The Marathon Man
A college in the Midwestern United States in the early 1970's
Chapter One: Yeah team!
It wasn't school spirit that led me to become an equipment manager for our college's track and field team, although I did like the school and did like sports. Maybe part of it was wanting to still be around sports, and having failed to make the freshman soccer team it seemed my own athletic career was over, but I knew the real truth.
I wanted to be in the locker room. Was it the camaraderie and the liniment? The taping of ankles and the good-natured ribbing? Hardly. It was the guys.
The fit young guys with their cocks swinging around - THAT was what I was there for. Of course, I had to be subtle about it, or else I would be canned or even worse, get my ass kicked. So I learned to be very slick about my ogling, going for the quick peeks instead of the long stares.
I never met a cock I didn't like, and there were a lot to be liked in that locker room. Cocks of every shape and size - well, not many of my size - but you can picture the scene. In the early 70's however, one didn't just announce to everybody that you were gay or even bi. Not at my college and not me.
There was one kid who ran cross-country who got my attention, because he reminded me of somebody I knew very well. Me. Not physically, because while I was about 5'10" and 170 pounds and fairly well-built, Kent Anderson was about 6 foot tall and, I don't know, 100 pounds?
I'm sure that was an exaggeration, but Kent was as thin as a guy could be. He looked to be all elbows and knees and he looked like a stork, which was how he got that nickname. He was a decent long-distance runner, competing in the 5000 and 10000 meter races, and usually finishing in the middle of the pack.
We had spoken a few times, and I learned that he was also far from home and even quieter than I was, which was saying something.
So while we didn't look much alike, we did share one very common bond. After watching him for a couple of weeks, I noticed that he was a lot like me in that he waited until everybody was out of the locker room before he would take a shower.
He tried to be subtle about it, staying outside to run more or going to the bathroom, and sometimes when people seemed to be loitering around he would just duck out without showering. It seemed familiar because that was my method of operations for years.
When you've got a dick that's smaller hard than everybody else is limp, you don't brag about it, so I was hip to what he was going through. Until you learn to live with it, there's nothing fun about having a dick that only measures about 4" at it's best.
I found myself wanting to get a look at the kid. Who knows, I thought. Maybe his dick was even smaller than mine? Wouldn't that be a hoot? Maybe we could even talk about it, and become friends. He seemed to be a loner too.
So it was that I devised a plan to check Kent out. This says a lot about how my social life was going at the time; that I would position myself inside the storeroom on a Thursday after practice, looking through a steel mesh window at a mirror, where I hoped to be able to see the reflection of a skinny 18 year old kid with glasses naked at his locker.
Unlike most of my plans, this one actually worked. I ducked into the storeroom and kept quiet, peeking out to wait for Kent to appear at his locker. Sure enough, after almost everybody had left, Kent comes down the aisle, looking around quickly before starting to strip.
Not much to take off, so it didn't take long. Glasses come off first and the t-shirt comes up over his head, exposing a pale and hairless chest that was perfect for a Charles Atlas "before" picture in his ads.
Then the socks and the shorts come down, and he's now clad in only a jock, but he has his back to the mirror so all I can see his his bony white butt.
I want to scream TURN AROUND! but I didn't. I did pray a lot though in those few seconds, and apparently it worked because just as he began to peel the sweaty jock down, he turned and accidentally posed for me.
There it was, captured in my memory for all time. The beige colored supporter coming down, exposing a modest tuft of golden brown hair not unlike my own, and then going lower, revealing his tiny twig and berries that he was so ashamed of.
Chapter Two: Well...
The only problem with that description was that it wasn't accurate, outside of the pubes. What Kent unknowingly revealed to me was not what I had pictured in my mind, but it certainly was the stuff that dreams were made of. To put it mildly, the stork was hung like a horse.
When I saw Kent's cock unfurl from wherever he had it tucked away in that supporter, I nearly fainted. His cock was a thing of beauty, impossibly long and while not exceptionally thick, was still of greater girth than one would have expected on his scrawny body.
His balls were rather amazing as well, his sac dangling loose and low between his legs, and as he turned to toss his jock in his gym bag, I may have made a noise, because Kent raised his head like a startled deer.
