Sophomore Year

Sophomore Year 48

Hank's first Saturday at Buck's got off to a rollicking start between the early morning gym session and the boys' first swim team practice. The second half of his morning is no less stimulating as he admires Buck's mentoring skills and then helps him recruit some new `buddies' to the gym.

The pace of Hank's awakening quickens and his first weekend at Buck's is sure to end with a bang.

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Chapter 48

Zack and his pal Teddy chittered away like a pair of chipmunks the whole ride home. I could hear them in the back seat excitedly recount every detail of their very first swim practice; how silky the suits had felt on their balls, how it had tickled when Coach Sean wrote their assigned numbers on their hips, how the coach's suit had fit and how much detail could be seen when it got wet.

I must admit that I was buzzing too. Coach Sean had done such a phenomenal job of setting the right tone from the very start. Thanks to him the boys had overcome any shyness about wearing the competition suits around each other. He was teaching them that instead of embarrassment, they should feel pride about their peckers showing. It was an amazing transformation to witness.

His methods had worked on me as well. Initially awkward about wearing the uniform suit in front of the entire team, I ended up relishing the attention and admiration they showered over me as I strutted and flexed before them. I was becoming addicted to showing off to an appreciative audience and wondered when I'd get a chance to do it again.

I was also hoping for more time with Sean. Not only was he lots of fun, but, like I said, being a little older and more experienced, he seemed like the perfect guy to consult about some of my body issues and about how I was starting to get erections at all these weird times. Not to mention asking if what I'd heard that morning from Buck's buddies about cocksuckers sounded true to him.

Meanwhile, I felt particularly happy for Teddy. As another timid boy, I knew firsthand how miserably embarrassing stripping naked in a locker room could be and how cruelly other boys could tease. But thanks to Coach Ron's approach (and I liked to think I had some small supporting role), the boys had learned to feel a lot more relaxed about their developing bodies.

At one point, Zack and Teddy's voices dropped to a whisper, and I suspected they were comparing notes about how my own suit had fit when wet and viewed up close. Coach Sean had been quick to detect through the flimsy fabric that I was uncircumcised, and I was guessing these boys had not been far behind.

Finally, they leaned over the front seat giggling nervously. "Hey, Hank, can we ask ya somethin'?"

"Sure, men," I responded jauntily, imitating how Sean addressed the team, "what's on your minds?" For some reason, I felt much more confident and surer of myself with these boys than I did around guys my own age or older.

"Um..." their courage seemed to flag a bit now that their plan called for action. Zack launched forward with, "Uh, gosh, well, we really liked seein' you in your suit today."

"Well, thanks, men!" I answered cheerfully, "And I really like seeing you both in yours!"

"Really?" I had caught them off guard and they sounded surprised.

"Oh, yeah!" I enthused, "I was really impressed. You guys looked terrific, like a couple of real studs. And your suits fit perfect. They show off what men you're becoming." The boys started to giggle nervously again, unsure if maybe I was just teasing them.

"Seriously," I went on, "I expected to see a couple of little boys in those suits, cuz they show pretty much everything a man's got to show, but damn, you guys fill em out with what looks like some impressive equipment."

I was channeling everything I'd ever dreamed of hearing a coach say to me when I was their age, and I could tell it was having an effect on them both.

"You didn't think we were like...the smallest guys on the team?" Teddy's insecurities were persistent. I knew exactly what he was feeling.

"Heck, no!" I countered, "you guys were showin' some real man-size bulges in those suits. I wondered for a moment if maybe you'd stuffed a sock in there or something." The boys punched each other's arms in excitement hearing this. "And you were lookin' a little chubbed up at times, which is definitely cool, `cuz, y'know, grown men are not shy about showin' off to each other."

I looked in the rear-view mirror and Teddy's eyes were as big as saucers. I could tell this was music to his ears, so I kept it up. "Yeah, at one point, Teddy, you walked past Coach Sean and me with that half-swollen rod bouncing around in your suit and coach says to me, `Man, lucky girl who gets that between her legs!'"

Teddy's face lit up like a Christmas tree at hearing this. I knew exactly how much it meant at his tender age to be recognized and admired as a man by grown men. I had thirsted for it most of my adolescence and now that I was practically bathing in it at Buck's, my own self-assurance was swelling, just like the peckers that looked giftwrapped in these boys' silky suits.

Teddy's face suddenly deflated. "I sure wish we could take our suits home with us. I'd like to take a picture in mine and send it to my dad." Things got quiet in the car for a minute. Buck had explained to me earlier that Teddy's dad was in prison which helped me relate to this kid even more. An absent father figure could really damage a boy's self-confidence.

"I'll bet he'd be really proud to see how his son fills it out," I tried to strike a comforting note, "and I bet he'd show that photo off to all his buddies." I added, "Y'know, your teammate Zack here has a really cool suit at home that's sure to show off what a little man you're becoming, and I'll bet you guys would have a ton of fun taking turns trying it on. And then the captain next door can take a picture; he has a really nice camera."

"Yeah!" Zack was off and running with the idea. "It's like our team suits but has these white stripes on the sides and when ya get wet, they turn totally see-through. And it has this seam down the front that curves out and lets your stuff really bulge!"

Excitement returned to Teddy's face and Zack continued, "And we got one just like it for my dad and one for my brother Jack and last summer we all wore `em at the captain's pool. It was awesome! I'll show ya a picture in my room."

"Is your brother Jack gonna be home?" Teddy asked.

"Nah, he's in Springfield goin' to massage school." They both seemed a little disappointed. "But I still got his suit. Hey, maybe Hank'll wear it!" This possibility seemed to excite them both.

"I'd love to try it on," I said, remembering how much fun I'd had showing off in the team suit at practice that morning. I started to recall the excited looks on the boys' faces as I performed an impromptu muscle show in the skimpy suit.

Prolonging the delicious feeling, I coyly added, "That is, I mean, if you think I'd fill it out OK."

"Oh, yeah!" Zack almost shouted, "it'll fit you great. I bet you can even see..." Suddenly realizing he was about to mention my foreskin, he stopped himself. A burst of whispers exploded in the back seat, "Ask him! No, you ask him!" until Zack finally screwed up the courage.

Hanging over the seat once more, Zack put on a very serious face. "Hank, can I ask you somethin' personal?"

Stifling a laugh at his sudden gravitas, I said, "Of course, little bro, always," and tussled his hair, wondering how he would manage to phrase his next question.

"Well, we were wondering...y'see, we noticed that, um...in the pool... I mean, the way your suit... well, it looked like..." I felt sorry for the poor boy trying to get his question out, but I also found his bashfulness adorable and couldn't bring myself to interrupt.

He stumbled along a bit more until finally, mercy got the better of me and I helped him out. "Are you wondering if I'm circumcised or not, little bro?"

Zack heaved a huge sigh of relief. "Yeah, that's what we were wond'rin'." Then with a slightly worried look, "Is that OK to ask?"

"Of course, little bro, you can ask me anything. That's what big bros are for, right? And to answer your question, I am not circumcised, so what you probably noticed at the pool was my foreskin showing through my suit."

"I knew it!" the boys exclaimed to each other as though they had just solved a huge mystery. Then turning back to me, Zack bravely continued, "So, um, will you like show it to us sometime? We'd really like to see it!"

Oddly enough, even though for years I'd suffered from a crippling shyness about being naked around other guys, for some reason, the idea of showing these boys my foreskin was not terrifying. After the past couple of days I'd had, it was actually kind of titillating.

Still, I decided to play coy again. "That depends. Do you want to see it just to laugh at it and make fun of me for being different? A lot of kids did that, you know, when I was even younger than you guys. It really hurt my feelings."

"No, no, no!" the boys hastened to assure me. "We think it looks neat." "Hey," added Zack, "did you know the captain's not circumcised? Sometimes he wears these shorts with nothin' on under `em and when he sits down it hangs out and you can see his foreskin and everything. It's so cool."

"Hmm..." I sounded intrigued but then decided to play the opposing counsel for a moment. "And do you think he knows you're checking out his foreskin?"

"Oh, I don't know." Zack stopped to ponder, "Sometimes I think he knows and just doesn't care. I mean, most the guys around our house don't care who seems `em naked. My dad especially." I chuckled. After the past week with Buck, there was no way I could argue with that.

"Well," I bargained, "tell you what. You let me wear Jack's swimsuit in the pool and you guys can take a really good look at it wet and if you don't see everything as clear as you like, afterwards I'll wear a pair of shorts commando and maybe let things slip out. Sound like a deal?"

"Deal!" the boys cheered in unison. Their enthusiasm was contagious. Here I'd gone from panic at the idea of anyone seeing my foreskin to anticipation at showing it off for these curious boys.

Moments later we pulled up in front of Buck's. "Hey, I'm starvin'." Zack blurted. I wasn't surprised. There was something about swimming that really stoked a guy's appetite. "Any more of that chili left from last night?" he asked.

"We might need to save that for lunch." I cautioned. Even though it had already been an incredibly full day, it was still early, not even ten thirty, and lunch was hours away. "But I'll see what I can scrounge up for us."

We came in to find the main floor quiet and a note from Buck to me on the fridge, "Massage in session. Keep boys busy." Crumpling and tossing the note in the trash, I announced, "OK, you boys go change out of your nice clothes and get Teddy all settled in. I'll fix us something to eat. Sandwich sound OK?"

"Yeah!" they chorused then shot upstairs. As I busied myself in the kitchen, I could hear tumbling from the basement that sounded like almost like a wrestling match. The thumps and grunts built to a crescendo followed by a few moments of silence and then laughter.

I imagined rather than relaxing, Buck's massage must be very vigorous and really loosen up a guy's joints. I tried to picture getting one myself. Then I wondered what a client should wear for a massage. What did Buck?

Before my musings got very far, I heard someone go out the back door and then Buck's slow ponderous footsteps up the stairs. His pace lightened as he approached the kitchen where he paused in the doorway, a vision of beaming light.

Beneath a snowy white bathrobe, his skin shone from a generous coating of oil. Brightest of all was his ear-to-ear grin. "Man, that was some good chili last night!" he crowed, rubbing his bare belly.

Then planting his fists on his hips like a make-believe pirate, he joked, "And how did my brave lads fare in the stormy waters of the Y? Judging by that silly grin on your mug, I'd say not too bad."

My smile must have almost matched his watt for watt. Buck was clearly in a very playful mood, and I was still buzzed from being around Sean's energy. I could still feel it humming in my belly and in my balls. "It was pretty amazing, sir." I was eager to tell Buck all about it.

"Well, sounds like I'll wanna hear all the dirty details," he said as he fooled with his robe. Seeming dissatisfied with the knot in the belt, he loosened it and the robe fell open for a moment. Like a stage curtain it parted to reveal a very shiny and plump dick gleaming amidst a dense black bush.

My jaw dropped in surprise but Buck, who never appeared more comfortable than when standing naked before other men, looked oblivious and totally at ease as he casually retied the belt in a very relaxed knot.

"So, ya were quite the hit this mornin' with the buddies," he went on. "They're hopin' you'll shower with us next week." That bit of news stopped me cold. Fortunately, Buck added, "but I told em, Hey, easy on the kid, maybe just let `im watch from the sidelines to start.'"

That sounded like a brilliant plan to me, and I said as much with heartfelt appreciation. He continued, "A lot of em really liked your new lace-up shorts and were askin' me could I get em some. So, see? Already ya boostin' sales." He laughed.

"Hey," Buck suddenly noticed that I was wearing my denim cut-offs, "so where's the lace-ups? I wanted to hear what kinda reaction they gotcha at the Y."

"Oh, I don't know," I looked at the floor, "first day and all, I guess I just thought I'd play it...safe."

"Safe, huh?" Buck seemed amused by my response. Stepping closer, he slyly asked, "or were ya flashin' your jock pouch again, huh?" and before I knew it, he'd poked a finger up the hole in the crotch of my shorts, goosing my balls and making me squeal, my voice breaking into that embarrassing falsetto.

