Dirty Little Secret Ch. 03

For the most part our conversation was easy-going; unserious. We made each other laugh. I loved seeing that huge grin light-up his face.

Then he said: "You know, John, they're going to find out about you...about you eating dinner with me...media people are paying students to spy on me."

A slight chill ran up my spine.

I thought for a moment then said, "So what? A friend of mine is in pain -- what type of person would turn his back on a friend in need?"

We continued eating in silence. My thoughts were everywhere.

Suddenly I wondered if this was to be the defining moment of my life.

Nothing was going to stop me now from standing side-by-side with Denny. I would make damn sure he didn't have to confront this horrible situation by himself.

It wasn't going to be Denny versus the World -- no, it would be Denny and me standing together staring into the icy-cold eyes of the whole world saying "Screw you! -- we're human beings and we expect to be treated with respect and dignity."

However this all concluded, I was a hundred percent certain that my mom and dad would finally know my dirty little secret.

A strange yet peaceful calm soothed my nerves and emotions.

"Did I see some chocolate cake?" I asked, smiling at Denny.

Killer the Linebacker was my last student of the night.

"Nice to see ya in the mess hall again, cutie-pie," he said. "Goldilocks could use a friend like you these days."

He was sincere, but his comment bothered me.

"Why can't you and the other players be his friends?" I asked him point blank.

"Ya gotta be kidding me, cutie-pie," he said with a look of wide-eyed astonishment. "I don't hang-out with fags -- neither do the other guys...."

Later, I asked Denny to walk with me to my apartment. He agreed. It was a beautiful night and we talked about everything except football and current events.

He abruptly stopped in the shadows, twenty-feet from my door.

"Would you like to come inside?" I asked him.

He hesitated then said, "John, you don't know what you're getting yourself into...."

I swallowed hard, paused, then replied, "Denny, I want to be with you...it's time I grow up...I'm tired of feeling ashamed of who I am -- I'm tired of my friends hiding in bushes afraid to be seen with me in the light of day...this isn't who we are...we're good people -- we're like anyone else -- we deserve to live our lives the way we want."

I took him by the hand and led him from the darkness into the light, slowly, unashamed. I unhurriedly opened first the building door then my apartment door. I truly didn't care if anyone saw us.

Once inside, we stood facing one another. We stared into each other's eyes. I put my arms around him and buried my face in his broad chest. He pulled me closer to him and caressed my hair and arms and shoulders.

I hugged him tightly, never wanting to let go. We gazed at each other and our faces slowly met. We kissed. His lips were warm and moist.

We both became aroused. I couldn't believe how happy it made me to feel his erection pressing against my belly.

Our kisses grew deeper; our tongues met with a familiarity that surprised me. He ground his hardness into my stomach.

This big, beautiful Norse God wanted me, desired me. My heart raced with joy and love for this wonderful man.

My hand found the outline of his cock in his slacks and slowly stroked it.

Oh my God! I marveled at its length and thickness; the heat from his crotch warmed my hand.

I could feel pre-cum from my own prick stain my briefs. I began trembling with anticipation: I had to see it -- I wanted to feel it in my hand -- I wanted to lavish kisses on his hardness -- taste him with my tongue.

I couldn't think -- I didn't want to think. I let my natural instincts take over.

I dropped to my knees and kissed the length of his hard cock thru his slacks. My hands expertly opened his belt and slacks.

Gone was any trembling or nervousness; I was driven by pure lust and love. I knew exactly what I wanted to do.

I slowly lowered his zipper and the sound it made was music to my ears. I couldn't believe how excited I became every time I lowered a man's zipper.

I may be a 'top' with Lane most of the time, but I knew in my heart this was where I truly belonged -- on my knees -- giving pleasure to a man I loved.

"J-John," he whispered, "...you don't have to—"

I interrupted him with one word: "Hushhhhh...."

My fingers hooked into the waistband of his slacks and I slowly lowered them. When I saw he was wearing plain, white Jockeys, I was mildly surprised -- I figured him to be a boxer kind-of-guy. I made a mental note to buy him boxer shorts for Christmas.

I pulled his slacks and underwear down until that long, thick piece of meat sprang into view. It was more beautiful than I'd dreamed it would be.

