Sexy teen in blue basketball shorts; fourth installment from Martin’s story, “If You Only Knew” …

Hi, friends and readers:

Did you ever have a crush on a boy you attended high school with?  A guy you’d think about when you lay in bed alone at night? A guy you shared a lab table with in Biology whose knee sometimes touched yours?

The guy in today’s photo post reminds me so much of a boy I liked my senior year of high school. His name was Steve. I never told him of my feelings, of course. I wonder where Steve is today?

I spent a nice evening in the city last night with my buds, drinking beer, then dining at our favorite Italian restaurant. (I love eggplant Parmesan when it’s cooked just right.) Today I’m up early and ready to write. My boyfriend has the day off and this afternoon we have a project to take care of in our yard: cleaning out plant beds and putting down fresh mulch. Doesn’t that sound like fun?

Outside, the weather is beautiful, so it won’t be bad. The sun is shining, it’s warm, and a breeze is blowing to keep us cool. Tonight, we’re joining three other guys at a friend’s house to watch NCAA tournament basketball. The Florida Gators play BYU and Wisconsin plays right after that. Everyone’s bringing food and drink and it should be a fun time for all. Go Gators!

Okay, as promised, here is the fourth installment from my story, If You Only Knew. I hope everyone is enjoying this piece. If there’s something you don’t like about it, write me and tell me about it. Here you are, readers:

* * * *

We rendezvoused, I and Grady, at Fraternity Row on a Friday evening. The sun had set a half-hour before and light drained from the sky. Stars appeared above us but the moon wasn’t up. This was early September, the air felt warm and moist. We both wore t-shirts, khaki shorts and sandals. Grady carried a backpack on his shoulders. His hair was damp and I smelled cologne when I drew close to him. We shook hands and he gave me his knockout smile. I felt weak in the knees, thinking of our intimacy a few days before.

“Let’s take a walk,” he said.

The fraternity houses we passed varied in style: ante-bellum, brick colonial, cinder block and stucco, a couple of Mies van der Rohe knock-offs with plenty of glass. Each had a sign out front, bearing Greek letters. Windows offered views of brightly-lit rooms where boys gathered, playing cards and drinking beer. Others watched television or listened to music.

When I’d spoken by phone with Grady the previous night, he asked me, “Up for a bit of excitement?”

“What kind?”

“You’ll see. Just don’t wear undershorts.”


“You heard me. I won’t wear any either.”

Now, we strolled on the sidewalk, listening to crickets chirp while street lamps flickered on. It felt weird, having my cock and balls roll around inside my shorts, unimpeded, getting chafed by the khaki fabric. Knowing Grady was equally unrestrained made me feel horny. He was a good-looking guy and I knew he planned on doing something wicked, but what? I stole a glance at him. He walked with his hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped, eyes on the sidewalk, as if he pondered something important. Glow from a street lamp reflected in his dark hair, in his eyes and their long lashes.

We came to an alley paved with crushed shell, one sheltered by live oaks forming a canopy overhead. The alley accessed backsides of certain fraternity houses and the alley’s shoulders were lined with Dumpsters. The moon still had not risen; I squinted just to see. We passed a few properties, then came to a podocarpus hedge, one long as a transfer truck and taller than me. It blocked any view of the house beyond it.

Grady looked here and there, then he stepped to the hedge and parted branches. Glancing at me, he jerked his head. “Come on,” he whispered.

We passed through dense foliage. Limbs lashed our arms and faces, and twice I tripped over exposed roots. We came to a galvanized hog-wire fence, six feet high. Beyond it were a bank of camellias, several mature oaks, and the rear of a two-story fraternity house. I heard country-western music, splashing of water, much conversation and laughter. The aroma of chlorine hit my nostrils.

Someone hollered, “Deets, you faggot, fetch us more beers.”

Light from the house filtered through the camellias, reaching us, allowing us to see. I looked at Grady and lifted my shoulders, making a face. He raised an index finger to his lips, flickered his eyebrows as he’d done in the men’s room. Removing his backpack, he unzipped a pocket and produced a pair of chain cutters, heavy-duty, the kind you see in home improvement stores. He used these to create a hole in the fence, snipping here and there, making a passage wide enough to accommodate our shoulders and hips. The racket beyond the camellias drowned out whatever noise the device made when it broke through metal.

Grady set the cutters upon the ground. He got on his hands and knees and scooted through the opening, rustling oak leaves. Turning, he whispered, “Follow me.”

Moments later we stood beside a live oak, among shrubs, hidden in shadows, staring at a dozen-or-so fraternity boys. Some occupied an in-ground swimming pool with an underwater fixture casting a greenish glow. Others lounged on chaises and chairs. Most were naked and my belly fluttered at the sight of their lean physiques and meaty cocks. They chattered away, wise-cracking and swilling beer while a portable music player blared.

Grady pressed his mouth to my ear. “They do this every Friday. No girls allowed.”

“How’d you find out?”

Grady’s eyebrows danced and a smile crossed his lips. “I’m a brother.” Raising the sleeve of his t-shirt, he showed me a tattoo: two Greek letters.

* * * *

Okay, everyone, I’ll post the last installment from If You Only Knew tomorrow. I hope everyone’s enjoying the story. Have a nice Thursday, wherever you are.

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