I jumped back, shaking my finger and head `no', almost paralyzed with laughter. But once he had you cornered like this, Buck could be relentless. Wagging his finger in threat towards my crotch, he teased, "Admit it, you loved showin' off your big sailor nuts to those gawkin' boys!"

I could barely catch my breath to protest. Taking advantage of my defenseless state, Buck closed in. I dropped both hands to protect my crotch. But Buck outmaneuvered me, tweaking the nipple that had slipped out of my shirt.

When I reflexively jerked my hands up to protect my chest, like lightning, Buck again wiggled his finger in my nut sack. "Bet they couldn't see straight after they got a look at these big bruisers, eh?"

Part of me loved the attention and the horseplay and I suppose I could have fought back harder to get away. "And the poor coach tryin' to teach em!" he whined in fake sympathy, "What'd he have to do to get their attention back?" and here in another lightning move Buck grabbed my dick through the denim, "take out his pecker and shake it at em?"

Once again, my young body had betrayed me. I suppose from the roughhousing, my shaft had already started swelling and was about half hard and grew quickly harder in Buck's grip. "Aw, what good would it a done im?" Buck feigned defeat but kept hold of my rod, "you'd a matched im inch for inch, no doubt about it."

It was incredibly exciting to feel another hand on my dick, and I knew Buck meant me no harm, but I also felt nervous and scared at what might happen next. My balls were so churned up I worried they might explode at any minute. In my panicked imagination I pictured my cum dripping off the kitchen ceiling.

Not that Buck had ever even remotely expressed disapproval or censure about jacking off or spilling jizz (except on the leather couch), but this was still both literally and figuratively virgin territory for me, so it was all scary and nerve-wracking to some degree.

Fortunately, a mounting ruckus from upstairs announced the approach of the boys. We separated and I quickly turned to face the counter, pressing my boner against a drawer. Buck took up position on the other side of the table.

"Oh, by the way," he added, again adjusting his robe, "I brought up a hamper full of damp towels. I'll take em up in a bit and get em started in the washer if you'll remember to put `em in the dryer when they're done."

I nodded compliantly, "You want me to put them in the washer too? I don't mind."

"Nah," he laughed, "Some of `em might be a little sticky, so I wanna be sure to use hot water and bleach." I was about to ask about why the towels would be sticky, but at that moment, the boys came bouncing into the kitchen. I was happily surprised to see both in just their briefs.

Zack made a beeline for his dad. "And how did my Zacky boy here behave at practice? Tear the whole place up?" Buck joked as he bent to pick up his boy and squeeze him in a bare-chested bear hug. Zack laughed as he wrapped his legs around his dad's waist.

"Does he need a little ass-paddlin' to set im straight?" Buck teased as he pulled down Zack's briefs in back and pretended that he couldn't quite reach around far enough to get in a good spank. "Wanna give me a hand there, Sailor, and whack im a good one?"

"Gladly," I cheered, and using both hands, I tapped out the drum solo from "Wipeout," a surf anthem still widely familiar at the time. Everyone hooted.

"What about you, young man?" Buck turned Zack's butt towards Teddy. "Wanna help teach this boy some manners?" Teddy laughed and jumped up landing a loud smack on Zack's behind. Zack cried in feigned pain though he was laughing along with the rest of us at this silly horseplay.

Planting a big loud smooch on Zack's forehead, Buck started lowering him to the floor. As the boy slid down his front, the loose tie of Buck's robe came undone, and the robe hung open for a few moments.

Teddy's eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head when he spied the fat, shiny dick, but Buck, as usual, was oblivious. He just casually retied his robe and then pulled back a chair and took a seat.

"So," Buck exclaimed, eyeing Teddy "this must be the swim coach. Tell me, sir, how'd my boy do in practice today? Give ya any trouble? If so, I'll put `im right over my knee." Buck then grabbed Zack, who was still nearby, laid him over his knee and started to pull down his briefs.

"No!" shrieked Zack in laughter, "Dad, this is my friend Teddy!"

Buck pretended to be incredulous. He was clearly in a very playful mood this morning. "With that build? And that bulge? You're tryin' to tell me that's a 13-year-old boy standin' there?"

"Yes, Daddy," Zack answered while Teddy just shook his head up and down, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

"Hmm," Buck acted as though seriously considering the possibility. "Flex for me," he commanded, and Teddy very shyly struck a double biceps flex. I was surprised and impressed by the size of his biceps. I guess I had fixated on our shared shyness and not noticed his muscles.

"Look at those guns!" Buck reacted, "No way he's just a kid. And look at those balls," Buck pointed at Teddy's crotch and both boys giggled nervously. Teddy quickly covered his front with both hands.

But Buck continued his outrageous teasing undeterred. "I'll bet they're bigger than mine. Waddya say we compare `em, huh?" Buck set Zack down and started to open his robe. As much as I was eager to see what Buck might do next, I also empathized with Teddy, who was practically trembling from nerves.

"Who wants a sandwich?" I interrupted and started setting them out on the table. Relieved, the boys pulled up a chair, Zack across from his dad and Teddy across from me.

"Jeez, I still got a belly full of that awesome chili you made us last night. But what the heck," Buck acted resigned as he took a bite out of his sandwich. The four of us sat for a few moments, chewing quietly.

I had been noticing all morning that as I moved, the rough sides of Jack's shirt I was wearing, cut like a narrow tank top, would flick across my nipples, sometimes catching and dragging across them. I enjoyed the sensation, and as I sat at the table, I experimented with shifting my shoulder back and forth to make it happen.

I was getting the technique down and starting to alternate sides when I happened to look up and saw Teddy staring laser-eyed at what I was doing. I suspected this would set off a whole series of questions in his mind about a man's nipples and how and why he might play with his own.

"Well," Buck broke the silence, acting as though finally convinced this was indeed Teddy, "it's very nice to meet you, Teddy. Make yourself at home. Sorry about the confusion. I just didn't realize you was gonna be such a bruiser. Looks like you've been liftin' some weights there, son, am I right?"

"Yes, sir" Teddy responded bashfully. "My dad's been learnin' from his buddy Titus..." he paused for a second and swallowed, "in prison. And they got me to start."

Poor Teddy was definitely not used to the spotlight. By way of support I jumped in, "Yeah, they say lifting with a buddy always helps." To Buck, I added, "And, sir, you should see how these boys filled out their racing suits."

"Oh, man," Buck wiped his face, "I'd love to see that. Well, you'll have to give us a little muscle show later on, how `bout that?" Teddy's face turned beet red. "Zack here'll be more than happy to join ya, right, Zacky Boy?" Zack smiled and playfully flexed his biceps, his mouth full of sandwich.

Buck's robe had opened by this point, though the table blocked any view below the waist. I could feel his knee pressed against mine, so knew he sat with his legs spread wide as was his custom. Suddenly, Zack dropped his napkin on the floor and ducked under the table to get it.

It seemed to take him a long time to return to his seat, which I thought a bit suspicious. As usual, Buck remained oblivious, asking questions about the morning practice. I did my best to concentrate on the conversation but was distracted as Zack apparently gestured to Teddy to drop his napkin next.

Teddy was soon under the table and seemed to take his time returning. Avid whispering between the boys followed. It did not seem very subtle. Next, they dropped their napkins in unison, and both ducked under the table.

I thought Buck might be annoyed if he realized their game, but as we spoke, he gave me a sly wink. I mimed a look of concern and glanced in their direction, as though asking if I should do something to get them out from under the table. But Buck gave a silent nod `no' and just kept chatting, now talking about how full he was.

I found Buck's patience indulgence of the boys' curiosity impressive and touching. Over the years I'd seen cases where a friend's father would curtly dismiss his son's questions or requests for demonstrations on the workings of the male anatomy and many coaches were not much better.

But I had already witnessed firsthand what a generous and easy-going teacher and mentor Buck could be. He always took time to listen to even my most awkward doubts about entering manhood and never hesitated to let me learn about a man's body through observation.

With the boys out of sight, Buck very casually reached between his legs to readjust and leisurely scratch his nuts. A burst of suppressed giggles floated up from under the table. And here I was, I mused, thinking I'd really given the boys a show at the pool in my clingy wet suit, while Buck was treating them to a real feature presentation.

It probably sounds silly, but for a moment I envied those boys the view they must have been enjoying and had to resist an urge to join them. What was it, I wondered, about the forbidden pleasure of spying on someone that made it so delicious.

Perhaps deciding that the boys had had their fill, Buck pushed away from the table and, retying his robe, thanked me for the sandwich. He announced he'd be returning to the gym to finish his workout. His `buddies' had kept him so busy that morning that he hadn't had enough time.

I followed him towards the stairs as he asked me if I'd mind sweeping up the gym floor in a bit. I replied that of course not, I would just finish up the few dishes from our snack and then I'd be downstairs right away.

"And then maybe we can show ya a couple lifts for your pecs," he added with a tweak to my nipple that once again had slipped out of my shirt. "Give ya even more to play with..." he winked. I blushed to think that he had noticed my little game at the table.

"And change back into those nice lace-ups we gotcha," he called over his shoulder, "nobody but nobody works out in my gym wearing blue jean cut-offs!" I laughed as he hauled the soiled towels up the stairs.

Zack called Teddy into the living room to show him some wrestling and muscle magazines. I stood behind the couch and watched them for a bit as they sat side by side paging through them and commenting on various athletes and comparing their trunks to their own competition swimsuits.

Teddy seemed to be having a great time and loosening up. "Hey," he said, "maybe coach would let us bring em home just one time and we could wear em to wrestle!" Zack agreed but added that meanwhile he had lots of cool stuff they could wrestle in, including just their underwear. Teddy seemed to find that a fun idea.

They looked so comfortable sitting there in just their briefs. I guessed Zack had already explained the `house uniform' for hanging out. I was tempted to pull off my cut-offs right then and there, but remembered I was wearing a jock strap, not briefs underneath.

Suddenly, images of a houseful of guys just hanging out in their jockstraps flooded my mind. It struck me as a little crazy at first, of course, but I couldn't let go of it for some reason. And it wasn't like it'd be such a big stretch in this house, which, as Jack had said, was already kind of like one big locker room. Still, I was not yet brave enough to initiate it.

Shortly after, Buck came back downstairs, now dressed for his workout. I was surprised to see that in addition to a cut off tank top he was wearing Jack's white shorts that had been hanging on the wall in my room. I thought those shorts were now mine, though I had no complaint about seeing Buck in them.

Those shorts were plenty snug on me so you can imagine how tight they fit Buck. Plus, the copious massage oil on his skin had soaked into them. The flimsy white fabric was stretched so thin and sheer, I could tell that he was wearing one of his favorite jock straps – a Duke – underneath.

In front the shorts clung so close you could make out the contours of the waffle texture of the jock pouch. In back the snow-white straps almost glowed in relief against the darker fur of his ass.

Buck came around the couch and stood in front of the boys for a moment, doing some warmup stretches as he reminded them that he was going to head down to the gym to finish his workout. Teddy took one look at Buck in those shorts and, like me, could barely take his eyes off them.

"We got some fun readin' material, huh?" he asked good-naturedly, nodding at the periodicals. "Even got some good titty magazines in the stack over there. Just don't tell your mom I letcha look at `em, OK?" Teddy's eyes seemed ready to pop out.

"Zack here knows em all by heart, right Zacky Boy?" Zack rolled his eyes in response. "Just make sure ya put a sheet down if ya gonna jack off to em. Don't need any more boy jizz on that poor couch!"

"Dad!" Zack cried in an exasperated tone, "I told ya that was Mr. Akins! I was just watchin'!"

"Well, I don't care if it's Hercules and Samson," he laughed, "put down a dang sheet!" With that Buck headed downstairs. Teddy looked over at Zack with his mouth agape. "What was that he's wearing? Under his shorts?"