I pressed my lips to it; I kissed and licked its entire length then finished removing his slacks and jockeys. I discovered he was a 'natural blonde' with what little hair he had down there.

An audible gasp escaped from my lips as I gazed at the most beautiful cock I'd ever seen.

Perfection! I thought. Smooth and unblemished -- hard as an iron pole.

I licked at the pre-cum oozing from his slit; slightly salty, but rather pleasant in taste.

Then his huge scrotum caught my attention. I held his sac in one hand and marveled how heavy it was. I gently fingered his balls. They were the size of jumbo eggs; incredible! I had to kiss and lick them.

Denny's hips began swaying. I realized my hands and mouth were bringing him close to the brink. I was sure he hadn't had sex in some time, and his first climax would be very quick.

I pressed my nose to his scrotum, inhaled deeply, and when the rush of lust and adrenaline overtook me I sucked his cockhead into my mouth.

I moaned into his hot flesh as my lips and tongue caused him to thrust his prick deeper and with more urgency.

Lane had playfully said Denny's balls held a 'gallon of cum', and as I rolled and massaged them I realized perhaps that wasn't hyperbole. His 'equipment' was huge, and maybe what he stored inside would be extraordinary, as well.

My tongue never left his cock as my head bobbed back-and-forth on his hardness.

Denny's sighs and gasps turned into incessant moaning. I stroked his shaft faster and harder. I began sucking with wild abandon.

When his hips started to buck with short, staccato-like jerks, I closed my lips around his cockhead and tried to literally suck the cum out of him.

His large balls contracted in my hand; he shouted "OH JOHNNY -- OH JOHNNY" and I tasted his nectar for the first time.

The streams of semen he unloaded in my mouth were thick and plentiful. I lapped at his slit and tried to catch his cum on my tongue to make it easier to swallow.

There was so much spunk I couldn't swallow fast enough; it began pouring out of the sides of my mouth, running down my chin and falling to the floor below.

I gulped and gulped and gulped...I must have swallowed six mouthfuls of his jism before his body calmed, and his hard cock began to shrink inside my mouth.

My prick throbbed and twitched and demanded attention and I couldn't resist the urge: I squeezed and quickly stroked it four times then exploded with a mind-numbing climax of my own.

I licked him clean then gently held his cock and scrotum and looked up into his smiling face. I smiled back at him as ours eyes locked together and we gazed into each other's souls.

He bent over to pull up his clothing but I stopped him.

"Spend the night with me," I said breathlessly, feeling a deep hunger to be naked with him; to feel the weight of his heavy body on top of mine.

His smile went away as he stared at me.

"I can't...." he said softly.

"I'll set the alarm for four -- it'll still be dark outside when you leave, "I said, not telling him that that was my arrangement with Lane.

The pained expression on his face told me I had put him in an awkward spot. I didn't want to do that for my own selfish wants, so I backed off.

"See you at dinner tomorrow?" I asked, watching him get dressed.

"Yeah, maybe the food will actually be the right color tomorrow..." he answered and we both laughed.

I was able to get one last glimpse of his beautiful 'equipment' before he tucked it away inside his Jockeys. I became lightheaded and audibly sighed.

He gave me a quizzical look then kissed me.

"I'll see you tomorrow -- thank you for tonight," he whispered.

We hugged. I didn't want to let go, I didn't want him to leave. I wanted to be with him every waking moment of my life.

"All right," I finally said as I reluctantly broke our embrace. "See you at five...."

A few minutes later I was naked in bed trying to sleep but all I could think about was Denny.

His sense of humor and wonderful outlook on life; his beautiful, curly blonde hair, his chiseled good-looks, his hard, firm body...and of course, that steel-rod of flesh that jutted proudly out from his loins.

I could smell and taste him. The flavor of his semen was still fresh in my mouth. My hand that held his wonderful manhood tingled.

My erection tented-up the bedcover. I knew there was only one way I could get some sleep.

This time I stroked myself slowly with the image of his hard penis clear as day in my minds-eye; the rich, manly aroma from his scrotum burned into my nostrils.

When my balls finally erupted I cried out "OH-GOD---OH-GOD" before I stifled myself so as not to disturb my next door neighbor.

The next morning as I ate my usual cereal and fruit for breakfast, I went to the internet to read the news.

