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Subject: High School Jerk (M/M Mast)
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This is a work of fiction, it isn't real.  It is intended for mature
audiences.                  




The Jerk From High School


    Amazing things happen after a few years go by.  The people you
used to hate change, as in this particular case that happen to me not
long ago.  It was a guy I used to know in high school who was a
complete jerk.  We never spoke much, but we played soccer together on
the school team, and sometimes it was impossible to avoid him.  But he
changed.

    I was in the Boston's Sporting Goods store, looking through the
jogging shorts on the rack, trying to find a pair in my size.  The 38s
were mingled in with the 36s and 40s, and rummaging through was
tedious.  But I eventually found my size, with the color I wanted, and
was holding them up to look at them when I heard a voice behind me
call my name.

    "Marty...Marty Bates, is that you?"

    I turned, and behind the rack of tank tops stood a guy I knew in
high school, Jake Plummer.  He was one of the second stringers on the
soccer team with me, and he was a jerk.  As I watched him walk toward
me to talk with me, I remembered the one scene during our high school
days as seniors with him that I'll never forget.

    I had forgotten something in my locker after practice and was
returning for it.  I thought I'd be the only one there, but I heard
the shower running.  I peeked around the corner of the wall to see who
it was, and it was Jake.  Obviously he stayed a little late to work on
some of his dribbling skills, and was taking a shower.  I didn't want
to say hello because he was a dick and I didn't like him very much.
Just as I was about to quietly turn away, I saw him reach for his
penis and start to play with it.  His torso was lathered up with soap,
so I thought he was just washing himself, but he began playing with
his limp penis in his fingers.  I stood quietly behind the wall,
watching him play with himself, his penis growing larger as the lather
thicken with his fingering.   His dick quickly hardened with the sudsy
stroking, and he began to masturbate in the shower.

    The splatter of the water against the tiles echoed through the
shower, drowning out some of Jake's moaning, but I could still hear
him as I watched.  He slowly stroked himself, working his hand up and
down his hard shaft.  I imagined he wanted to enjoy being alone in the
shower jerking off because his hand moved at a slow steady pace.  I
don't know if he thought he wouldn't get caught or didn't care if he
got caught masturbating the shower, but he was intent on enjoying
himself and his hard dick.

    I watched him for about five minutes, his hand never quickening,
but never stopping either, as he jerked off.  I felt my own dick
getting hard and straining against my pants, but didn't do anything
for fear of letting him know I was watching.  As he stroked, the
lather from the soap built up, and large dollups of suds plopped
loudly on the floor and washed away in the water.  He began to moan a
little loader as his maturbating went on.  Finally, his body began to
convulse as he neared orgasm.  Still with his hand moving at a slow
steady stroke, his orgasm swept through him and his semen shot from
his dick, through the air and landing in the water on the floor, only
to be swept away in the water.  I continued to watch as he came,
looking at the semen spurt into the water, and his manipulations
growing less and less as his penis began to grow limp.  Then as
quietly as I could, I left the lockerroom without picking up whatever
it was I came back for, but leaving with a memory I would never
forget.

    "Well, Marty, it's been a few years, hasn't it?" Jake asked,
sticking out his hand for a handshake.  

    I took it, shaking it, and saying, "Since high school."

    We talked for a bit, and he told me he left the city for a job
elsewhere, but was back on business.  I told him about myself, but he
didn't seem that interested in my life.  As we were about to say our
good-byes, he said that we should get together for drinks tonight at
the hotel bar.   Without thinking it over, I quickly said yes, and we
decided to meet at eight.

    I arrived about 15 minutes after, hoping he wouldn't be there, but
he was still waiting, nursing a drink in front of him.  He looked up
as saw me as I walked toward the table and sat down.  We greeted each
other, I ordered a drink and we talked.  Over the years he lost his
attitude and I was enjoying our conversation.  It mostly revolved
around our high school days and the girls we liked then.  He did most
of the talking about he girls because I never had one when I was in
high school, but I listened, because I remember the girls he talked
about and how good-looking they were.

    After a few drinks I was starting to feel light-headed, and all of
a sudden I found myself talking about the time I saw him in the
shower.

    "You know I saw you jerking off  in the shower after practice one
day," I said.

    "Really, you should have said something or joined me," he said
matter-of-factly.  "Lot of us guys used to do it all the time.  I
guess you just left too early."

    "Guess so."

    He smirked and took a sip of his drink.   "So you got me jerking
off."

    We chuckled a little, then we went silent.

    "Hey, you want to do it now?" he asked, poking at the ice in his
drink with his straw.

    "Do what now?"  Although I probably knew what he meant.

    "Well, we can go up to my room and jerk off together," he
explained.   "There's a liquor store down the street; I can go pick up
a bottle or two and we can jerk off in my room.  What'dya say?"

    "I don't know, I never...."

    "There's always a first time. That's all we'll do, watch each
other jerk off.  Hey, here's my room key.  Go up to it, get undressed
and I'll go get some booze.  We can get drunk and jerk off."