"Oh, that's a jockstrap," Zack answered cooly. "Men wear those when they exercise. They're special for that. Wanna go see?"

"Yeah, my dad writes about wearin' one!" Teddy was off the couch like a rocket. It took me only a few minutes to finish with the dishes and follow them down to the gym. As we walked in, Buck was standing sideways to us, doing military presses with the barbell.

I paused on my way to the broom closet to watch Zack lead his friend right up to Buck and with his finger boldly trace the leg strap across the taut butt cheek. "This here is the leg strap." Zack calmly explained.

I think both Teddy and I were a little shocked at his freshness and half-expected a snarl from Buck. But without missing a beat, Buck amiably added, "And, if I put the damn thing on right, there should be another just like it on the other side."

Zack led his friend around and stopping briefly behind Buck, gently tugged up on the bit of jockstrap waistband extending above the shorts. Like an expert tour guide, he explained, "This is the waistband, and it's supposed to stick out in the back like this, so you know the man's wearing one."

Teddy nodded his head ever the attentive student. Continuing to the other side, Zack exclaimed like a happy treasure hunter, "See? Here it is! Now, you trace it. Is it OK, Dad, if Teddy traces it?"

"Of course it is. Teddy, go right ahead." Teddy looked in wonder as he traced the strap across the straining, flexing muscle. "That's it," Buck encouraged, "well done, Teddy."

Zack then asked his dad what exercise he was going to do next. "Why, son? Any preference?"

"Um, can you do the leg press machine, Dad?" Zack asked.

Buck brightly responded, "Sure, son. Be happy to."

I took advantage of the interval to retrieve the broom from the closet just past the trough urinal. On my way I overhead Zack gleefully exclaim, "Oh, goody," and then explain to Teddy, "For this one, he puts his feet up in the air and the leg straps stick out the back so you can really see `em up close."

With his set of military presses complete, Buck replaced the barbell on its rack and then walked over to the vertical leg press machine. By the time I returned with broom in hand, he was lying flat on his back with his legs bent over him, pumping the foot plate of the machine up and down.

As I had by then seen frequently, the leg straps of his jock protruded from under the shorts and were visible on both sides. Zack asked, "Dad, can you pause just a sec?"

"Sure, son." Buck seemed infinitely patient, with all the time in the world for this.

Zack once again traced the now-exposed strap on one side and then indicated his pal should do the same on the other. Teddy dutifully followed instructions, repeating Zack's actions slowly and carefully.

"Now," Zack looked like he relished his role as expert teacher, "sometimes, a strap can get all twisted around, right, Dad?" I started sweeping nearby but kept half an eye on the other on the scene before me.

"That's right, son. Go ahead and show him." Holding the two exposed ends, Zack twisted a few times and left the strap curled. Buck then asked, "You want me to straighten it out or do you want to, son?"

Zack considered the options then suggested, "How `bout you do this side and then we'll let Teddy do his, ok?"

"That sounds like a smart idea, son. Here goes. I just take a finger, usually this one," he extended his middle finger, "and slide it under like this." Demonstrating his technique, he explained, "and run it back and forth until I've got it nice and flat again. How'd I do, son? Look pretty good?"

Zack inserted his own finger and repeated what his dad has just done, affirming, "Yeah, Dad, it looks perfect. Now, you try, Teddy." His friend tentatively extended his finger but then hesitated. I empathized completely. It was one thing to run your finger over the shorts, but this would require touching bare skin right below a grown man's butt.

Sensing his pal's shyness, Zack suggested, "Why don't you guide him, Dad?"

"Sure," Buck responded gently and opened his hand near his butt. "Here, Teddy, let me hold your hand." He took hold of Teddy, extended his middle finger, and then inserted it under the strap, and ran it back and forth a few times. "See? Got the feel of it?"

"Yessir," Teddy answered with fresh confidence.

Seeming to read the boy's mind, Buck asked, "Wanna try it one more time but by yourself?"

"Oh, yessir! That would be great!" Teddy's face beamed with a smile.

Zack again twisted the strap, so it lay curled across the back of Buck's thigh and then stepped away so that his friend could practice his newfound skill. The tip of Teddy's tongue protruded from the side of his mouth as he concentrated on his task.

He took his time and slowly ran his finger repeatedly under the strap, even after it lay completely flat. Finally, he threw back his hands and cried `voila!' like an artist in a movie. That made us all laugh and clap at the same time. This was turning into a fun game.

"Hey, Dad," Zack asked next, "can you spread your feet out a little more? I want him to see where the straps connect to the pouch."

I feared we might be reaching the limits of Buck's patience, but he calmly responded, "Sure, son," and adjusted his feet as requested. He then asked warmly, "How's that? Is that good? Can you see everything OK?"

"Yeah, thanks, Dad," Zack enthused, saying out loud exactly what I was thinking: "That's perfect."

Then with his index fingers Zack traced both straps from where each attached at the side of the waistband slowly across each ass cheek towards the middle until his fingers touched at the base of the pouch. "See?" he asked his pal, who vigorously nodded `yes.' "Now, you wanna try? Dad, is it OK if Teddy traces them?"

"Of course, son." I wasn't sure I'd ever seen Buck so completely agreeable. "Go right ahead, Teddy. See how far you can trace them with your fingers. I just hope I don't cut a big old fart in your face." Buck joked, making us all laugh and easing tensions.

"Don't worry," Zack assured, "Dad farts all the time. Ya get used to it." He then gently guided Teddy to stand directly in front of his spread-eagled dad and from behind lifted his arms into position.

Teddy looked a bit hypnotized, as I myself felt. I paused in my sweeping and leaned on the broom to watch as Teddy slowly and gently traced the leg straps of Buck's jock from the waistband, across his flexed thighs to the target.

I think we had all been holding our breath and heaved a sigh of relief when his fingers reached the base of the pouch. Zack next asked, "Dad, can you spread your feet a little bit wider so I can show him the pouch better?"

I knew I should keep sweeping but couldn't move. I was glued to my spot as Buck spread his legs further out. "How's that, son?" he asked kindly. My brain was blowing circuits as I witnessed this easygoing rapport.

"Perfect, Dad. So..." and he turned to Teddy, pulling him closer as though to a laboratory bench, "the pouch runs along here." And with both hands he traced the outline of the pouch, from the point at the bottom where the straps connected, around Buck's balls which his fingers slid against in passing and then up to the waistband.

I was about to return to my sweeping but stopped when I noticed that Buck's dick was clearly detectable, lying in the pouch at six o'clock, as I'd learned to describe. Zack continued in his role as instructor, "Dad, can Teddy trace the pouch now?"

"Sure, son. He can't just take your word for it, can he?" Buck laughed good naturedly.

Again, Zack guided Teddy into position, and wide-eyed, Teddy tentatively traced as shown, but timidly, as I would have done in his situation, lightly skimming, barely touching, especially when near the precious spots.

"I don't think you're really tracing it, Teddy." Buck admonished. "Don't be shy now. If you're gonna do, then do really do it. Go ahead and use some pressure and trace it again."

Teddy took a deep breath and started anew. This time he was clearly applying more pressure and so couldn't help his fingers pressing into Buck's balls as they passed. Seemingly unfazed, Buck asked, "Now, that's better, isn't it? Could you feel it OK?" Teddy nodded, speechless.

Just when I'd thought this exercise could not become any more intimate, Zack asked, "Hey, Dad, put it at twelve o'clock, will ya?" I couldn't believe my ears.

But Buck acted as though it were the most mundane request in the world. "Sure son," he said and reached under the shorts, into his jock pouch and pulled his dick from pointing down over his nuts, to pointing straight up.

Since Buck was circumcised, the cleft at the bottom of his dickhead was now clearly visible through the jock pouch. I wondered how much more "tracing" today's lesson might involve, and my mouth went dry.

"So," Zack continued flippantly, "now with that fat dick of his out of the way, you can see the main purpose of the jockstrap," and Zack pointed to the base of the pouch with his index finger, "is to hold and protect these two hairy two testicles, here and here."

At that point, the starring role as professor had perhaps gone to Zack's head. Being a natural show off, he playfully landed a healthy jab in each of his dad's balls, the force of which made me catch my breath.

"Oww!" Buck's reaction was sudden and genuine. "Hey! What do we say about playin' around with Dad's nuts?" and here Buck sounded truly angry.

Zack's smugness evaporated instantly. He hung his head, "Oops, sorry, Dad."

"What do we say, Zachary Bryant?" Buck insisted.

Zack recited in a singsong, "Gentle force on the source. Treat `em nice or pay the price."

"That's right," Buck's tone started to soften, probably as the pain in his balls subsided. "Now, let's see a little nice."

Head still hung in apology, with his finger Zack drew little circles as gentle as a whisper at the base of his dad's left nut.

Buck sighed at the soft caress and nodded. "And what about the other one?" Zack repeated his gesture on the right. Even though we were both awe-struck by the nature of the punishment, I don't think either Teddy or I could have denied its fairness.

Just when we supposed the matter settled, Buck asked, "And what is it Daddy always does when you have a boo-boo?"

Zack continued to hang his head, seeming genuinely contrite. He again recited in a singsong, "Kiss it and make it feel better."

Both Teddy and I gasped at hearing this, but Buck was unfazed. "Well, whaddya waitin' for?" As Teddy and I looked on stupefied, Zack bent forward between Buck's upraised legs and planted delicate little kisses on each of his dad's nuts. His task done, he stood up with a proud smile.

"Now that's more like it," Buck seemed mollified. "A man's balls deserve the utmost respect and protection. Don't ever forget that."

A moment of silence passed as we absorbed the lesson we'd just observed. Buck's attitude continued to soften. He lowered his legs and stood up from the machine and pulled his son close.

"Seriously," he placed an affectionate arm around Zack's shoulder, "I never gave my nuts that much thought until I saw somethin' as wonderful as my boys come out of em, and that's why I treat em special and you should too, son."

"Yes, Dad," Zack wrapped an arm around his dad's waist. "Your nuts are just about my favorite part of ya." His tone was sincere, "and they're smellin' really strong today," he laughed, breaking the tension.

"Tell ya what, Zacky," Buck suggested to move things along, "why doncha bring over one of the jocks from the Rack so Teddy can see one close up?" Zack perked up at this new mission and took off like a shot, returning like an eager retriever with his prize.

"I got Hal's, Dad," he exclaimed proudly holding it up with both hands.

"Good choice, son," Buck smiled, "distinctive trace of his nuts but not too pungent. We don't want poor Teddy passin' out on us," he laughed.

Teddy looked a little confused and Zack gladly explained, "Yeah, men's balls get all sweaty when they exercise and get a special smell that stays on the jockstrap, especially the pouch." Zack demonstrated by holding the pouch to his face and taking a deep breath.

Teddy's eyes were huge as he watched. Zack then held the pouch over Teddy's nose and instructed him to take a good sniff. "Yeah," Buck stepped close and gently placed his hand on the back of Teddy's head, "that's it, son, breathe it in."

I watched as Teddy took a deep breath and realized I was taking one too. Almost at once his eyes glazed over. He indeed looked like he was almost about to pass out. Buck held his arms in support and cooed, "That's the pure scent of manhood right there, son."

Teddy moaned softly. Buck went on, "And one day, your balls are gonna have a strong scent of their own. And when ya sweat, it's gonna soak into your jockstrap and mark it as yours and yours alone. `Cuz that's all part of bein' a man."

"So..." Teddy took a minute to let Buck's words sink in and then his eyes grew big, "does that mean my dad's balls are gonna have their own smell?"

"That's right, little buddy," Buck threw his arm around the boy's shoulder and pulled him close, "And just think about when he gets out next year and you get to smell `em for the first time! I betcha never forget it!"