There, on the front page was a headline in large, bold font that read "FOOTBALL PLAYER SAYS GOD CREATED HOMOSEXUALITY".

The article was about Denny. Screeching alarms went off in my head. Cold shivers ran up-and-down my spine. I read the story three times before I could make sense out of it.

Apparently, the reporter interviewed Denny and asked for his thoughts about gays and religion. What he said made me wonder whether or not he knew he was talking with a reporter.

The most prominent quotes in the story attributed to Denny were:

"Jesus loves everyone...never making a distinction between races, genders, rich or poor people...as a matter-of-fact, he seemed to love poor people more than the moneychangers, and business people."

"If God created everything -- the heavens and earth, the plants and animals -- all life forms -- it stands to reason he created gay people, too..."

"Human beings, not God or Jesus wrote the laws we live by...why is marijuana, which has healing and medicinal purposes, illegal, while tobacco, which kills thousands every year, is legal?"

"God works in mysterious ways and has a purpose for everything...plants like oleanders, castor beans, hemlock, snakeroots and so on...they're all poisonous and can be deadly, but God created them for a reason -- part of his 'grand design.'..."

"If God is perfect and doesn't make mistakes -- it is logical to assume He has a reason and purpose for the existence of gay people..."

"A study at Yale University found that homosexuality exists in over 450 species of animals...it is not unique and limited to human beings...."

I stared at the screen dumbfounded. Why in the world would he make these statements to a reporter and open himself up to certain scorn and ridicule?

As I read it one more time something didn't seem quite right.

For one thing, I never heard Denny expound at length on any topic: he was a live-and-let-live kind of person who wouldn't criticize anyone else's lifestyle.

But more than that, the syntax and phrasing seemed all wrong. Denny didn't talk like this; he didn't say these things, he may have written them, but he definitely didn't make these comments to a reporter.

My call to Denny went straight to voicemail. I emailed him then went about getting ready for my classes.

I was lathered-up in the shower when I heard the phone ring. I shut-off the water and hastily patted myself dry as I rushed to answer the call.

I was disappointed when I read "Unknown" on my screen.

"Hello, this is John," I answered.

"John, this is Professor Van Dyke, we need to talk as soon as possible...when can you come to my office?"

"W-Well," I stuttered, "I only have two classes this morning -- I could be there at noon."

He paused then said: "You'll have to miss your first class -- some people want to speak with you. How soon can you get here?"

Uh-oh, I thought.

"I just got out of the shower...I guess I could be there in thirty minutes or so..." I said as alarm bells went off in my head.

"Good -- thirty minutes it is," he said curtly then the phone went dead.

A dull numbness overwhelmed me as I dressed and walked to Professor Van Dykes' office. I hated missing any class, and I couldn't figure out why 'they' wanted to see me, but in the back of my mind I was positive it had something to do with Denny.

Professor Van Dykes' assistant told me to "go right in."

The Professor was seated at the side of his desk; another man sat in the professor's chair behind the desk. I didn't recognize him. The man behind the desk spoke first.

"Thank you for coming...please, have a seat right here," he said, pointing at the chair across the desk from him.

He said, "I'm Mr. Hanson."

He made no effort to shake my hand.

"Do you know why we asked you to come here?" he said.

Of course I did, it had to be about Denny.

"No, I don't," I replied.

"Are you friends with Mr. Dennis Johnson?" he asked.

Dennis? I'd never heard him called 'Dennis' before.

"Yes, I am," I said, "...we share an office where we tutor students."

"Uh-huh," he said. "Besides tutoring together, would you consider him a close friend?"

"Well, ah...I'd like to think so," I said. I felt a slight blush spread across my face as I remembered the previous evening. "Sometimes we have dinner together and we talk."

The man's face was twisted and pock-marked, with cruel, thin lips.

"Do you do anything else -- 'together'?" he asked oddly.

I didn't like the sound of his voice. There was snarky intimation in his tone; he was prying into my personal life. What was his point?

"No, not really..." I said.

"So," he said, "you and Mr. Johnson are just 'casual friends', is that correct?"

"Yes," I replied, feeling an intense dislike for this man I'd never met before.

He leaned forward, elbows on the desk then asked: "And Lane Alexander...you and he are just 'casual friends' too?"

