The Trials of Dylan

L u s t

"SOMEBODY HELP ME," Dylan grunted softly.

Nathan raced over and lifted the barbell from his brother's chest. "Are you trying to kill yourself or what?! That's way too much weight for you to bench."

"It's what you're lifting!" Dylan was pissed because his bother was right. Each day he lifted less while his brother surged ahead. This is not the way it was supposed to be!

"Why don't you workout with Randy? You're lifting about the same. You can spot each other."

"But he's not even in high school yet."

"Look, it's just till you get back your strength. It won't take long."

"Sure, whatever you say," Dylan grumbled. Only his giving in wasn't because of anything Nathan said. It was because of the ache in his chest that still had him close to tears. And it was that fear of being pinned under that steel bar again— too frail to get it off— and no one around.

⁂
IT TOOK ABOUT a month. Most of Randy's come-ons went right over Dylan's head. He did notice the way the smaller boy's fingers lingered on his own arms and legs when he spotted him— and the way he grunted and strained to impress him. And it didn't get by him that at each workout the boy was stronger and more grownup. Randy was becoming a man.

These Dylan could battle.

But at night Randy crept into his dreams and from there into his daydreams. Dylan's struggle with his lust for the younger boy was over. Randy was now his obsession— that they would struggle mano-a-mano and Dylan would come out on top.

⁂
"HI." Dylan smiled standing outside the front door.

"Mom!" Randy shouted as he shut the front door behind Dylan. "Me and my friend are going up to my room."

"Another friend?" came a tired voice from the kitchen. "What do you boys do up there?"

"This way," Randy said softly.

Dylan followed the smaller teenager down the dark hall and into a rumpled room whose four walls were plastered with posters of angry and misunderstood rock stars, men with corded necks and sinewy arms.

"Nice digs," Dylan said.

"Have a seat on the bed."

Dylan pushed some debris aside and on to the floor then sat patiently while Randy locked the bedroom door and put on some anxious music.

⁂
"I'M SORRY," DYLAN whispered in defeat twenty minutes later.

"No problem." With an ease that frightened Dylan the twerp beneath him twisted. The next thing Dylan knew he was facing the cracked and peeling ceiling.

Randy straddled Dylan with his hairy legs. His callused hands clenched round the older boy's reed like wrists.

"Please Randy, not so—"

"Quiet."

The raw hunger in Randy's face scared Dylan and he was silent.

"Now, for this to work you have to want it as bad as I do. If you don't... Well, it won't be that much fun."

'For me,' Dylan finished in his head.

"Don't worry. I can give you what you want. It's just not what I expected."

This was not what Dylan had wanted at all. In his dreams he'd been the one on top pounding Randy till he whimpered in defeat and love. What was happening was too much like being trapped beneath that heavy barbell. "I—"

"Good."

Randy released Dylan's wrists, grabbed the tube of lubricant from the nightstand and squeezed out a healthy dollop onto two fingers. Then he slid his hand under and between Dylan's butt cheeks and shoved his slick fingers up and into him.

"You're nice and tight," Randy grinned.

That first trespass was followed by others equally uninvited—each cramming more of the cold gunk into the sophomore.

"Now, as for your prick?" Randy curled his lip at the sight of Dylan's indifferent penis, puny testicles and slack scrotum.

"Yes?"

"While I get rock's off you do whatever it is you need to do."

"But— Oh!"

Randy's cock felt absurdly hard and prodding within Dylan. It pressed against his balder making him want to pee. To distract himself he pulled at his own penis. It stretched long and elastic, his efforts having no other noticeable effect.

Randy used his might to roll Dylan's hips back, off the mattress and into the air. As he worked his erection within the older teen, he forced Dylan's legs apart and back until his spine curled in a tight C—one plump knee astride each petite ear.

"Harder," Dylan moaned, when the knob of Randy's prick thumped against the rear wall of his rectum.

"Good boy." Randy began to pound that one hot spot with each thump

'Thank God,' Dylan thought, growing more excited and wanting with each jab. He clutched his balls in one fist and tugged at his penis with the other. A colorless goo dripped from its pip— running between fingers— making his hands sticky.

"Oh... Nathan," Randy grunted and slammed his prick in so deep it curled back against the spine of the boy beneath him, straining his innards.

Dylan felt its hard throbs within, each a shadow of the one before. Then the sweaty twink on top of him collapsed heavily, drenched, and gasping.

"I'm sorry, Dylan. I just thought you'd be more like your big brother is all."

"It's okay." Dylan pulled the teen's head into the softness of his shoulder. Randy's crush was somehow comforting. "I understand. It's alright."

⁂
"LOOK DYLAN," MAXINE said. "I know you're bummed that you didn't make the team. But it's not the end of the world, you know."

"I guess." But to Dylan it was. 'How could I have fucked up so bad? Here I wanted to beat my little brother— be better than him. Instead, he makes the team and I'm too dumpy and fragile to even make second string. All I am is a big joke. Somebody to laugh at— somebody to feel sorry for.'

"You still want to help the team, don't you? And be at the games?"

"I suppose." Dylan stalled, not at all sure what he wanted.

"Well, I can use you. We're always looking for guys. To do lifts and stuff."

"A cheerleader? You're asking me to be a cheerleader?"

"It'll be good for you. Get your mind off your woes— meet fresh faces. It'll be fun."

"Fun?"

"Sure," she beamed. "You'll be with me."

Maxine was the only glint of light in Dylan's vast sky of gloomy gray. 'If I lose her, I don't know what I might do.'

"Okay."

"Great. Practice is every day right after school in the gymnastics room."