Teddy slowly came to and was able to stand on his own. Noting his quick recovery Buck said, "Let Teddy hold the `strap, son, so he can see for himself." Zack almost reluctantly handed it over. Teddy took it in his hands tenderly, as though it were fragile.

"Now, don't worry, Teddy," Buck encouraged, "you're not gonna break it. Pull on it a little. Test the stretch." Teddy hesitantly followed the instructions. "Tell me, son," Buck now sounded like the teacher, "which part feels the stretchiest to you?"

Teddy tugged on it at different points and concluded, "The leg straps."

"Excellent!" Buck approved, "Indeed, the leg straps. Makes sense, right, since they're the thinnest part. And the most prone to stretching out. Nothing worse than droopy leg straps on a jock! That's a sign it's time to retire it and look for a replacement."

Teddy nodded along, glancing between the strap he held and Buck, who continued, "But a guy can get really attached to his jock makin' it sad to put it away." Teddy seemed to absorb this part of the dynamic between a man and his jockstrap.

"Now," Buck went on, "what do you think is the strongest part?"

Teddy again pulled and tested different parts of Hal's jockstrap. "The waistband?" he ventured.

"Right again!" Buck was the perfect coach. "It's got to hold that pouch up and maintain the tension that keeps your nuts secure. Now, take a close look at the pouch. How does it feel?"

Teddy turned his attention to the pouch running his fingers along it and stretching it this way and that. "It's not as soft as underwear," was his first reaction, "but it's not too scratchy either." Teddy looked at Buck waiting for his reaction.

"You're right," Buck agreed, "it's not as soft as briefs and that's cuz it has to be stronger to keep your balls from bouncin' around too much when you're playin' sports. But it can't be too scratchy cuz your balls are real sensitive, and we wanna keep `em that way, right?"

Teddy looked at Buck wanting to hear more. "Well, y'know how good it feels when you tickle your nuts with something silky or soft like a feather, especially when ya jerkin' off?" Teddy froze like a stone, but Buck went on very naturally, "No? Ya oughta try it next time. Amazin'!"

I almost dropped the broom at that last remark, but then realized it was probably much healthier to approach masturbation openly than promoting a sense of secrecy and shame that most boys grew up with.

Sensing it was time to shift gears, Buck said, "OK, I'm gonna get back to liftin'. You boys go inspect all the jocks on the Jock Rack and compare `em to each other. Then come back and tell us what you learned."

Excited with their new assignment, the boys skipped off towards the Rack. Buck hollered after them, "But leave em all in the exact same place ya found em, hear? Don't go movin' `em around!"

I went back to sweeping and Buck to lifting. After about twenty minutes, the boys returned chattering excitedly about what they'd observed. By that time, I was on the other side of the gym and couldn't hear the discussion, but Buck seemed pleased with what they'd picked up.

Finishing on his last machine, Buck sat up and wiped the sweat off his face with a small towel. "Say, Zack, I think I left an extra jockstrap in your underwear drawer that would fit Teddy. Why don't you boys go try on jocks and see how ya look in the big mirror in the hall? I'll bet that'd be fun."

The boys took off like rockets, laughing their way up the stairs. "'Prolly won't see them for a while." Buck laughed. "Jeez, I remember as a boy I could spend hours in front of a mirror in my jockstrap."

Perhaps recalling those days, Buck rose and plodded over to the trifold mirror. He paused briefly and then stepped up on the small stage. The spotlight made him look even more amazing. Striking a few easy flexes, he exclaimed, "Man, no way to hide a jockstrap under these babies, huh?"

Gazing up from the floor I laughed in agreement, unable to take my eyes off the show he was presenting. Stretched so tight and moistened by sweat and massage oil, the fabric had become incredibly sheer. I'd always been intrigued by football games on TV when players bent forward in huddles, and I could see the leg straps of their jocks stretched across their butts.

But here I was seeing it live and in person. I didn't want to stare but found it hard to look away. Fortunately, Buck asked, "Hey, give me a hand, will ya?" Turning before the mirror, he explained, "I'm tryin' to get this strap even across the back with about two inches showin'."

I willingly climbed up to stand beside him and started adjusting the two waistbands. Only days before he had shown me this technique, but I had practiced so many times since then that I pretty much had it down pat.

"Oh, man, you got it perfect!" Buck exclaimed, admiring my work in the mirror. "Hey, how the leg straps? Any twists? Get down there and check `em out for me, will ya?" I suspected he didn't really need my help for this but knew we both enjoyed the interaction.

I dropped to my knees behind him and carefully inspected each strap. I even dared to trace them with my fingers, as I'd watched lucky Teddy do not long before. From this close, I could make out the hairs on Buck's ass like a fine fur. "Lookin' good from here," I pronounced.

"Oh, man, you're great at this, thanks!" Buck joked good naturedly, "Gotta keep ya around full time!" His joking caused a warmth to spread deep inside me. I dared to keep tugging and adjusting the shorts as he had done for me on previous occasions, and he acted as though it was expected.

Keeping an eye on himself in the mirror, Buck turned around facing me, "Hey, imagine wearing these to the beach sometime. Wouldn't that be wild?" I remained kneeling before him, my eyes now level with his crotch while he kept flexing.

"Wouldja like to see that?" he continued. I shook my head `yes,' and he went on, "Struttin' down the boardwalk in these babies, my jockstrap and nothin' else." I nodded dumbly as I pictured it, my eyes glazing and my mouth drooping open.

Buck rotated slightly this way and that admiring himself. "Think I'd find me a girlfriend in these?" I could not imagine he wouldn't find anything he wanted and said so. "I dunno..." he doubted, "ladies these days get mighty picky. It can take a lot to get their attention. `Specially if you're not loaded with dough." He paused then pondered, "Maybe just tuck some money in my waist..."

Buck's musings brought back memories of my trip to that beach years before with my uncle and the guys in tight suits I'd seen strolling the boardwalk with money or cigarettes tucked in their suits. The prospect of returning with Buck gave me butterflies.

"Maybe set it at 5 o'clock," Buck interrupted my reflections as he reached into the pouch and shifted his shaft slightly to the left. The difference of position was slight, but I had to admit the impact was substantial. Instead of a smooth mound in front, placing his shaft slightly to the side made its outline more prominent from the two separate bulges of his nuts.

Staring at though hypnotized, I only half heard Buck mutter, "fuckin' drive some cocksucker nuts at least." I gave him a puzzled look, full of so many questions. "Seriously!" he rejoindered, as if I were doubting his words. "They go crazy seein' this kinda shit."

"Betcha I could drink all day at the Half Mast and walk out without a tab. And pick up twenty bucks just for lettin' some guy make a closer inspection, if ya know what I mean. Ya think I'm makin' this up?" Buck gave me a challenging look.

"No, sir," I responded as though woken from a spell, "one time my uncle charged a guy there forty bucks just to try on his suit."

"Forty bucks, huh?" Buck laughed, "must `a been one hell of a suit."

"Oh, it was, sir. Yellow, I remember."

"And I'll bet it fit `im like a motherfucker, huh?" Odd for a navy guy, but Buck didn't usually cuss that much, so his use of strong language signaled some heightened emotions.

"Well, it...showed...a lot," I searched for the words as I recalled when he first put it on in that cavernous changing room, "I mean, you could kinda see...everything."

"A real man's suit then, huh? Well, good for your uncle! I'll bet that was somethin' to see, huh? Bet ya felt proud to be walkin' beside `im down the boardwalk, didn't ya?" I slowly took in his words, remembering all the emotions I felt that day which had been such a voyage of exploration.

"So," Buck changed back to the subject at hand, still standing with his crotch just a few feet before me, "whaddya think? Go with the five o'clock or back to six? Which ya think shows me off better?"

There I was, on my knees, invited to closely inspect a grown man's bulge before me. In detail. I felt honored by the privilege and a little giddy as well. I wanted to do a good job and show that I took it seriously.

While I studied the shapes and contours of the jock pouch under the shorts, Buck tugged up a few times on the waistband, making things jiggle a bit. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, causing different elements of the contents to stand in relief.

I was fascinated. The more Buck shifted and adjusted, the more absorbed I grew in the scenery. And the quieter I became. Buck seemed to notice that at that rate, I was not likely to give him any verbal feedback. He shifted tactics.

"Course, the thing about five o'clock is that if I turn im just a bit," and Buck reached into the pouch and gently twisted his dick a fraction, "you can really see the head, right? Specially if it starts to swell, that rim will really stand out."

Still kneeling before him, I felt more hypnotized than ever. The knob at the end of Buck's dick was indeed fat. Staring at the flared lip of his corona, it indeed seemed to start swelling. I think I'd stopped breathing. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears.

As I watched, his shaft seemed to pulse and swell in sync with the pounding in my ears. It felt surreal, like the pulsing rim of Buck's corona was calling to me with each throb. Mindlessly I was drawn closer and closer.

Right before I made a total fool out of myself, Zack hollered from the top of the stairs, "Hey, Dad, is it OK if we go into Jack's room?" That snapped me back into the moment and I dizzily struggled to my feet.

Buck shook his head a few times also seeming to come to. His booming voice almost knocked me off the stage. "That's Hank's room now and the answer is `N – O, no! Not unless Hank is with you!" I mouthed a silent thanks to him.

"Now go let Teddy try on your suit or show `im that magazine under your mattress!" He winked at me and laughed, "That oughta keep those boys busy for a while." Looking towards the weight machines behind us, he added, "So, let's get ya busy pumpin' some iron and workin' those purty pecs o' yours!"

Taking a quick detour by the lockers, he said, "First, I gotta give ya back your shorts to lift in, though, don't I?" In my rush to follow the boys downstairs, I'd forgotten to change out of my cutoffs and into my new lace-ups as Buck had instructed.

"That is," Buck joked, "If I can peel damn things off, they so tight!" With a few tugs and pulls he managed to strip them off and hand them over. Leaning forward in his jock, he rooted around a locker until he came out with the pair of faded grey PT shorts he'd been wearing when I first met him.

Holding the shorts in one hand, he gestured around the gym with the other and said, "Looks like ya done a good job sweepin'. Thanks. I can never get my boys to do it even half-assed." He laughed.

"OK, let's go put that broom away and I need to take a monumental piss." We kicked off our tennis shoes and headed down the steps to the shower area. I lobbed the white shorts on one of the wall hooks by the sauna door on my way past.

While I put the broom away, Buck stepped up to the trough, flung his grey shorts over his shoulder and let fly a noisy stream that splashed against the metal. While pissing, he kept up a stream of conversation. Though he seemed totally at ease, I felt a little awkward watching him piss while we chatted, so I sat behind him on the low shower wall.

"Jeez," he said, "I been feelin' like I need to take a humongous shit all mornin'. It's all that great chili I ate last night." I laughed, used to jokes about the aftereffects of too much chili, particularly from those not used to eating beans or many spices.

"Oh," another thought occurred to him, "here's a good lesson, come see this." It was even more awkward that he was calling me over to see something about him pissing. But Buck's sense of personal privacy was much freer than most, so I stepped beside him and followed his gaze.

"Always pull the waist of your jock down to piss, never pull the pouch to the side." I looked and sure enough, Buck had the waistband tucked under his balls. "A lotta guys'll pull the pouch over to the side `cuz it's quicker, but that stretches it out, OK?"

"Yessir," I murmured. I felt like I should have returned to my seat at that point, but I my eyes refused to budge. His dick looked so fat and shiny and the flow of piss so mighty that it made me think of a fire hose.

Buck continued the lecture, oblivious to my gaze. "You see a guy with the sides of his jock pouch all loose and floppy, you can bet he's been yankin' it over to piss. Or to jack off." I looked him in the face in shock. I was never one-hundred percent sure when he was joking or not.

"It's so stupid, too," he continued in the same tone, "If ya tuck it under your nuts, for one it's gonna feel amazin' pressin' on `em like that, and second, you're gonna shoot real far, too." I kept looking at him in stunned silence.

