Jocks - Preview

Chapter 1 - The Blue Bandana

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I was an early bloomer, entering puberty shortly after my tenth birthday, but it was another year or so before I discovered the glories of pleasuring myself to a climax. Yeah, I heard older boys talking about it at school, but I thought it was all just talk, like their boasts about the girls they had supposedly fondled or fucked. In their dreams. Nobody really believed that anybody actually did that shit, did they? Might as well believe in the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy.

     Growing up on a small farm in Hilldale, Texas, between Waco and Austin, of course I knew all about sex…or so I thought. I mean, I witnessed chickens, goats, pigs, and sheep rutting until they collapsed, but who ever saw a goat jerk off? I mean, really?

     My name is Patrick Murphy, but everybody calls me Rick. My brother Mike is about seven years older than me, so even though I looked up to him, I never really learned stuff from him the way that guys do with brothers who are just one or two years older than they are. Mike and I were complete opposites back then. He was tall, strong, handsome, athletic, smart, outgoing, and, consequently, very popular—with the guys as well as the girls. I was a shy, awkward kid who didn’t make friends easily. When Mike graduated from high school, he went off to the University of Texas on an athletic scholarship, so we only saw him when he would come home for holidays or school breaks.

     One day when I got home from school, I set out to do my chores as usual. After I fed the chickens, pigs, and goats, I headed out to the pasture to check up on the sheep. As I broached a hill, I heard strange noises coming from the other side. At first, I thought maybe someone was hurt. As I crept closer, I saw someone leaning back against a tree with his two legs spread eagle. I knew it had to be Mike on the other side, and I almost called his name and ran to welcome him home, but at just that moment, he let out a grunt that was so loud even the sheep took notice. I saw a stream of white liquid spurt out to one side. I leaned over slightly and saw Mike with his hand on his stiff cock, jizz dripping from his right hand. Oh my god! It hit me like a ton of bricks. Guys really do jerk off! It was like that Christmas commercial when one of the animated candies discovers Santa Claus and gasps, “He really does exist!”

     Mike was facing the other way, of course, and didn’t see me, so, as he wiped the white gold from his hand with his bandana, I slipped back behind the hill and waited a few minutes for both of us to regain our composure. After a respectful pause, I crossed over the hill again, called out Mike’s name, and ran to embrace him as if nothing had happened, detecting a salty sweet aroma that I have never forgotten.

     The next day, Mike and I went out to the sheep pasture together and sat behind that same oak tree. Though I never mentioned the incident, my dick began to tingle as I recalled the scene. I tried to distract myself by focusing on the sheep when Mike pointed out that one of the rams had mounted a ewe and was humping hot and heavy. My dick began to inflate, and I thought I was going to die of embarressment. I tried every maneuver I could think of to conceal my shame, but, of course, Mike noticed the bulge in my crotch and chuckled, “Bro, you better do something about that before it blows a hole in your jeans.” With my face as red as a tomato, I stammer-ed until Mike finally reached out, put his hand on my shoulder, and said, “Champ (I loved it when he called me ‘champ’), it’s OK. We all do it. It’s no big deal. And anyway, it feels soooo good. Go for it!” With that, he squeezed my shoulder reassuringly one more time, turned, and walked back to the house.

     With that license to proceed, I started rubbing my dick through my jeans until I just couldn’t take it any longer. I practically tore my jeans apart trying to extract my throbbing cock. I pumped it like I had seen him do the day before, and, in no time at all, I shot off a huge load. I would love to say how good it felt, just as Mike said it would, but in all honestly, I was just shocked. I couldn’t believe what I had just done. It was like a whole new world had suddenly flung open and sucked me into it.

     Later, sitting across from me at the supper table, Mike threw me a slight wink, and I couldn’t hold back a sparkling smile.

     “What are you so animated about?” asked my dad. After stammering for a couple of seconds, I found my new confidence and replied, “Oh, nothing. I’m just glad to have Mike home again.” My mother said something about what a nice sentiment that was, and Mike and I just connected with our eyes. Gawd, I never loved my brother more than I did in that moment.

     After supper, Mike announced that he had a date and would be home late. I went to bed prepared to jack off again, and when I reached for a rag I had tossed onto the floor, I spotted it: Mike’s bandana. He had obviously left it for me. I jerked off again, but this time, there was less shock and more sensation. Man, it felt soooo good…just like Mike said it would. After I savored the moment, I wiped my hands with the rag, but then I grabbed Mike’s bandana and wiped the residue off my dick. Suddenly, I realized that that bandana created a bond between my brother and me. I never washed that bandana, and I treasure it to this day.

