air he pivoted in his right arm and sat down with his ass on the table and me still halfway between his scissoring legs.

"I didn't say that. I didn't say touch that. Did I?"

His eyes sparked and his face was full of displeasure for the liberties I'd taken with him. I was surprised his admonishment didn't last longer or intensify. The eyes broke away from me as he checked where he was on the table. I was waiting for him to get off the table or tell me to, but instead he leaned back and placed his hands behind his head, spreading out across the table without further reprimand.

His legs brushed across mine as he got comfortable. He watched me carefully as though he thought I might steal something. Keeping his knees bent somewhat and his balls were hanging out in clear view. I didn't want to stare at them but there wasn't much I could do.

My hands were still between his legs and I started rubbing his right thigh without being asked. Once again he stared at me like he wanted to kick my ass big time. I no longer wanted to be there with him, but that didn't stop the back of my hand from being in contact with his balls before I had time to plan it. The spell had started to break and I wasn't sure what to do but touching him was too strong a potion for me to resist. He was drawing me in and didn't think I could resist.

We watched each other as my hands kept working on his skin.

"Higher," he said in a low invitation and he reached up to turn off the overhead lap that lit the table. Rays of light came in through the basement window and we were only partially in the shadows.

I came up on my knees and placed my hands on his stomach, keeping them flat against his stomach, I moved them up over his chest and up onto his shoulders. His head was back flat on the felt and the light made his eyes seem iridescent as my face moved over top of his. His legs shifted and the front of his shorts were against the front of mine. I gasped when I felt his steel dig into mine. I felt myself struggling to breath to stay in control.

My eyes were unable to come away from his, but my eyes were in the shadows and a dusty light hung just above his. He blinked and looked up at my face as neither of us moved.

"What do you want?"

"Want?"

"You know what you want. I know what you want."

His question was a challenge. His voice had a touch of evil in it. His eyes were different though. The anger and intensity had washed out of them. They still sparkled even in the fragments of light that , replaced by some curiosity I was not familiar with. I stayed on top, pressed hard against him only at the one place, feeling a rush of passion and lust coming from our connection.

My hands barely brushed his skin now. It wasn't a massage. I was feeling his skin, drawing the excitement out of it. My face was slowly drawing closer to his. Once again some force beyond my own reality took over and drove me to think of kissing this strange boy who had invaded my brain.

As my lips got within a few inches of his the light came on at the bottom of the stairs and just a few feet from where we lay. I heard footsteps on the stairs and pushed myself back off him, kneeling between his legs and looking up in a panic as my lust drained out of me.


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"Discovering Love" Copyright © 1 September 1997 OLYMPIA50. All rights reserved.
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