My face burned a bright crimson; beads of perspiration formed on my cheeks and forehead.

"I'm a 'friend' of his, yes," I replied as I stared at his evil face. He seemed to be enjoying himself at my expense.

"John," he said slowly shaking his head, "...let's get right to the core of the problem. You and Mr. Alexander are deeply involved in a homosexual relationship, are you not?"

I was stunned. First off, why were they bringing Lane into this? Secondly, the question itself was shockingly rude. What gave this guy the right to pry into my personal life?

For whatever reason, he wanted me to admit having sex with both Lane and Denny. I assumed he had already spoken with Lane or would be very soon. I couldn't bear the thought of hurting Lane. I thought of how Lane would answer that question.

"No, we're just friends," I said.

"Uh-huh," he replied.

I didn't care what people thought of me, but I'd be damned if I would let them use me to hurt Lane and Denny. My heart beat faster, but I refused to be intimidated by this man.

He opened a folder on the desk and pulled out what appeared to be a dozen or so photographs then slid them in front of me.

They were mostly photos of me opening my apartment building door for Lane. There were three photos that featured Denny. One of the photos was from last night. It clearly showed Denny and me holding hands as I led him to the door of my apartment.

OH MY GOD -- THEY'VE BEEN SPYING ON US!!

He then produced one more photo. I stared at it wondering what it was. Suddenly the hair on my neck stood straight and my body shivered when I recognized my massage table.

"You know, son, living in a campus apartment means we have the right to perform periodic housing checks...the man who inspected your apartment thought he had found some diabolical torture device..."

Mr. Hanson smiled then laughed out loud.

"I assured him the table is designed to provide everything EXCEPT pain -- unless of course, that is what the recipient desires," he said with a smirk on his face.

This was wrong on so many levels -- my heart was now in my throat --my mind spun out of control. The fear I felt was real. This was bad -- unimaginably bad.

"John," he said, "...this is not a witchhunt -- we're not here to condemn you or your lifestyle...we are here on behalf of the university...we're here to perform 'damage control' -- to try and contain the damage that has already been done to this great institution and its reputation."

The room seemed impossibly bright. I could barely see the man's face. Everything was in slow motion: I watched his lips move, and could hear his voice, but I could not bring myself to believe this was really happening.

His voice droned on-and-on.

"...the athletic department is very important to this university -- it is 'big business' and most of our donations and revenue comes from people supporting one sport or another...the football program alone brings in many millions of dollars...the athletic department funds and supports just about every project and all the other departments at this university -- including the math and computer science departments...the expensive equipment used in your own education is bought and paid for by the athletic department."

In the back of my mind I had always suspected that was true, but I never really gave it much thought.

"That said, let us come to the reason you're here today..." he continued, his voice softening. "...this whole matter with Mr. Johnson is hurting business -- donations have slowed to a trickle -- bad publicity hurts this university more than anything else -- it has immediate financial implications, and it hurts our prospects of recruiting the best high school athletes for our future financial well-being...."

I quickly glanced at Professor Van Dyke -- he wore a sad expression and his eyes were staring downward. A wave of fear and helplessness swept over me the likes I'd never experienced before in my life.

It was all too clear that wherever this man's monologue was taking him, it was definitely not going to bode well for Denny, Lane and myself.

"Son, you seem to be a smart young man, do you understand the position that you three boys have put us in?" he asked sincerely.

"Y-Yes, I know what you're saying, but---" I said before he interrupted.

"Mr. Johnson and Mr. Alexander are star athletes in their respective sports who garner national media attention which in turn translates into high school star athletes around the country wanting to come and play here which in turn guarantees this university a continuing flow of prestige and big money."

He lowered his voice and stared ominously into my eyes then said:

"Personally, I don't give a happy-monkey-fuck what people do in their bedrooms, but I'll be damned if I'll allow this great university to go down in flames because three boys with overactive hormones want to play slap-and-tickle with one another!"

I wanted to get in his face and tell him he was wrong. This wasn't some little game Denny, Lane and I was playing -- that I truly had deep feelings for both of them. He didn't give me a chance.

"Now here's how it's going to be: since you violated the terms of your employment contract with the university, you have been terminated from your position as Tutor...given that campus housing was part of your employment package -- you will need to vacate your apartment within 48 hours."