"Don't believe me?" he acted as though I was challenging his word. "Try it and tell me it's not so. Just don't ever let me catch ya pullin' that pouch to the side, son. Ya won't be able to sit down for a week!"

After he had vigorously shaken the last drops of piss off his dick, he tucked his meat back into the pouch and snapped the waistband with a wink. I followed his furry butt back to the sauna door where I pulled off my cut offs and got ready to put on the white work out shorts. I left on Jack's T shirt.

Taking his grey shorts in hand and getting ready to put them on, Buck paused and said, "Hey, how `bout I just hang my shorts here with yours," Buck proposed, "and we can lift in nothin' but our jockstraps? That might be kinda fun, huh?" The fantasy I'd had earlier of just hanging around in jocks came back to me and I nodded in agreement.

"Only, before anybody sets their bare ass down on any of this equipment," Buck asserted, "they gotta be TPC clean, alright?"

I looked puzzled and he clarified, "The Tail Pipe Cleaner. It's time ya gave it a try. Don't worry, you can keep your jock on. Lotsa guys do. Just watch what ya doin' and it oughta stay dry." I'd been curious about this device so this was sounding like more and more fun.

I'd thought I might feel shy or bashful in just my jock, but over the past few days, my sense of trust in Buck had grown, and there had been so many changes in myself. Posing in the mirror in my strap while pretending enormous crowds cheered had been a lot of fun. And showing off to the boys this morning in that clingy competition suit had been out of this world.

So, I was actually kind of buzzed to be standing with Buck, both of us just in jock straps in the gym. It made me feel excited to be a man. "When I first strip down to my jock," Buck said, striking a double bicep flex, "I always like to do a little flex or two. Gets me and anybody else in the locker room a little jazzed up."

I nodded, easily imagining how that could be and did a little flex of my own. Turning to smooth the white shorts out on the hook, Buck said, "Hope ya didn't mind me borrowin' your shorts without askin'. Y'know I don't usually do that."

I vigorously shook my head `no' to which he added, "I just wanted to make sure my jock showed through real good for little Teddy. Zack'd told me how he'd never really seen a strap before. An' I thought o' these shorts," he gently stroked them, "and figured they'd be the next best thing to nothin'."

Far from minding, I was so moved by what I'd seen, by the care and gentleness that Buck had shown in imparting that important lesson to a growing boy, that my eyes started to water.

"Hey, hey," Buck noticed with concern in his voice, "what's got ya all worked up there, sailor?" He stepped close to my side and put an arm around my shoulder. It was hard for me to put into words what I had witnessed; what I was feeling.

The past week so much that had been bottled up deep inside me was starting to emerge. Emotions, memories, feelings. I suppose I had been what today is called repressed. Now so much was coming to the surface, it was rattling me to the core.

"You liked my little show for Teddy, is that it?" I nodded, my jaw trembling. "And you're wishin' somebody had done that for you when you were his age?" Before I knew it, I'd burst into tears and collapsed against Buck's hairy chest.

As I'd said before, believe it or not, I was not much of a crier, and yet here I was for the second time in a week, bawling into the burly chest of this man. Yet, instead of any sort of ridicule, he wrapped me in a warm bear hug, stroking my back and shooshing me softly.

"It's ok, there, little man. You're makin' up for lost time, ain't ya? I mean, look atcha now, struttin' around in that nice jock strap, flashing the pouch at that cocksucker professor, fillin' out Jack's singlet like nobody's business." I sniffled as I listened.

"And little Zacky told me you were flexin' for `em like crazy at the Y in that team suit. Sounds like the boys were goin' nuts seein' ya show off your package. You're doin' great. I'm real proud of ya, that's all I gotta say."

I gulped a few times as I listened to Buck's words. "I think there's a real world-class stud inside ya and he's startin' to come out." Next thing I knew, Buck had sat down on the nearby toilet and pulled me onto his lap.

It may seem weird now, but it felt natural at the time, so natural that sitting sideways on one of his legs I curled up and set my feet on the other. We stayed there for a while, his arms wrapped tight around my waist and my face pressed into the bristle brush of his flattop.

Buck seemed determined to diminish the tension of the moment. Instead of the issue that had brought us to this point, he brought up again how much he liked the chili the night before. He wasn't lying; he had finished off two full bowls.

Buck liked to practice his limited Spanish on me sometimes and tested out a phrase just then, "Tu chile es muy rico." He looked at me waiting for an assessment. I stifled a laugh. Buck had missed my comment the night before about chili not really being a familiar dish in Mexico.

He was trying to say, your chili is very delicious,' and was assuming that chile' would be readily understood as referring to the dish. Though the phrase was grammatically correct, no Mexican would utter it unaware of the double entendre. Chile' generally meant chile pepper,' and was a common euphemism for penis.

His innocent mistake brightened my mood right away. Keeping a straight face, I looked him in the eye and responded, "Me alegro que le guste." To his puzzled reaction, I clarified in English, "I'm glad you like it."

Encouraged, Buck went on, "¡Qué chile más rico!" (`such delicious chili') which also sounded very funny to me, though I wasn't about to correct anything. Buck then let out a monumental fart which made us both laugh.

We sat quietly, wrapped around each other for another moment before Buck tensed up. "Jeez, Quique," Buck suddenly implored, "I think it's finally coming out."

"What?" I asked, scared by his sudden change of demeanor.

"That incredible chili of yours," he groaned. "Feels like it's gonna stretch my ass like a friggin' battleship. Damn, think your chili is gonna split me in two." He gripped me as though in desperation, like a woman about to give birth.

"Oh, man, oh man, oh man!" he gasped, squeezing me so tight I could barely breathe. "Oh, baby, it's so big. And it burns! It burns!" I had never witnessed Buck in such a vulnerable moment, seemingly at my mercy, defenseless against the force overtaking him.

Pressed so close together, in such intimate contact, we were experiencing almost a life changing moment between us. Suddenly, he paused, held his breath, and then heaved a huge grunt. Something heavy splashed beneath him. A rich fetid aroma flooded my senses.

"Ah," Buck gave a satisfied sigh without the slightest hint of embarrassment, "felt that one comin' for a while now. Sure feels good to squeeze `em out, huh?" My uncle had once told me that most guys who go through military service lose all timidity about bathroom functions. Still, I was pretty shocked at what'd just happened.

"But man," Buck exclaimed, "I don't think I've ever had anything spread open my ass like that chili of yours. And burned like a damn fire poker." The fact he had no idea of how that would sound in Spanish tickled me and I had to laugh and give him a tight hug.

I couldn't decide when if ever I would explain to him about the other meaning of `chile' in Mexican Spanish. Buck knew more than me about pretty much everything and to have this one little thing where I was more knowledgeable made it feel like a precious secret.

We sat quietly for a few more tender moments. This had been another oddly personal interaction with Buck. I wasn't particularly crazy about sitting on top of somebody defecating, but the intimacy of the episode, the degree of comfort and closeness that it represented, moved me greatly.

"Ok," Buck finally roused, "now it's really time for that TCP. Talk about a tough job." He laughed. I got up to let Buck take a series of robust swipes with the toilet paper. Though I'd demurely turned away, just like at the urinal, Buck calmly kept on, "But wait `til you see how that thing gets this saggy old asshole clean as a whistle. Good as new."

I realized Buck still had his jock on. Dabbing at the pouch with some fresh TP, he said with a chuckle, "Pretty sure I kept my straps clean—I always do – but think I may've pissed myself a bit." Sure enough, I could see a small, pale yellowish spot where he blotted.

"No problem," he shrugged as he tossed the paper in the bowl, "Just rinse it out good in the shower. Definitely not the first time," he laughed. Buck's total comfort with bodily functions astounded me and I suppose I admired him for it.

With a flush he ambled over to the showers, pausing on the way to pick up the last two towels in the stack. The TCP was basically a spigot mounted about six inches above the floor on the low wall facing the shower heads. Activated by twin floor pedals set wide on either side, it aimed a stream of water upwards, towards the squatting man's butthole.

"OK, you stand here," Buck positioned me facing him and then squatted with his back to the low wall, his feet spread apart in front of the two pedals. "The water might be a little cool when it first hits, but it warms up pretty quick."

Steadying himself, Buck stepped back onto the pedals and the stream of water spurted out, hitting him square on the leather cheerio. "Eee!" he squealed in a high pitch. I watched his face as his eyes shot wide open.

"Whoa! Nothin' like that first blast to wake ya up!" he laughed. At first, he'd tensed up but then relaxed into it. "Mm, it's warmin' up now." He started swaying very slightly back and forth and from side to side. "Tryin' to get that spray all up in there!" he laughed again.

"Hey, he gestured towards the shower wall behind me, "Mind handin' me a bar o' soap?" I grabbed one and extended it towards him. "Usually get my boys to soap me up real good, but I'll letcha off the hook, seein' as it's your first time."

Buck stepped off the pedals pausing the flow of water. "Course I oughta make you do it, seein' as ya wrecked my poor little rosebud with a double helpin' of that chili of yours." Again, I was laughing inside at how his words would sound in Spanish and that the poor guy had no idea.

He took his time massaging the soap around his ass and scrubbing with his hand. Mounting the pedals again for a thorough rinse, he followed with another quick soaping and rinse. He then declared himself done and stepped off the pedals for good.

He grabbed a towel and dabbed with it between his legs. "Amazing invention, that thing!" he exclaimed. "I mean, you saw what just came outa me and now check this out." He bent over the low wall and spread his legs wide.

I stood petrified. "Seriously, get over here and take a look." He reached around with both hands and spread his cheeks.

I stepped some closer, still a bit bashful and stammered, "Uh, yeah, it, uh, looks clean."

"Aw, crap, ya can't tell shit from that far away, numbskull, get up close, real close, and take a whiff. I'll give ya ten bucks ya spot or sniff the slightest trace o' somethin' rank."

Following orders, I squatted in front of his spread ass cheeks and looked things over. His cheeks were covered in a fine fur, and his crack was at no loss for hair, but he was right: in the midst of the bush, his ass lips glowed bright and clean.

I was also surprised that his jockstrap looked spotless and barely damp. I figured he must have had a good bit of practice at this sort of thing. Impatient for my verdict, Buck insisted, "Get in there and take a whiff and tell me it don't smell clean as a daisy."

I sniffed around and sure enough, could only detect soap. Well, soap and a certain musk I'd come to associate with Buck, but it was pleasant, nothing repulsive. Looking more closely at the ass lips themselves, I did notice they looked a bit pink and swollen, probably from the birthing of that huge chili turd.

I felt a sudden pang of remorse for any pain he'd borne on my account. I thought of how Buck had been nothing but kind and fatherly to me and here I'd maybe caused him to suffer. Before I realized what I was doing, I leaned forward and right on his ass lips planted a gentle kiss.

"Aww, sweet!" Buck exclaimed. "And I didn't even have to beg for it. Well, that's all the passing grade I'll ever need at inspection," he laughed. "Almost makes that ass-splittin' worth it." He slowly stood and straightened. "Now your turn."

We changed places. Buck stood in front of me, leaning against the shower wall. His eyes glued to my face, I stepped into position, spreading my feet out far enough to reach both pedals. Assuming a deep squat, I readied to activate the pump.

My resolve wavered, but Buck lent me courage. Daring to step back, I next felt a cool blast of water hit me square on the button. I let out the squeal of a schoolgirl. Buck laughed, "Love seein' a guy's face first time he tries it. Nothin' like it."

It was a wild new experience. I had tensed at first, clenching my ass shut out of reflex, but as the water warmed, I relaxed and so did my butthole. The sensation grew pleasant, and I started emulating Buck's slight swaying from side to side and forward and back.

The stream at moments tickled and then pummeled and then soothed. If I moved just right, it actually felt like it sort of massaged and then entered my butthole. I closed my eyes and savored the gentle pounding.

