South Africa
Part 98

When I wasn't cycling, swimming, surfing, playing cricket at school, or partying with my buds and Candy, I was sleeping. That wasn't doing my schoolwork a whole bunch of good, so my folks were on my back about improving my grades. Now all I needed was for Kyle to find out, and give me a fucking earful as well.

Anyway, the most important thing was the Swim Gala the following weekend. I was determined that Kyle should beat the dude with the big head, so I drilled him every chance I got. I was waiting to ambush him on Saturday when he got home from work. He had Steph with him.

"Hey, Steph. Hey, Kyle... get your ass moving. We've got swim training."

"It's Saturday arvie [afternoon]."

"Steph," I pleaded, "tell him how important it is to train. He's getting all soft."

My eyes went straight to Kyle's crotch as Steph laid her open hand on it. "Just have to be patient, Wingnut. He's getting hard already."

I could feel the heat radiating from my crimson face... and even my neck. That chick really knew how to rattle my damn cage. "You know that's not what I meant," I insisted as both of the fuckers grinned at me. "He's swimming next weekend for the old boys, and there's somebody he's gotta beat."

Steph stayed with Kyle's folks for a bit of a natter while Kyle and I headed for the school. I'd forgotten to tell the coach about our training, so the gates were locked. No biggie. Teen rules. We jumped the wall to gain access.

Actually, while we were there, Kyle ended up training me more than himself. "You've gotta try to win your races, too, y'know."

But just before it was time to leave, I challenged him to a 50 meter sprint. "You're always going on about my talent, so how about putting it to the test?"

We stood on the blocks, did the whole arm-shaking, loosening-up thing, then dove in. I couldn't believe it. I was creaming my bro... well... for the first 25 meters. Then he took off like a rocket. Damn!

"If you'd won that," he laughed as he exited the pool, "I'd never hear the fucking end of it."

"Don't take on that fuckwit dude in the 50, Kyle. If I can do you in 25, he's gonna clobber you in 50 'cause when I swim with him, he leaves me behind at 10."

"I gave you a chance, but you're fast."

I shook the water from my hair, then towelled myself. I knew that Kyle would be gawking at me. He always gawked at me. But, hey, that was cool. He had a wicked bod as well, so I figured it was only natural for us to admire each other. What I didn't know was that he was sneaking up behind me. Suddenly, I'd been raised off the ground, and was being carried toward the water.

"Fuck off, Kyle! Put me down!" Yeah, well a lotta fucking good that did. *Splash*

We buggered around and wrestled for a while, giggling like a coupla schoolgirls, then Kyle managed to grab my Speedos and drag them off me. I tried to swim away, and made it as far as the wall. But just as I was about to lift myself outa the pool, he swam up behind me and grabbed me with one arm. Then I felt his free hand wrap itself around my semi. Whoa!

I stopped struggling. Hell, if he was gonna jack me, who was I to complain? So I just hung on the wall and let him go for it. His warm, muscular bod was pressed against my back as I began to fuck his fist. Totally unreal! There we were in the school pool, and I was getting a handjob. Woohoo! It was like some kinda taboo, which made it all the more thrilling.

Eventually, I felt the rush begin its awesome journey, and my whole body tensed. Boy juice floated to the surface as I buckled and grunted. I could feel my woody going totally ballistic in his hand as each wad exploded.

After I'd fired my final, juicy missile, I just hung there for a while, quivering. My breathing was really hectic... probably 'cause this experience was so unreal. Here in the pool? How rad was that? Until now, we'd only ever done this kinda thing in his room. This was the bomb!

"Thanks, Kyle. Jeez! Awesome handjob."

"Hmmm... you're getting pretty large in the toy department."

"It's a hassle, though."

"Fuck, bro... bet all the guys would like to have one like yours."

I lifted myself outa the pool, then turned. "What were you looking at?"

"Your rosebud."

"That's off limits, Kyle... I think. Anyway, I'm sick of guys passing comments about my dick. And I think Candy's scared of the fucking thing."

"Yeah, but she plays with it."

"I don't think she's gonna let me fuck her."

Kyle planted his flat hands on the wall, and heaved himself outa the water -- arm and shoulder muscles bulging -- then grabbed his towel. "Hey, stop being paranoid. I told you already, I doubt if any of your friends have fucked anything other than their hands. Maybe she's just not ready yet. Don't try to rush her, else you're gonna lose her. The main thing is that you guys are such good friends."

Kyle was towelling his spiky, black hair when I said, "I dunno. The guys are always talking about how they've fucked their girls, so I just join in the convo and lie about it."

"C'mon, Wingnut, they're just doing the same thing... probably to impress you more than anything."

"How old were you when you had your first girl fuck?"

"Girl fuck?"

"You know what I mean."

"Fifteen. She was a whore that Paul organized for me before he left for England. It was terrible."

"Does Steph know?" I giggled.

"I'm not sure if I've told her or not."

