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AC-296 Jock Studs
Jock Studs
Adonis Classics
AC-296
Franklin Brooks
$3.95
Excerpt
The door behind Jimmy opened. He knew it opened, but he didn’t react for a few seconds. His heart jumped for a moment, but he failed to jump with it. He was too hot, his body too flushed with good feeling, his cock too lust- saturated to really care much about being caught with his mouth stuffed full of cock. In fact, for just a moment he felt a surge of joy, an elation at being caught. He straightened up slowly and turned to face the intruder.
Damon, however, leapt off the table and covered his hanging cock with his hands, the first time Jimmy had ever seen Damon hide his cock.
Harold Schiller stood facing them, his face twisted in a horrible yet overjoyed sneer. He was fully dressed, his gym bag dangling from his left hand. “I knew it,” he said. “I can smell a faggot ten miles off.”
“Now wait a minute, Schiller,” Damon said.
Harold glanced at him coolly. “I’m not talking about you, Damon. Ain’t nobody in the world could ever accuse you of being queer. I know how it is, Damon—a man lays down expecting to get a massage and ends up getting molested by some cock-sucking pansy!”
“Well—” Damon said.
“Sure,” Harold said, “I know just how it is. I knew this faggot was scratching at you before I even opened the door. Coach was kidding around in the shower, told everybody you were in here getting a blowjob. They all laughed. Big joke, you know. Course I knew it was true.”
“Look,” Damon said, “why don’t we just forget—”
“Of course,” Harold said, his grinning sneer broadening. “I sure won’t say a word. You can count on me. You can trust me. I ain’t no faggot. You can never trust a faggot to keep her mouth shut, no more than you can trust a real woman to keep her mouth shut.”
“I’m not a her anymore than you are,” Jimmy said.
Harold’s arm shot out and his fingers clutched Jimmy’s windpipe. Jimmy choked. “Don’t say another word,” Harold snapped, his face instantly flushed.
“Now wait a second—” Damon said.
“Go take a shower,” Harold said. “I’ll deal with this faggot.”
Damon was silent. He studied Harold’s face, his own face a mixture of indecision and fear and anger.
“Want me to keep this thing just between you and me?” Harold asked.
“Well sure, but—”
“Then go take a shower and let me handle things.”
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