I held my breath until he turned and headed to the shower, and I didn't emerge until I heard a shower get turned on. At that point I emerged from hiding and fled the locker room, trying to get my heart to beat normally again.
What am I doing? That was the question I asked myself after I left the locker room. What I really wanted to do was rip off my clothes and go into the showers after him, but something that made more sense was for me to go back in and do something that looked remotely like work related to my job, so I went back inside.
The shower was off, meaning that Kent was either in the drying room or back at his locker. Not noticing any wet footprints in the floor, I correctly assumed that he was still toweling off, so I sprinted to the supply room and brought out a bunch of stuff that I didn't need.
My timing was impeccable, as Kent was just coming around the corner to his locker as I went down the aisle in front of his locker. He looked shocked to see me, so I acted just as surprised as him, pretending that I thought the room was deserted.
"Didn't mean to scare you Kent," I said. "Thought everybody was gone."
"Sorry," Kent said, fumbling to keep the towel around himself as I approached. "I'll be done and out of here in a minute."
"No rush," I said. "I'm just getting finished here anyway."
I never saw anybody get underwear and pants on so fast in my life, Kent being so nervous that he didn't even bother to dry off. I felt so bad that I started to go about my business, but Kent got much more friendly after he pats came on and we ended up having a nice conversation.
When I suggested that we go to the rathskeller for a drink or something, I was stunned when he accepted, so we headed over and had a couple of sodas and listened to the jukebox for a while.
Kent was a really nice guy once you got past the wall he put around himself, and when I did I discovered a kid that was even more lonely, homesick and depressed than I was.
"You seem even more bummed out than me," I suggested after listening to him talk about his life on campus.
"I'm used to a lot of it," Kent said. "People making fun of me and stuff, because I've put up with that all my life, but at least I had my family back home. Here? I dunno. I'm doing alright in classes, but I'm not running very well."
"You came in fifth in the 5000 at the last meet,"
I reminded him, and he seemed surprised that I had noticed.
"I could have done better. I've been having a lot of calf problems. Think I pulled a muscle or something. I'm afraid that I might get dropped if I don't pick it up."
"At least you made the team," I said.
"You play soccer, right?" he asked. "I remember seeing you practicing when I ran the cross country course earlier in the year."
"Played soccer," I corrected. "Got cut. It's a whole different game at college - a lot faster - or so I learned. I felt like I was running underwater here."
"It is a big change," he said. "Uh, do you live on campus?"
"Yeah. I've got a roommate who loves Blue Oyster Cult loud. Not conducive to study or rest"
"Mine hates my guts," Kent said. "I look so forward to the weekends because he goes home then."
"Maybe we could do something this weekend," I suggested. "Go to a movie or something?"
"Yeah!" Kent said excitedly, and he gave me his room number.
I took that as a good sign, because I was picking up some kind of vibe from him by the end of the evening. Maybe I was misreading it, I thought. Perhaps he was just a lonely kid like me. Maybe not.
Chapter Three: No Clockwork Orange.
"Did you see what's playing?" Kent asked me as we met outside of his dorm.
"Clockwork Orange, isn't it?" I asked.
"Man of La Mancha," Kent informed me.
"Oh," I said, not even knowing what that was about.
"Clockwork Orange ended last night," he explained, and since we were limited in our entertainment by what was playing at the campus rec hall, that left little else as an option.
"We could go up to my room and watch TV," Kent suggested.
"Sounds good to me," I agreed, so we went into his dorm and up to his room, which was as cramped and crummy as my own was, only without Blue Oyster Cult.
With his roommate out of town, he had the run of the place, and after we got into the room he showed me another side of himself.
"I know this is against the rules," he said, reaching under his bed and pulling out a wooden box. "If this bothers you, just say so.
Inside the box was an almost full bottle of vodka, and when my face broke into a big grin he relaxed.
"Bothers me?" I asked. "It would have bothered me if you had it and didn't tell me."
"I mix it with kool-aid," he said with a laugh. "Kind of dumb, isn't it?"
"It explains why that big pitcher always has a smile on it," I said. "I couldn't drink it straight anyway."
We made ourselves a couple of big tumblers filled with grape kool-aid and vodka, and the bizarre cocktails made All In the Family and Bridget Loves Bernie even better, and by the time we got to The Bob Newhart Show we both had a buzz on.