"So what's it like to have your dick inside a pussy? 'Cause some of the guys have told me how tender your cockhead gets in there."

"I guess some of them must've have done it, then... if they know that much. Either that, or they've got older friends who've told them about it, which is more likely."

"So what's it feel like?"

"You had to be there, Wingnut."

"Yeah, right. So how am I supposed to tell the guys that I've fucked Candy if I don't even know what it's like? Some big bro you are."

Sunday morning we went cycling again. Later, after we'd arrived home, Kyle felt like organizing his wardrobe... threw out a whole bunch of stuff, and gave it to me. "You're kidding, right?" I asked as I picked through his old ts. "Half of these are totally lamo."

"Then take the other half, dimwit."

That afternoon, we were back in the pool, and Kyle was saying how much he was enjoying it. He was concentrating on his best stroke, the butterfly, 'cause he figured he might be able to do something with it at the swim comp. I sure hoped so. I really wanted him to kick ass. Meantime, I was pretty chuffed 'cause he said I was cruising through the water like a human torpedo.

"Your training is paying off big time, Wingnut. Besides..." Then he paused to smile.

"Besides what?"

"You're fucking cute."

"Don't ever say that in front of the guys! OK? Cute? Yeah, right. Fucking hell!"

"What's wrong with cute? Candy thinks you're cute. Actually, she thinks I'm cute."

"That's different."

The weather during the week had been stinking hot, so that was another good reason to get into the pool. I was waiting on Tuesday for Kyle to get home from work, and he seemed pretty amped to get wet. Cool! Maybe, at last, he was taking the swim comp seriously. He needed to kick ass big time, and I was gonna make damn sure he did.

There were a few juniors in the pool when we arrived, and I was pretty chuffed to be walking in with Kyle. A lotta the juniors remembered the seniors from the previous year, which was a kickass season, so being with Kyle was totally cool. But it wasn't just being with Kyle that impressed the juniors. A lotta them thought I pumped iron or something. "Nope. It's just natural, dude."

During the walk home, I told Kyle about how totally stoked I was that some of the newer guys on the squad were asking me about him, and how come I got to hang with him.

"So I told them we're bros, right?" The fucker was ignoring me. "Right, Kyle?" He was still ignoring me. "Hey, shithead!" Then I backhanded him in the gut... hard.

"Yeah, cool," he laughed. "Hey, Wingnut, that hurt."

"Yeah... that's 'cause it was supposed to. We're bros, right?"

Kyle lifted his t, and examined the red mark on his stomach just above his belly button. "You're getting too damn strong. And cocky."

"Yeah... but we're bros."

"Yeah... we're bros."

"By the way, you've gotta help me with some math."

"Oh?"

"Yeah... I'm coming over after supper."

Actually, Kyle and his folks were still eating when I arrived, so I sat at the table next to my bro. Kyle's mom asked me if I'd like any grilled chicken and veg, but I explained that I'd already eaten. Then his dad started quizzing me about school and how it was going.

"It's going OK," I lied.

At this point, I think it's important to have Kyle's version of what followed after Wingnut had left. Mr.B

My dad told me later that Wingnut's mom had spoken to my mom about Wingnut's falling grades at school. He was barely getting through his subjects. Apparently, they were thinking about suspending him from swimming and cricket until his grades improved. My dad came into my room, and gave me both barrels.

"C'mon, dad! This is such a load of shit. The only thing that keeps him at school is his sport. You know what he's like."

"His mom was hoping that you could help him. When they try to talk to him, apparently he gets outa hand. He starts sulking, and becomes uncooperative. They're even thinking that he's taking drugs."

"He did, but he stopped a while back already."

"He's thirteen years old, Kyle. What the hell are you kids up to?"

"Hey, don't get heavy with me. I talked to him about it. He's stopped."

"He hasn't stopped drinking, though. And don't look at me like that. There's no difference between getting trashed on drugs or alcohol. And you're just as bad."

I just sat there at my desk for a few moments, dumbfounded. How the hell did we get into this convo? "OK, so now it's my fault that Wingnut gets trashed?"

"He looks up to you, Kyle. And if you do it, then it's cool."

"Is that why you really came in to speak to me, dad? About my drinking?"

"I came in to speak to you about Wingnut. All I'm saying is that he looks up to you. About your drinking? I don't say much, but you worry your mother and me sometimes."

"OK, fine. I'll speak to Wingnut."

OK, so what the hell was I supposed to say? It's not like my dad's a teetotaler or whatever they call it. OK, so he doesn't get carried home by his friends, but he's told me about some of the shit he and his buds used to get up to when he was a teen. And now I'm supposed to be a saint? I know I get trashed a lot, but it's not like I reach for the bottle as soon as I open my eyes. Anyway, it's normally only of a Friday or Saturday night. Fucking hell.

Copyright 2001 All rights reserved. mrbstories


 

 Wingnut Part 99