"There ya go," crowed Buck, "gettin' that good feelin', huh? I knew it! Not many guys resist it once they relax." His words sounded far away beyond the splashing water and the gentle thumping between my legs.

"Y'know," he went on, "doc friend once told me there's a lot more nerve endings around your asshole than you'd think. That's why it feels so good. And the more ya do it, the better it starts to feel. Kinda getting' things all warmed up."

With my eyes closed, his distant voice echoed in my ear. "Make sure ya get it right behind your balls, between your nuts and your hole." I concentrated on following his instructions. "Make ya feel like ya have to piss a little?" I nodded `yes.'

"It's hittin' your prostate, and ya let it massage there enough, some guys'll start gettin' hard and some'll even downright shoot a load out, right here on the floor!" In the mood of the moment, I wasn't shocked by his words. I kind of liked the idea.

"One thing ya gotta look out for though is not rackin' your balls. That stream of water hits `em just right, it can take ya straight outa the mood." He laughed. "Now, some guys love getting' a nut massage with that thing, but they know what they're doin'."

Reassuring, he added, "'Course, you and me we got some protection wearin' a strap. At least keeps your balls from hangin' in the way. Now, I managed to keep my strap pretty dry. See if you can do the same." I nodded along, my eyes still closed.

"Hey, want me to suds ya up?" My eyelids parted to see a blurry Buck holding out the bar of soap in front of me. By that point, I was half hypnotized by the sensations, my eyes droopy and my mouth slack. Without thinking, I nodded `yes.'

Buck stepped beside me and helped me off the pedals. Gently bending me over he reached around with a sudsy hand and started swiping large circles around my butt cheeks and then slowly, in smaller and smaller circles, closed in on my butthole. By the time he was almost there, I was mentally urging him on.

When his warm soapy fingers finally reached my hole, I moaned. "Feels awesome, huh? That's why I always try to talk my boys into doin' this for me. It's great. Sometimes the buddies'll take turns, y'know, like, you do me `n I'll do you." I only half heard what he was saying.

The gentle swipes and swirling on my butthole felt fantastic and had me humming a song from some old movie. Far too soon, Buck declared, "OK, that oughta do ya for now." Holding my arm, he steadied me as I stepped back on the pedals for a thorough rinse.

Buck helped me off the pedals again. "Here, lean over the wall and spread your legs wide." I did as instructed. He softly dabbed at my ass and crotch with the towel, feeling after with his fingertips to make sure I was dry to his satisfaction.

"Hm," he noted, "got your jock pretty wet. We can toss it in the sauna for a sec and it'll dry out." He then dropped to a crouch behind me and started a minute inspection. I could feel his breath and the gentle poking of his fingers.

"Man, you gotta a pretty one. Anybody ever told you that?" I laughed, remembering the joking endearments my uncle would murmur but I'd never taken them seriously. "Seriously, lotta guys their ass looks all tarnished and wrinkled, like some crumpled cigar wrapper tossed in the gutter. But yours is all pink and fresh lookin', like a little silk ribbon bow on an Easter basket."

I was giggling from the image when Buck leaned in and landed a slow wet smooch right square in my Easter basket. The unexpected sensation blasted through my entire body like a high voltage electric shock, sending tremors that shook me from head to toe.

"Whoa, there, cowboy! Ya OK? Did I hurtcha there?" I shook my head no' vigorously, trying to catch my breath. "Just felt good, then, is that it?" Laughing, I shook my head yes.' "Well, then that deserves another." And this time he blew into my hole, blasting a Bronx cheer that echoed around the tiled showers.

It tickled like crazy and between the noise and surprise, we both laughed. I stood to turn, and we quickly embraced, our two pouches rasping against each other. "There's my boy!" Buck crowed. "Feelin' better now?" and I nodded `yes.'

"OK, let's pump some iron and get those pecs swellin'," and once again he tweaked my ever more sensitive nipple. I felt warm all over like never before both inside and out. We headed slowly towards the steps back up to the gym. I started tugging at my damp jock. It was getting clammy and uncomfortable.

We paused by the sauna door where we'd hung our shorts. As I debated what to do about the chafing jock, Zack hollered from the top of the stairs, "Hey, Dad, some guys are headed around to the back door to see ya."

Buck looked at me and casually asked, "Hey, wanna go get that for me?" I looked at him incredulously. How in the world was I going to go meet some strangers at the door wearing only a tank top and a jock strap, and a wet one at that?

Irritated but resigned, I reached for my cutoffs, but Buck snatched them first. I looked at him totally confused. "Now, Miss Scarlett," he joked in an old-timey voice, "you know these ain't fit for receivin' gentlemen callers."

I had no idea what he was up to. Befuddled, I reached for the white shorts, even though they hardly seemed more fittin' for meeting strangers. To my total shock, Buck quickly grabbed them as well. "With all the oil and sweat on em," he explained, "ya may as well not be wearin' anything."

My breath started to come rapidly as I stood there. Buck had set me up in several embarrassing situations so far, but this was too much. "Besides," he went on calmly, "that's such a nice jock strap ya got on, I should think any boy'd be dang proud showin' it off."

My head started pounding and I thought it might explode. Buck held his finger directly on my panic button. Forcing me to open the door for strangers in nothing but a wet jock strap tapped into one of my worst nightmares. All the joy of the past hour evaporated in a minute.

Suddenly, Buck's serious face burst into laughter. He slapped my ass and said, "Hey, just messin' with ya, Hank baby! I'll get it." I stood panting as he tossed me the white shorts and replaced the cut offs on a hook.

As though all were fine, he added, "And believe it or not, sometimes I actually do answer the door in my jockstrap." To my look of disbelief, he countered, "Really. I think it sends the right message, that this is a gym for guys."

"But heck, may as well put my pants back on, huh?" Buck pulled on his snug grey PT shorts, his jock in stark relief. Looking in the mirror, he adjusted the rear waistband so a few inches showed. As he turned to head off, he snatched my cut offs off their hook and said, "I'll toss these in a locker for ya."

Many emotions coursed through me as I watched Buck head up the stairs, but anger was chief among them. For one, he had spoiled the incredible mood established over the past hour, and the sense of safety and security I'd been feeling with him was cracked.

I waited until he was out of sight to strip off the damp jockstrap and toss it in the still hot sauna. I was eager for it to dry before I put it on again. Feeling a little weird standing there naked, I pulled on the white shorts, still trembling slightly after the scare Buck had given me.

I had worn these white shorts commando with Captain Bill's encouragement – and hearty approval - the first night I'd arrived at Buck's. Just like that night, without any support, my dick tumbled down my leg and lumbered there as I walked over to pick up our towels and wait.

From the door I heard a loud exclamation of recognition and friendly greetings and the murmured voices of several men. I was doubly relieved I'd not gone to the door. As they drew closer, I heard Buck trying out more of his Spanish.

That led me to assume they were the Mexican guys that Buck had told me about. I worried that I'd be called out to meet them before my jock was dry and ready to put on again. I listened, hoping it might be just a quick stop. My initial panic was shifting into low level anger.

"Muy caliente, no?" I heard Buck ask. I figured he was trying to make reference to the warm weather, but the way he phrased it made it sound more like somebody was hot as in horny. I shook my head, thankful for the indulgence of most Mexicans when it came to gringo Spanish.

I then heard one of them repeat Buck's words in English, "Very hot, yes?"

It may seem odd, but I'd noticed that often when two people of good will attempted to converse but only spoke a bit of each other's language, both would try to speak in the other's tongue, perhaps out of courtesy or perhaps in gentle competition to establish which was the more linguistically adept.

In such exchanges, the one we might call Speaker A would initiate a phrase in language B which Speaker B would then repeat in the language of Speaker A. I guess this strategy aims to confirm that the message was indeed correctly understood, and to facilitate communication in general.

At any rate, Buck soon called me, much to my dismay. "Hey, sailor, getcher butt out here, got some fellahs I wancha to meet."

"Just a minute or two and I'll be there," I stalled for time.

"Now," Buck commanded in a tone I knew well enough not to question. At least I had on Jack's muscle T, I thought. It was not my idea of the perfect outfit to meet new people in, but I hoped it would be a very quick encounter and that I would be able to stay in the background. As I've said many times, I was used to going unnoticed in a group.

I stepped up into the gym and headed towards the doorway to the pool room and back door. Seconds later Buck entered like a tour guide, walking backwards as he led a group of three young men into the gym.

"...y sábado y domingo de siete a nueve de la mañana," Buck was confirming the weekend gym schedule in what sounded like memorized Spanish. I was impressed. "Y...by appointment?" His Spanish exhausted, he glanced in my direction for help.

"Por cita," I added, catching the visitors off guard. All three wore soccer uniforms, something I had not seen before outside of Mexico or on TV. This was before soccer became popular in the U.S. and before the shorts grew so long and baggy.

Buck turned and gave me a quick look. He was beaming. "These are the guys I was tellin' ya about, hopin' you'd be here next time they stopped by."

They looked a little nervous to me but otherwise like genuinely nice guys, pleased to be free on a Saturday morning, on their way to play their favorite sport and stopping off to explore a little.

Gesturing over his shoulder at me, Buck pronounced, "mi nuevo hijo (my new son)," which I found kind of touching but probably sounded a little odd to these guys. "Habla español," he explained. They looked at me expectantly.

"Enrique," I blurted stepping forward and extending a hand to each, "mucho gusto." Their demeanor relaxed a little though they still seemed curious about this `new son' who spoke some Spanish. They in turn introduced themselves as we shook hands.

As was common, each gave his full first name or names and then the shortened version he went by. The first, "Luis Alejandro – Lucho," was robust and self-assured and struck me as the leader. Next was "Jose Manuel – Chema," who had been brought along today because he spoke a bit more English. Finally, "Diego – solo Diego," wryly smiled that he had no separate nickname.

Diego seemed quiet and reserved. He had thick shiny hair and surprising amber eyes. He reminded me for some reason of my uncle. His stare was unsettling. It gave me the sense that he saw something inside me or knew something about me.

The first two guys repeated "Enrique" as we shook hands, but Diego ventured "Quique," which Buck echoed while nodding enthusiastically, sounding very satisfied that he'd already learned this variation.

Lucho, the guy who seemed to be quick to take charge, quickly explained to me in Spanish that he and Diego had already been by and met my `dad' - "tu nuevo papá," Diego interjected with a subtle wink – but due to the language gap had not been able to learn very much.

Today they were headed to play soccer, and their new friend Chema spoke a little more English, so they decided to stop by and try their luck. All this I passed on to Buck who nodded along happily. Chema added, "The new son he speak good Spanish."

His face full of delight, Buck put an arm around my shoulder and proudly exclaimed, "Si! Y el chile de mi hijo es muy rico." This announcement stopped the guys cold in their tracks. It was definitely not the response they were expecting. But then, you never knew what a gringo might say next.

As noted, Buck had missed my comment the night before about chili not really being a familiar dish in Mexico, so, like many Americans, he probably assumed that a Mexican would automatically share the same knowledge and experience with chili and know what he was referring to.

But the only image that the word chile' likely conjured up for these guys was of a chile pepper and of course the colloquial associations. So, unless I'd been standing in the middle of my own vegetable garden, the phrase my son's chile' would trigger only one likely interpretation.

And since I was wearing the white shorts commando – which Buck had yet to notice – my `chile' was probably a little more on display than usual adding to the confusion. "Good chile..." they muttered doubtfully in English with fleeting side glances at my shorts.

Seeing that he had their rapt attention, Buck went on in a valiant attempt to creatively employ his limited vocabulary. "Rico en tu boca," and here he pointed to his mouth, "pero después, mucho dolor aquí" and he pointed to his butt. This of course only confounded the guys more.