     The next morning, I woke up with another boner that just begged for relief. After I jerked off and cleaned up, I ran downstairs to see Mike. Dad was sitting in his usual spot at the kitchen table, and Mom was putting a platter of bacon and eggs in the center.

     “Did Mike oversleep? I’ll go get him,” I volun-teered enthusiastically.

     “He’s gone.” My dad was a man of few words.

     “What?” I asked.

     “He left early. Said he had to get back to the university. Something about football duties.”

     Dejected, I shuffled over to my seat at the table, but before I could sit down, Mom added, “He left a note for you on the coffee table.”

     I started to make a mad dash for the den when Dad snapped, “Sit down! Eat your breakfast. It ain’t goin’ nowhere.” I did as I was told, but I scarfed down my breakfast in record time.

     “May I be excused?” I asked.

     “Go ahead.”

     The note was just a single sheet of paper folded over and taped to seal it. I tore it open like a kid opening presents on Christmas morning. Mike had written just one sentence, a line from an old song, punctuated with little hand-drawn musical symbols in place of quotation marks: “Tie a yellow ribbon ‘round the old oak tree.” He signed it, “Your Bandana Bro.” He knew.

     That night, after I jerked off again, I fell asleep with Mike’s note tucked under my pillow. After all these years, I still have that note, encased in a protective plastic sleeve, in a box where I keep all my condoms, lube, and sex toys. And, of course, that bandana.

     From that day forward, I jerked off at least three times a day: every morning when I woke with a raging hard-on, every night when I went to bed, and every afternoon in the sheep pasture. Sometimes I even jerked off between classes in the boys’ bathroom at school.

     When I masturbated in the pasture, I started leaning against the oak tree with my legs spread eagle like I had seen Mike do. Each day I would try to see if I could shoot as far as he had, and afterwards I would wipe my hand clean with my bandana—mine, not the blue one he had given me—just as he had done with his.

 

  

Chapter 2 - Johnny

 

Our small-town high school, situated right in the middle of Hilldale, had only a few hundred students, and most of those lived within walking distance. A few of us were farm kids who rode the bus to and from school.

     Johnny Andersen was my age and in some of the same classes my freshman year, but he and I never really associated with each other. We just weren’t in the same clique. Hell, I wasn’t really in anybody’s clique. Johnny reminded me a lot of my brother Mike—athletic, popular, and so good-looking as to be disgusting. I hated him. With his blond/light brown hair, blue eyes, and cute little dimples, he was too handsome to be civilized. It was easy to see that in a few years he would be compared to a Norse god, but for now, I guess he was just a Norse prince. Unlike Mike, though, Johnny was just another pretty face and a dumb, stuck-up jock to me.

     One night after supper, the phone rang. It was Mrs. Andersen, Johnny’s mother, whom my mom knew from her garden club. Apparently, Mrs. Andersen had just learned that her aunt had died and that she and Mr. Andersen needed to leave for Shreveport first thing in the morning. She didn’t want Johnny to miss the algebra test we had the next day or the football game that weekend, so she asked Mom if he could stay with us for a few days. When Mom got off the phone and told me the news, I balked, and she snapped, “Patrick!” Oh, boy. My full given name. Here comes the hammer. “These folks need our help.”

     And my dad jumped in, “And you will treat our guest like the gentleman we raised you to be.”

     “Yes, sir. But where’s he gonna sleep?” I whined.

     “You’ve got a double bed,” my dad pointed out matter-of-factly. I fully expected him to remind me that Mike had often shared that bed with friends he had brought home from school, but, instead, Dad droned, “Or you could just sleep on the floor.”

Case closed.

      The next day, Johnny finished the algebra test a good 10 minutes before anyone else. Just as I thought: another dumb jock who probably just guessed at the answers. After the last bell, I got on the bus with an armload of textbooks and notebooks while Johnny followed me, carrying only his football, which he juggled incessantly. Though he sat beside me, he spent practically the whole time chatting with other kids around us. Feeling totally ignored, I just buried my face in one of my books.

     “This is where we get off,” I told him.

     “Cool” was all he said.