Kent go up to make us some more drinks, and when he got back to the beds we were sitting on he winced a little bit as he sat.
"You okay?" I asked.
"Yeah, it's just that calf muscle," he said. "Tightens up when I sit for a while. Probably hurt it worse today."
"Yeah. Good going with that fourth place yesterday. You're getting closer," I said. "You know, I've taken some sports therapy courses. Want to see if I can loosen it up for you?"
That might have been a bit of an exaggeration, since my knowledge of sports medicine consisted of knowing how to tape ankles, but if involved being able to get to touch Kent - even just his calf, it was worth trying to fake it.
"I don't know," he said.
"What have you got to lose?" I said. "Roll your pant leg up, or why don't you just take them off?"
Kent hesitated, and then started to unbuckle his trousers before stopping.
"Better lock this," he said, walking around me to lock the door. "Sometimes drunks come in the wrong room, and they might get the wrong idea."
"Good idea," I said, and pretended not to pay any attention when he took off his pants and folded them.
Kent was wearing boxer shorts that were incredibly baggy on him, depriving me of any glimpse of a bulge, but that was alright with me. After he got down on the bed and lifted his troublesome leg, I peeled the tube sock off of his leg and went to work.
"I can feel how knotted your muscles are," I told Kent while I kneaded his calf.
"Want to use this?" he suggested, handing me a bottle of Intensive Care that he had in the night table drawer.
"Sure," I said, and after oiling my hands I began to really worked my fingers into his calf.
I marveled at how slender his legs were, and his wiry calves seemed to be about the same size as my biceps. Kent also seemed to have even less hair on his legs than I did, and while I always had found a hairy man erotic, there was something to be said for the smoother look Kent sported.
The more my hands massaged Kent's calf, the more humid the room got. I was trying to breathe normally, but the way my heart was racing made that almost impossible. It was then I noticed that Kent was making little grunting noises, and I thought that I must have been hurting him.
"Too rough?" I asked, stopping for a second to wipe my brow with the back of my arm.
"No," Kent grunted.
When I looked up at Kent, who was sitting up with his back up against the wall of the room, his eyes were screwed shut and he was biting his lip. As my eyes went down past his t-shirt and continued lower, I noticed that there was a very noticeable bulge in his boxer shorts along the inside of his left leg, and when I glanced up under the leg of the boxers I could see the head of his cock very clearly.
He was enjoying this, I thought as I resumed working on his leg. He was enjoying this as much as I was, the evidence being that his cock was getting hard, and pinned between his thigh and the underwear it had nowhere to hide.
I wanted to say something, but didn't want to break the mood in the room. The only sound besides the TV was our breathing and now Kent was breathing just as heavy as I was.
"Tim," Kent finally said. "Maybe you had better stop."
"I am hurting you, aren't I?" I asked. "I can do it gentler."
"It's not that."
"Then what?" I asked, and looking at Kent's face it seemed like he was distraught.
"I just don't - don't want this place to be like it was back home," Kent said.
"I don't understand."
"It's not something you could understand. It's - I don't want to chase you away. You're the only person I've met here that's even close to being a friend."
"Then you should be able to tell me what's bothering you," I suggested.
"What you're doing now," Kent said. "It reminds me so much of how it started back home."
"Back home, it was a lot like it is here," Kent confided. "People would either ignore me or make fun of me. That's why I started running. If I was going to be miserable alone I figured I might as well not do it hidden in my room."
"Makes sense," I said.
"Coach at school saw me running and suggested I try out for the team, and by last year I was one of the fastest runners in the county. Coach gave me confidence to do it. Without him I would never have gotten as far as I did. It even got me the scholarship for here."
"That's great," I said.
"At the regionals last year, he went with me downstate. We had a room at a hotel, and when I mentioned that my hamstrings were feeling tight the night before the race, he offered to work on them for me. It started out okay, but after a while..."
"You mean he did things to you?" I asked, ashamed at the erection I was getting over this story, and he nodded yes.
"You should have just told me no when I offered to do this," I told him, feeling guilty as I cradled his calf in my hands.
"You don't understand," Kent said.
"You said that he did things to you. It wasn't your fault that he forced himself on you."