"Tasty in your mouth but hurt a lot here?" echoed Chema with a slight tone of disbelief. Buck just nodded in vigorous agreement. The guys then looked at me with eyebrows raised, as if to ask the most bilingual person in the room, `can this possibly be what he means to say? What is it that we're missing?'

I knew I could clear up the confusion then and there. And I knew that Buck had never done a truly mean thing to me in my short time there and that I owed him a lot. A tiny angel perched on my right shoulder urged me to clarify the misunderstanding.

But Buck's latest prank with the terrifying threat to make me answer the door in just a wet jock strap still stung in my memory. I also recalled the times Buck had embarrassed me on purpose, forcing me out in public in Jack's singlet and to display myself in sticky underpants in front of Charlie, not to mention the constant ass whooping.

A mischievous little devil on my left shoulder whispered that I might never get the upper hand like this again. Buck's predicament seemed too delicious to spoil just yet. The devil won out. I shrugged my shoulders with an ironic smile as if to say, "guilty as charged."

Chema looked at Buck in disbelief but to confirm, repeated his version in English, "So, tasty here," pointing to his mouth, "but really hurt here." Again, Buck nodded in energetic affirmation. Clearly something was off kilter.

After a moment of confused silence, a look of delight infused their faces. The absurdity of the moment, of a manly gym owner beginning a tour by extolling the performance of his son's organ, could only be masking some incredible joke that was sure to spring at any moment.

Eyebrows raised, they savored the anticipation of what was sure to be a howling punchline. They were determined to play along sure that just around the next verbal corner or two lay the solution to the fascinating riddle.

They started testing clues. Lucho ventured, "So, too big?"

Buck misunderstood the direction of their questioning and nodded his head enthusiastically. "Si, mucho!" he held his hands to indicate the size of the bowl he'd eaten. Unfortunately, his hand gestures could also be interpreted as indicating length.

Ready to probe further, with a very serious face Chema asked, "you try the chile with the eggs?" I almost choked from holding in a laugh. In Spanish, `eggs' served as a euphemism for testicles. Chema was trying to indirectly verify that it was indeed a penis that Buck referred to.

Buck's happy smile did not dim for a second. "Si, delicioso en la mañana," he affirmed. I'm sure Buck was thinking about something like huevos rancheros, but his response was conjuring up very different images for our visitors and only further clouding the mystery.

From where we were both standing, unlike the guys, Buck did not have a clear sightline to my crotch. Eyeing my dangling appendage in the clingy white shorts, the guys had not taken long to see that I was uncircumcised.

Without moving his piercing gaze from my package, Diego asked softly, "¿Y pelas el chile primero (Do you peel the chile first)?" The fact that this super serious guy was looking right at my dick while making an oblique comment about it ignited a little spark in my nuts.

"Oh, no sé," Buck answered blithely, "no puedo ver." I was sure Buck meant that he didn't know because he had not watched me cook, but to the guys it likely sounded like he couldn't see it go in because it was behind him.

Buck's defense against their probing was proving challenging, and the punchline remained hidden. Why was this man promoting his son's organ to three strangers? Chema tried in English, "maybe you want to sell the chile of your son?"

"Buena idea," Buck enthused, always eager for a chance to do business. "¿Tú quieres comprar (You wanna buy)?"

"Mm..." Lucho pondered, wondering if now they were getting closer to solving the riddle, "¿cuánto cuesta" (how much does it cost?).

Buck shrugged his shoulders and looked at me for the answer. It may seem funny, but seeing Buck, my invincible Superman, so utterly lost and in over his head made my heart fairly burst with love. I was still pissed, of course, but the wave of affection slightly cooled my anger.

"No se vende (it's not for sale)," I replied as though reciting the lyric to a bolero, "es s"lo para las personas especiales (it's just for special people) que lo saben valorar (who know how to appreciate it)."

"Ay, ¡qué lindo (Aw, how nice)!" the guys chorused. I think they were touched by the unexpected sentiment and further confounded by the fact that I seemed to be playing along, further complicating the riddle.

Diego who had been watching me keenly ever since we'd met, smiled from just his eyes. "Me recuerdas de un sobrino mío (you remind me of a nephew of mine)." He stepped closer and ran a finger down my cheek. "Cara de ángel (face of an angel)," and then with the back of his curled finger gently stroked my chest, "y coraz"n de pícaro (and heart of a rogue)."

I blushed from the hot flash of a flood of memories of Uncle TK. I felt an urge to mention him, but didn't know where to begin nor felt the nerve to try. I just smiled back and said, "Gracias, Tío Diego," to which the other guys clapped and smiled.

"¡Oo, tío!" Buck exclaimed in surprise with a slap to Diego's back, "¡Muy especial! Quique quiere su tío mucho (Quique loves his uncle a lot)!" My face burned so hot I feared it might ignite.

Very pleased to see that his potential clients were warming up to me, Buck was ready to start the tour. "Vamos!" he cried and turned on his heal towards the lockers. As we followed along, he pointed out, "Aqui los..." and looked to me for the word.

"casilleros," I answered.

"Casilleros," Buck repeated. Then leaning close, he whispered, "What's that Mexican word for buddies—cuates?" I nodded. Stopping at the Jock Rack, Buck pointed, "aqui los cuates ponen su..." and then paused at a loss for the word in Spanish.

"¡Suspensorios!" the guys and I chorused, having the obvious visual cue right in front of us.

Buck turned toward us, clearly interested in adding this word to his vocabulary. "Su..?"

Together we all sounded it out syllable by syllable, "sus-pen-SO-rio" like a merry choir. We laughed and high-fived each other at our unexpectedly synchronized performance.

Buck repeated it correctly the first time. As I've said, he was quick with languages. The guys all shouted "bravo!" and high-fived him for his progress.

"In English?" Chema asked and they looked at me, but I turned to Buck, the unrivaled expert on the topic.

"J-o-c-k-s-t-r-a-p," he enunciated slowly.

"Yoke strop." They did their best to cope with the English sounds that did not exist in Spanish. I thought `yokestrop' sounded endearing and made a mental note of it.

"Muy necesario aquí," Buck pointed to the banner stretched across the far wall that read, "No jock, no gym." "Si no (if not) ..." he added as he trotted over to point up to the wooden paddle hanging beside it, leaving the rest unspoken.

"Very necessary here." Chema repeated, the message received.

"Sí," Buck came back to add, "protecci"n para los chicos." He had pulled down the waistband of his shorts to display the full pouch of his jockstrap which he poked with his fingers. The guys all leaned forward a bit to get a better look, although in those shorts, Buck's jock had already been plenty in evidence.

"Protection for the boys," Chema repeated with gusto. In this case, Buck was preaching to the choir. The guys strapped up for soccer before leaving home. Lucho cheerfully pulled down his own shorts to show that he was also wearing a jock strap.

"¡Hombre inteligente (smart man)! Buck crowed with a hearty backslap.

Lucho then turned to Diego, "¡Dale, hombre (Go for it, man)!"

They were all is such Saturday morning moods. Teasing like a stripper, serious Diego took his time, drawing out the moment. We watched intently as he slowly shimmied down his shorts to finally reveal a jockstrap with a Mexican flag patch sewed on the front of the waistband.

We exploded with cheers and applause. "¡Muy padre!" Buck exclaimed, remembering I'd taught him that was Mexican slang for cool.' The other guys slapped him on the back, chorusing, "El padre dice que padre." (The dad says how cool!) enjoying the play on words.

We all turned to look at Chema next, but instead of following suit just gently shook his head `no.' His shyness caught us all by surprise. We started insisting with catcalls until finally Lucho snuck around behind and yanked Chema's shorts down to his ankles.

Imagine our surprise to see that Chema was freeballing. I'd thought it was modesty causing his hesitation, but now that we'd all seen he was minus a jockstrap, he just left his shorts around his ankles, calm as could be.

I tried to avoid looking at his dangling member as he quickly explained in Spanish why he was jockless. An old friend had stayed with him the week before and really needed one so he'd let him take his old jock, thinking it was about time to get a new one anyway. But the first place he went they were too expensive, and he hadn't had time to keep looking.

All this I relayed to Buck. "Tell ya what," Buck walked over to the glass display case and pulled out one of the boxed straps. Returning to Chema, he slowly pulled it out and held it up to him with both hands and announced (in slightly mangled grammar), "Para tú, amigo."

I have found Mexicans in general to be very generous people and touched by kind gestures. The guys looked really moved and I swore Chema was just about in tears. Buck was big-hearted but at the same time he was also a wily businessman. For the price of a jockstrap (and probably discount wholesale), he had likely won over any potential Mexican clients in the area.

"¡P"ntelo, p"ntelo (Put it on, put it on)!" Lucho and Diego started chanting. I joined in as Chema kicked the shorts away from his ankles. He accepted the jock from Buck in both hands and bowed his head in thanks. Then he pulled it on and carefully tucked his meat into the pouch.

We all watched him closely, riveted to the moment. It seemed to fit him well, and once he had it on, he raised his arms in a gesture of victory. We all clapped for him. Ever the professional, Buck squatted before him like a tailor and did his usual adjustments, with a tug here and there.

Chema kept his arms up and looked delighted, his soccer shirt lifted above his navel. Buck jiggled the front of the waistband to jostle the contents and declared, "Ahora los chicos protecci"n." His grammar was a still bit mangled, but everyone understood perfectly.

Finally, Buck stood and slowly circled Chema checking out the result. Looking very solemn he muttered to himself as though in serious deliberation. Suddenly, his face broke into a huge smile, and he gave Chema a double thumbs up of approval.

Chema grabbed him in a bear hug, and they waltzed around for a minute slapping each other's backs. We all clapped some more. It was quite a sight. I was especially taken by the contrast as they slowly spun between Buck's furry butt and the satiny sheen of Chema's copper cheeks.

Buck then led Chema over to the trifold mirror and gestured for him to check himself out. Chema happily climbed up on the stage and started flexing in the mirror. Inspired, Buck stripped off his shorts and tank top, tossed them back at us and struck a pose beside him.

Not to be outdone, Chema peeled off his shirt too and tossed it our way. It was quite the show and once again, we broke out in hoots and applause. I picked up their discarded clothes and laid them on the bench.

As they flexed, Chema and Buck took turns prodding each other's muscles in admiration. At one point, Chema slapped Buck's ass and then immediately apologized. Gently stroking the spot, he asked, "The chile hurt, no"?

Of course, Buck missed the double entendre and just pointed to me as the guilty party. That led the guys to start chanting for me to get up on the stage with Buck and Chema. Joining the chorus, Buck took a good look at me for the first time since our visitors had arrived.

Realizing that I'd been freeballing, stunned he stammered, "What the...! Where's your...? How'd ya...?"

"It was wet!" I rushed to explain. "Remember, sir? I tossed it in the sauna." Thinking quickly, I added, "Like you said."

"Why," Buck took a threatening stance, "I oughta strip ya bare-assed, make ya climb up to get that paddle and let these boys take turns shinin' up that purty ass o' yours. Think ya'd like that?" A mixture of anger and embarrassment glowed from his face.

I supposed he felt like his `new son' was flagrantly flouting the rules right under his nose, purposefully undermining his authority in front of visitors. Of course, nothing could have been further from the truth. It was all a series of mistakes but now was not the time for explanations.

The guys had paused in their chant to see how this would play out. Initially suspecting that this was some new piece of the hoax with the chile' and the boca,' they realized that Buck was genuinely angry.

Their impulse was to defuse the situation. "¡Chile rico! ¡Chile rico!" They started a new chant, perfectly innocent on the surface, using Buck's own words, but loaded with suggestive double meaning, nonetheless.

"Alright," Buck softened, as he often did right after a quick anger. "Go strap up, boy." I turned to go, and he called after me, "And don't ever let me catch you freeballin' in my gym again!" I barely heard him mutter, "Jeez, as bad as Jack!"