     As we walked across the field to our house, I concluded that it would be up to me to break the ice. Hell, it felt more like a glacier.

     “So, how do you think you did on the algebra test?” I asked.

     “OK, I guess.”

     Damn, you're not going to make this easy for me, are you? I decided to appeal to his interests. “Big game this weekend?”

     That was the magic word. He lit up like a Roman candle. I thought I would never get him to shut up. Truth be told, though, I thought he looked really cute when he got that animated.

     “Hey, wanna toss the ball around?” he asked when we approached our front porch.

     “Maybe later,” I said, “but first, I’ve gotta do my chores.”

     “Cool.” I guess that was his signature word.

     After I put my books into my room and changed into my farm clothes, I found him sitting on the front porch. I had expected to see him running around with his football, so I was shocked when he said, “Hey, if you’ll let me help you with the chores, maybe we can get done faster and have more time to play afterwards.”

     Oh, great! You’re  just gonna get in my way and make it take twice as long as it should.

     But it would have been rude to say no, and I was very pleasantly surprised when he really got to work. He had no qualms about getting his hands dirty, and we finished the chores in half the time.

     “Wow! You’re pretty good for a city boy,” I exclaimed.

     “I used to spend my summers helping my grandpa on his farm over in Salado,” he explained.

     “Cool,” I quipped.

     “Are you making fun of me?” he asked.

     “Hell yeah,” I shot back.

     I thought he was going to get mad, but seeing the slight smile on my lips and in my eyes, he burst out laughing, as did I.

     “You know, I had you pegged for just another stuffed-shirt nerd, but you’re actually kinda—”

     “Cool?” I interjected. We both laughed again.

     “Actually,” I confessed, “I thought you were just another stuck-up dumb jock, but you’re actually not so bad.”

     “Cool,” we chuckled in unison.

     I explained that I still had to look after the sheep before we could play, and he tagged along eagerly.

     It being a hot Indian Summer day, we shed our shirts as we sat under the oak tree. Soon, Johnny spotted a couple of the sheep copulating, and I noticed his crotch starting to expand.

     “Dude, you’d better do something about that,” I mimicked Mike, “before it blows a hole in your jeans.”

     I expected him to react with the same embar-rassment I had felt when Mike used that line on me. Imagine my surprise when, instead, he stood up, dropped his jeans, and said, “No shit, man. You really don’t mind?”

     “Uh, no, I guess not,” I stammered.

     As I started to look away to afford him some privacy, he asked, “Well, are you just gonna sit there and make me jerk off all by myself?” I had never masturbated with another guy before, so it felt a bit awkward, but when he dropped his underwear to reveal a thick stiffie, I began to get hard too and knew that I just had to free my aching cock from my tight jeans.

     “Jesus!” he exclaimed when I exposed my stiffie. “I thought I was big, but you’re hung like a horse, man. Here I thought you were just another cute nerd. Who knew you were actually a stud in disguise?”

     I had never really thought much about the size of my dick before. I mean, I had never seen another guy’s dick, except Mike’s, so I didn’t have anything to compare to, but I guess I really was pretty big.

     Then there was that other thing. Did he actually say that he thought I was cute? Hmm. I hadn’t really thought of myself as good looking. I was still in my shy, awkward stage.

     But I wasn’t very shy when Johnny and I started beating off. We watched each other intensely. I was surprised at the noises that sprang involuntarily from his mouth and the various faces he made, especially when he got close to climaxing. It hadn’t occurred to me until that moment, but I suddenly realized that I probably did the same thing. I made a mental note to inspect myself in a mirror the next time I jacked off.

     “Oh, fuck!” he screamed as he exploded. I was usually not so demonstrative, but not to be outdone, I screamed even louder with each of my own cum bursts, “Holy fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

     “Shit, man! Do you always shoot that far? I mean…dayum… that was twice as far as I shot.”

     “Practice, practice, practice,” I boasted.

     Johnny tried to change the subject as we reclined against the oak tree for another half hour, but our conversation quickly came back to sex. At first, we talked about girls and which ones we’d like to fuck. Somewhat to my surprise, our tastes in the opposite sex were quite similar. Eventually, we got back to the subject of masturbation. I told him about my first time, watching my brother and then following his example. He seemed surprised that I had been pleasuring myself for years since he had only jerked off for the first time last summer.