"It wasn't like that. He didn't force himself on me. I let him do stuff, and then afterward when he wanted me to do things to him, I did."
"Did you like it?"
"No," Kent answered, and then corrected himself. "I mean, I never did anything like that before. I had never done anything to anybody - girls or boys. I didn't understand what was happening."
"Oh," I said as I listened to him rationalizing what had happened back then.
"I just told you I didn't like what the coach did to me," Kent said, looking me in the eye for the first time since he started. "That was a lie. I liked it. I liked it a lot. I know it's a sin and all, but it felt so nice to be touched by somebody. Please don't judge me, Tim. I don't know if that makes me a - you know. I'm just confused."
"Who isn't confused?" I said with a chuckle.
"Then please promise me that you won't tell anybody what I just told you," Kent pleaded. "I've been dying to tell somebody all of this for a long time but never had the guts."
"Of course I won't," I assured him, and I felt his muscles relax at that. "Why would that make things bad for you at home though? Did you and your coach have a fight?"
"No," Kent sighed. "His wife came home unexpectedly and caught us - you know. I felt so guilty because they had been married for 30 years. She left him and word got around town fast exactly why. And I thought the abuse I got before that was rough! I've been hoping that word of mouth would never follow me out here."
"It won't come from me, I swear." I said.
"Thanks Tim," Kent sighed. "I feel better getting that off my chest. I'm glad that you aren't judging me. For some reason I thought that I could trust you. Not many guys would still be in the same room - and massaging my leg no less - after hearing that."
"We all have our little secrets," I told him, my eyes still fixed to the tip of his cock which was right at the edge of the boxer's leg opening and in particularly the pearl of seed which had oozed out of his cock. "Can I ask you one question though? Why don't you take showers with the rest of the guys?"
Chapter Four: Kent revealed.
"You noticed that?" Kent replied.
"I'm very observant sometimes," I told him.
"I'm very self-conscious about my body," Kent said. "Always took a lot of ridicule in the past, so I try to avoid other people whenever I can. I can't believe you noticed that though."
"I guess I noticed it because I've been that same way most of my life too," I admitted. "I was always ashamed of my body too, until recently, when I've just decided to let it all hang out and let people chuckle of they want to."
"Yeah, but it's no fun getting laughed at."
"No, it isn't," I agreed. "I just don't know why anybody would laugh at you, unless they were jealous."
"Jealous of me?" Kent scoffed.
"I saw you in the locker room the other day," I explained. "I was hiding in the equipment room and watched you get undressed."
"You were?" Kent asked, and I felt my face redden at the admission. "Why?"
"I was curious," I told him. "I figured that because you were so modest that you might be built like me. After I saw you, I couldn't believe my eyes. You surely weren't built anything like me. Just the opposite."
"I don't understand."
"Stand up," I told Kent, and I leaned back to allow him room to rise.
My hands went up to the the snap at the top of his boxers while my eyes never strayed from the obscene bulge that ran down the inside leg of the briefs. I felt Kent's hand grab my wrists gently, and my eyes rose to meet his.
"Do you want me to stop?" I asked, and after a few seconds of us just staring at each other Kent slowly shook his head no and let go of my wrists.
The moment was erotic that I wanted it to last forever. Unsnapping the top of the boxers and then the snap halfway down the fly, I took the briefs down as slowly as possible, enjoying the revealing of the little nest of golden brown hairs before the surprisingly thick base of his cock came into view.
Kent's legs were shaking as I made this delicious moment last as long as I could. Inch after inch of the shaft of his cock appeared, a light beige in color with a fat vein that made a serpentine path along much the length of it.
Then the ridge of his glans appeared, and suddenly his boxers cleared the rest of him. I ducked back as his erection sprang wildly up past my face, bobbing and swaying almost in the manner of a jack-in-the-box just released from confinement. The boxer shorts fell to Kent's ankles as my hands went up to grab his cock, his skin of his manhood hot to the touch and as hard as steel.
He had to be at least 8 or 9 inches long, and his gigantic tool curved noticeably to his right, giving it an even more imposing appearance. Kent's eyes were looking down at me in almost disbelief as my hands encircled the shaft of his cock while I was kneeling in near-worship before his magnificent organ.