Dashing into the sauna, I yanked off my shorts and pulled on the jockstrap. It was now dry and best of all warm. It felt like it had actually shrunk a bit, so wrapped my balls in a cozy and snug embrace. I shivered from the pleasure.

Feeling rushed, I debated taking the time to put my shorts back on and decided I would want them out on the gym floor one way or the other. Pulling them on over the strap, I checked myself in the mirror outside the sauna, adjusting the strap so the obligatory two inches showed.

I hurried back to the gym floor to find that Lucho and Diego had also shed their shorts and shirts and now stood in just their jocks. The guys were clearly anticipating my return to the stage, wondering where this next act might lead.

They burst out clapping and chanting once again, "Chile rico, chile rico!" It was so silly. All three guys were now grouped by the Jock Rack while Buck remained on the stage. I approached and they quickly collected around me with generous pats to my back and butt.

Turning me this way and that, they took turns tracing the very visible jock under my white shorts. They then looked to Buck as though for permission as they pantomimed gestures to pull them down. Buck just laughed and hollered, "¡Saca! ¡Saca!" (`Take off! Take off!').

Even though he had yet to handle a lot of the grammar smoothly, I was impressed by Buck's vocabulary and his creativity at putting it to use. To use one of my old coach's expressions, he could go mighty far on a single tank of gas.

So, there I stood in the middle of three older guys while they stripped my shorts off and tossed them from one to the other. Pinches rained on my nips and ass. Reminiscent of so many bullying episodes I'd endured in high school, you'd think I'd be panicked and want to flee.

But so much had happened over the past week. Instead of shame I was starting to feel something like joy in exposing my body to other guys. Catching sight of my favorite poster over the jock cabinet, I emulated the model. Raising my arms over my head, I clasped my hands in victory.

The guys cheered me on with more hoots and whistles. Posing in front of these grown men I'd just met in nothing but my jockstrap while they cheered made me feel half drunk. It was the second time that day that it felt like a dream had come true.

Buck excused himself to make a quick phone call. With him out of the room, the guys closed in tighter, checking me out and teasing. "Bien nalg"n, este chavo (this kid's got a thick ass on `im)!" Lucho remarked grabbing my now naked butt.

Chema laughed, "Es por tanto entregar ese chile rico (it's from delivering all that tasty chili)!" as he tugged up on the front of my jockstrap making my bulge bounce.

"Que no se queda en la puerta... (`cuz he doesn't wait at the door')," Diego purred and tweaked my nipple, "Sino, se entrega bien adentro (no, he takes it way in)."

"¡Pobre puerta (poor door)!," Chema feigned pity.

"Pobre nada (nothin' poor about it)!" harrumphed Diego, "Cuando es un experto que entrega un buen chile (when it's an expert who delivers a good chile)," and he ran his finger under my leg strap, "la puerta se abre solo y con gusto (the door opens itself, and happily)."

The guys were making me dizzy with all their ribbing. I thought they were done, but they still had a lot of juice to squeeze out of this joke. "Pero siempre chirría un poco, ¿no (but it still squeaks a little, no)?" Chema asked.

"Son unos gemidos, no más (just some moans)," Lucho joked. "Que ese chile, mano, ¡sí pica (cuz that chili, bro, does sting)!"

Diego quipped, "¡Pica rico, güey (stings good, bro)!" then added, "Hasta te saca lágrimas" (enough to make ya cry)."

They kept this up, more hilarity with each remark. They had me laughing too. I'd forgotten how much fun this sort of picaresque wordplay among guys could be. It reminded me of the few times I'd hung out with my cousins.

Buck returned from his phone call and shepherded us up on the small stage, where we jostled to fit. He opened the mirror wider so that we could all see each other and then led us in a few flexes. All five of us were now down to our jockstraps.

The guys got a big kick out seeing themselves like that, shouting words of admiration and praise like, "¡Bien machos," "¡Puro Tarzán," and "¡C"mo se marcan!"

I then saw that Buck carried a Polaroid instant camera. "I was hopin' the captain could come over and take a few shots, but he's busy," he explained, "But no problem; we can make some nice souvenirs with this."

He carefully arranged us in a few poses and snapped photos of each. He'd pull them out and pass them around. The guys loved them and studied them carefully, commenting on whose muscles looked particularly good in certain shots.

Then Diego pulled me aside and asked Buck to take one of just us two. Shooing his buddies off the stage, he arranged me in a double biceps flex and then kneeled in front of me in an atlas pose. I thought we looked very cool in the mirror, like muscle magazine covers I'd gawked at.

Buck whistled in admiration as he clicked the photo, and then again as he pulled it from the camera. "Now this is a keeper for sure!" he said. Diego saw it for the first time that day smiled. He asked Buck if he would take one more.

Diego gently but firmly grabbed me with his hands to turn me sideways to the camera. Then, running his hands all over molded me into something like a three-quarter front bicep pose. He never seemed to miss a chance to flick one of my nipples and by the time he was done, I was starting to chub.

Looking up from the camera, Buck called, "Hey, give it a little cup and lift." Days before I would have been too embarrassed to touch myself in front of all these guys, but by then I'd realized guys were always adjusting their nuts around each other and thought nothing of it.

I reached my hand into my pouch and scooped my nuts and dick forward into a higher, tighter mound. I then looked to Buck for his reaction. With a wink and a nod, he said, "now that's a profile." He signaled Diego who took up a humorous pose behind me, tugging at the waistband of my strap as though to pull it down.

Buck was taking two shots of most of the poses, one for him to keep and one for the guys to take. At first, I mistook it for pure generosity and then realized it would make for great promotional material at their soccer game. At any rate, I knew I wanted a few copies of my own.

Flexing session concluded, Buck walked us through the rest of the gym, pointing out the free weights and various machines. Diego's eye was caught by the mats in the corner, and he called me over. "Is there wrestling here?" he asked in Spanish.

"Yeah, a lot," I answered. "Mostly spur of the moment, I think, practice and playing around." Seeing his interest I added, "I haven't seen it yet, but I've heard they also organize informal tournaments, but just for fun."

Diego's eyes lit up. "And will you wrestle?" he asked. I nodded `yes' but admitted I wasn't very skilled. "And do you have the singlet to wear?" I nodded again, blushing to recall how it fit. "Then we must wrestle you and I," he smiled.

I tried to explain that while I enjoyed wrestling, I wasn't particularly experienced. "No matter," he replied, "we will teach each other. I too have a singlet but rarely find occasion to wear it. Perhaps I will bring it next time and we will take another beautiful picture. What do you think?"

I paused, lost in picturing Diego in a wrestling singlet. I wondered how it might fit and then imagined us comparing ourselves in the trifold mirror and then rolling around on the mat together. That warm feeling in my belly returned.

Diego interrupted my daydreaming. "And what color is this singlet that shall admire on you?" I answered that it was light blue. "Ah," he sighed looking up, "the color of the heavens." Apparently, the man's serious demeanor hid the soul of a poet.

"The perfect hue," he squinted in deep concentration, "for an angel." He curled his index finger and with the back of it stroked my pec. I blushed at both the remark and gesture. "Or..." and then he gently diddled my nipple, "for a devil masquerading as an angel."

He went on, "to weaken our defenses." I didn't know what to make of him, but I was feeling a bit dizzy. "Perhaps if we are patient and diligent, we might see his disguise fall...?" I turned a dozen shades of red unused to such attention and felt helplessly pinned under his gaze.

Before I could think of a response, whoops erupted from the showers. Lucho and Chema had just seen the Tail Pipe Cleaner and grasped its function. Buck was trying to explain in Spanish how he had used it after the chili had `destroyed his ass' and was making an awful muddle.

Buck hollered for my assistance, and I got there just in time to smooth things over without revealing too much the source of ambiguity. Saving the sauna for last, Buck herded his two in that direction, telling me to fill Diego in on what he'd missed about the TPC.

I started to clumsily explain how the thing worked, but gently touching my arm, Diego stopped me. "I prefer you demonstrate it for me next time. I think I will understand it better that way because I will watch very, very closely. I can promise you this."

The idea of rinsing out my hole under Diego's piercing gaze had me so totally flummoxed that I tripped over myself backing away towards the sauna. Like a knight in shining armor, Diego caught me just in time and gently got me back on my feet.

Buck had ushered the other two into the sauna while Diego and I waited outside. "So, Quique," Diego asked in Spanish, "how long have you been the new son?" I explained that I'd just been there since Monday, taking the room left vacant by his older boy.

"You seem like you have been together much longer," he said softly.

I chuckled and joked that sometimes it felt like I'd been there much longer. Diego did not smile but continued to look at me intently. At that moment, Buck led the other two guys out of the sauna and held the door for Diego and me to enter.

The door gently closed, and we found ourselves wrapped in an intense quiet. Diego turned more serious. "He looks at you with the gaze of a father." He stroked my arm. "It is a lovely thing to see."

The words made me catch my breath. I let them sink in and then looked up to face Diego squarely. "It's a lovely thing to feel." I responded.

"So," he placed a warm hand on my shoulder, "might a new son also be a new nephew?" I took a beat or two to follow his meaning. "Perhaps you will tell me about this uncle Quique. And what he did to earn so much love "de un sobrino tan lindo (from such a lovely nephew)."

You'd think maybe I'd be cried out after my earlier episode with Buck, less than an hour earlier and right outside this sauna. But the tears started again. Before I knew it, a sob shook me. Diego pulled me into an embrace, our pouches pressed together. It felt wonderful, like medicine.

Just then, Buck stuck his head in the sauna door. "¿Todo bien aquí" (everything OK here?) Diego stepped back, perhaps uneasy that he was overstepping with Buck's new son. But Buck didn't show a trace of concern.

I nodded wordlessly to indicate I was fine. "Ay, este chico (oh, this boy)," Buck sighed, pulling me into a hug as he spoke over my shoulder to Diego. "Coraz"n muy grande (big heart)." Diego stroked my back as Buck playfully rocked me in his arms and muttered, "Mucho amor."

"OK," with a firm pat to my butt, Buck changed his tone to one more businesslike. "Think the guys have all the info they need and are gonna head out to their soccer game." He turned to Diego with a warm slap on the shoulder, "jugar pelota, ¿no (play ball, no)?"

We walked out together and joined Lucho and Chema at the bench where we'd left our shorts and shirts. Once they were dressed, we ambled towards the back door. With many laughs and backslaps and a final embrace, we sent them on their way.

Closing the door, Buck turned to me and crowed, "Way to go, sailor! They've paid the next three months in advance and sounds like they're gonna recruit some of their soccer buddies. You are a good luck charm, indeed!" He pulled me into a bear hug and kissed my forehead.

Of course, I was glad that Buck was pleased with my role, but I was maybe even happier about meeting the guys and starting a new friendship. The interaction with Diego had felt very special. Buck handed me the photos of Diego and me and I decided I'd like a while to just study them.

"The bad news," Buck continued, "is I gotta get to work for a couple hours. Waddya say we leave the liftin' for this afternoon. Mel's comin' over to help with the `birds and bees' talk and then we'll have a little pool party next door. Sound good?"

"Sounds great!" I replied honestly. This had already been one of the best days ever and now promised to just get better.

"The boys'll stay busy for a while yet upstairs," Buck said, "and besides, they know they're not s'posed to come down here without permission. Ya might wanna check in on `em after a while, but for now, why doncha just enjoy havin' this place all to yourself?"

"You mean, lift some?" I asked, slightly confused.

"Sure," Buck replied, "lift. Or maybe give yourself a little flex show in the mirror. Or maybe try on some of the guys' jocks from the Rack – I won't tell," he laughed. "Or relax in the sauna, salute the Mexican flag," he gestured at the photos of Diego and me, "take another ride on the TPC..."

His insinuations embarrassed me, but I couldn't help but smile at the prospect of enjoying the space on my own. Turning to head up the stairs, Buck called over his shoulder, "and you know where I keep the massage oil."