     “It was at football camp,” he said. “Some of the older guys had sneaked in some beer, and one night after they had gotten tipsy and uninhibited, one of them pulled out his dick and started to make like he was fucking his girlfriend. Some of the guys walked away, but others stayed to watch, and pretty soon we all had our dicks out and started wanking.”

     Johnny seemed surprised that I had never mas-turbated with another guy before. He said that he had jerked off with all the freshmen football players and several of the sophomores. He said they had often had shooting contests, “But after what I just saw,” he added, “I’d bet you’d win hands down.” I’m sure I blushed, but at the same time, I felt really proud.

     By that time, we were both rubbing our swelling cocks in our jeans again. I’m sure he was just as ready to jerk off again as I was, but I thought we really should get back to the house before my parents started to get suspicious.

     Just as it was a rule that I had to do my chores when I got home from school, it was also a rule in our house that I had to do my homework before supper. (‘Supper’ is what farm folks call the evening meal, what city folks call ‘dinner.’)

     Despite that rule, I convinced my parents to let Johnny and me go out and play some two-man football before the sun went down. Dad balked, but Mom convinced him that it would be all right. “Supper’s gonna be a little later tonight anyway,” she told him, “and he can do his homework after we eat.” I don’t know, but I suspect she just made that up to give me a little more time to get acquainted with Johnny.

     It being October, most of the crops had been harvested, so the field was barren, which gave Johnny and me plenty of room. At first, we just tossed the ball back and forth like Mike had done with me when I was little, but I could tell that Johnny wanted more, so I said, “Go long.” He looked at me like, “You’re a nerd, dude. You’re really gonna throw the ball that far?” But he had seen me shirtless, so he knew that I had some muscles, and off he went.

     I could tell right off the bat that Johnny was a very skilled athlete. Just like Mike, he had speed and agility like someone older.

     As Johnny ran across the field, I kept motioning for him to run farther and farther away. He glared at me dubiously but kept going. Finally, I threw him the bomb, and he caught it like it was destined for him. “Holy shit, man. Lucky shot,” he said while walking the ball back to me. “Bet you can’t do that again.”

     But, of course, I did do it again. And again. And again. After half a dozen perfect passes and an equal number of perfect catches, Johnny just froze and stared at me. “OK, but can you catch?”

     “Try me,” I boasted. I ran about 20 yards, and Johnny hit me with an easy pass. Tossing the ball back to him, I said just one word, “Farther.” Johnny threw a 40-yard pass, which I caught effortlessly. “Farther,” I demanded. Almost defiantly, Johnny threw a bomb clear down the length of the field. I had to leap high into the air to catch it, but catch it I did.

     “Hrmp,” Johnny snorted. If you could just play defense, you might actually be worth something.”

     “See that post?” I asked, pointing to one side of the field, “and that one?” (on the opposite side).

     Johnny nodded in the affirmative as if to say, “What of it?”

“That’s the goal line. I’ll throw you a short pass, and you try to get past me.”

Johnny snorted again but took off after the ball. He ran it back in a zigzag pattern, but I still caught him and brought him down. I must confess that his sweaty, naked torso felt really good against my body. We ran several more plays, and I tackled him every time, each time lingering atop his body a bit longer.

     “That was fucking amazing, dude. How did you learn to play football like that?”

     “From my brother, Mike,” I told him.

     “Hold on,” he flinched. “Mike? Mike Murphy? No way, dude. You’re not fuckin’ telling me that Michael Murphy is your damn brother! Mike Murphy…the All-American Mike Murphy at UT?”

     “Afraid so,” I said, feigning modesty but bursting with pride.

     “Holy shit! That guy is a football legend. Coach says he’s sure to be drafted by the pros in the first round this spring, and my dad agrees.”

     “Yeah, he’s hoping to get drafted by the Cowboys, but who knows?”

     We played a bit longer, switching roles. I would throw to him, and he would hit me. Neither of us ever missed a ball.

     “Damn, Rick. You could be just as good as your brother. You must have football in your genes. How come you’re not on our team? We could really use you.”

     I feigned a lack of interest, claiming that I wanted to focus more on academics. I was too embarrassed to tell him that our family just couldn’t afford to hire someone to pick up my chores if I stayed after school for football practice. The weather had not been good to us farmers the past couple of years, so as much as I wanted to follow in my brother’s illustrious footsteps, I had to accept the fact that it just wasn’t in the cards.