    I stared down into my drink, swirling the liquid, listening to the
ice clink against the side of the glass.  Finally, I shrugged and
said, "Sure, why not."

    "Great, go up to the room and I'll be there in about 20 minutes."
As he left the bar I  watched him go, downed the rest of my drink and
left the bar myself, passing through the lobby to the elevators, and
going up the the third floor.  His room was just three doors down from
the elevator, and I unlocked it and went in.  The room was still tidy,
except one of the beds was wrinkled up from where he sat.  Then I got
undressed and sat on the bed and watched television until he returned.

    It was about twenty minutes when I heard the knock on the door and
him saying it was him and to let him in.  I got up and opened the
door, standing behind it to hide my nudity from anyone who might be in
the hall.  He stepped passed me into the room and I closed the door.
He looked at me and remarked that he was glad to see me already naked,
then put the bag down on the table and took out two bottles of
alcohol, one rum and one whiskey.   He excused himself then went to
the bathroom to undress and urinate while I opened the rum and took a
swig.  I returned to the bed where I sat earlier and put the bottle on
the table next to the bed, spread my legs slightly apart so I could
start playing with myself when Jake got out of the bathroom.  In a few
minutes I heard the bathroom door open and Jake stepping out, naked as
I was.

    "Sorry, but I don't have the exquiste lube, but here's some baby
oil," he said, throwing me a small bottle of it, which was already
half empty.

    "I see you've already used most of it," I said, smiling.

    He picked up the bottle of whiskey, opened it and drank, then sat
on the other bed opposite me, opening his legs too.   He still had a
trim body but with the weight a guy normally puts on as he grew older.
But neither of us had a large gut, and our dicks were about the same
size.  His balls were a little larger and saggier than mine and would
probably bounce around more while he stroked his erection.

    "Well, what're you waiting for, lube up and start stroking," he
said, taking another swallow of whiskey.

    I opened the oil and dripped some on my hand and began working it
into my limp penis, letting Jake watch me play with my dick to get it
hard.  My dick began to grow harder, standing erect between my legs.
Then I liberally dripped some more oil onto my hand and passed him the
bottle so he could lube up his dick.  I worked the oil into my dick,
hearing the oil squish between my hard dick and hand and fingers as I
moved my hand up and down the now hard shaft of my dick.

    Jake did the same, oiling up his limp dick and playing with it to
get it hard enough to start stroking in earnest.  It didn't take long
for him to get hard.  In its erect position, his dick was a little
longer than mine, but not much though, and just as round.  I could
tell he really got into stroking his dick, because he was already
making oh-ing and aw-ing noised as he worked his shaft and fingered
its oily head.  And I watched him, his legs spread, his dick hard, his
hand gliding over the oily shaft.  He watched me too, my hand sliding
up and down my own hard dick, thumbing the head.

    "I like to jerk off at least an hour, Marty," he said, "so take it
slow."

    "Yeah," I replied, "I've done it for than long a couple times
too."

    "It feels too good having my hard dick in my hand and stroking it
to come quickly.  I really like to beat off like this.  And having you
watch me while I watch you, that's really hot," he said, playing with
his erection.

    "It's my first time doing this with another guy," I admitted,
"except for watching you in the shower way back when."

    "Watching another guy jerk off is great, isn't it?  I mean, look
at this," he said, directing my gaze between his open legs as his hand
glided up and down his oily shaft.

    "Yup," I agreed, watching him, and spreading my legs too, allowing
him to enjoy seeing me with my dick in my hand.

    For about the next two hours we jerked off together, watching each
other, talking about how good masturbation feels, remembering the
girls in high school that we wanted to fuck.   About three times
during that two hours we let our dicks go limp, watching them shrink,
then fingering them again and getting them hard, occasionally adding
more oil.   Finally, I was beginning to feel the increasing tension in
my crotch that all this stroking was doing, and told Jake that it was
time shoot my load.  I think he was feeling the same thing, because he
quickly agreed.

    Sitting across from each other on the separate beds, we spread our
legs for each other, giving up all modesty.  Slowly we worked our hand
in unison up and down our own hard dicks, the oil making squishing
sound.

    "Jerk yourself," Jake urged, "show me how a guy gets himself off."

    "Work it," I returned, "feel the burn of your hard dick."

    Our hands moved faster, but it didn't take but two or three more
strokes before we both went off.  Simultaneously we came, shoot our
loads on our own bodies, the sperm squirting all the way up to our
necks and chests, spilling over our stomacks and running down our oily
hands.   Although it was two men masturbating, the orgasm was as if
there were only one man stroking one dick which spurted the white
fluid over one torso.  I could feel him shutter as he came, and I'm
sure he could feel my quaking as well.  It was a few minutes before we
said anything, both of us breathing heavily, still stroking our oily
dicks, watching each other still fingering ourselves.

    After that night Jake and I got together whenever he came back
into town, which was about once a month.  He was here during a
three-day weekend once and all we did those three days as walk around
my apartment with nothing on, always playing with our dicks,
masturbating whenever we wanted to.  It all seemed so natural.

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