Changing Tyler-Chapter Four

Billy caught up to me betwixt my final class and track practice, grabbing my arm and hauling me into the nearest bathroom. No one else was in there, which suited me just precious considering that I was certain Billy wouldn’t filter soever that guy was going to say before this guy told it.

“I’m sorry, Tyler.”

Okay, that wasn’t what I’d expected, not from Billy. I’d figured that he was going to pass the blame for our argument on me, tell me that I was being too sensitive, that I had to grow a thicker skin to survive. An apology wasn’t smth I’d even considered, not from Billy. I was surprised and impressed, but I wasn’t about to let him off the hook so easily.

“You were a real jack-off, Billy. It hurt, dude.”

“I know. I’m just… Look, there’s a lot going on in my head lately, Tyler, serious stuff that I haven’t talked to u about, okay? I’m really sorry about this afternoon. Can’t we let it go at that?” he really looked as though this guy meant it, too. this chab hadn’t even cracked a smile.

“What kind of stuff?” I was wavering, but still not ready to forgive.

this chab shook his head. “Nothing u need to be anxious about, not yet, in any case. I’m just not willing to talk about it, okay? It’s got to do with Robbie, but that’s all I can tell u. Look, just tell me that everything’s still okay between us.”

I blinked. This wasn’t my Billy. My Billy didn’t have a serious thought in his head. My Billy was also concerned with clothes, hawt guys, and the latest Who’s Who of Hollywood to think about anything of any real importance. Plus, my Billy couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. He’d always said me anything – at least, I’d always thought he had. “Robbie-the-Hunk? you don’t even know his final name.”

“I know a lot greater amount about him than u think I do. Please, Tyler, just say we’re good, okay?” Jesus, he was practically begging! How could I say no?

“Okay, okay,” I said, giving in as I always did, “we’re cool.”

“Good! I have to go. Call me later, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, Billy.” Then that guy was gone, in a flash of rainbow-colored T-shirt and red Converse sneakers. The door swung shut behind him, leaving me alone in the bathroom with a entire load of questions and no answers.

The feeling I’d had that morning came roaring back, stronger than ever. smth wasn’t right, and now I was sure that soever that something was, it had to do with Billy.

Track practice went about as usual. We warmed up, stretched, did a scarcely any laps. We had a meet coming up the following weekend against South Westfield High, two towns over. I spotted Dylan across the field, working with the other team members who would run the hurdles. I didn’t do the hurdles – I didn’t have the legs for it. you needed lengthy legs to make the jumps, legs like Dylan’s. Mine might be fast, but they weren’t exceptionally long. I wasn’t nice sufficiently to run relay, either. I would run in the sprints, 100, 200, and 400 meter.

Dylan did everything – sprints, relay, hurdles, javelin, discharged put, discus, hammer, and all the jumps, and this chab was equally priceless at every event, although this chab did his superlatively good in the hurdles. If somebody merited an built scholarship to State, it was Dylan. Maybe this tutoring thing, if I could acquire past the fact that it was Dylan I was trying to teach, would aid his grades.

I made worthy time during the practice runs. Maybe I poked myself a little harder than usual, wondering if Dylan were watching me, knowing that we had a date after practice. I know, I know…it wasn’t a date, but a chap could dream, right? If fantasizing helped move my gazoo around the track, then what was the injury?

trainer blew the whistle and the team made for the showers. That was the pont of time when a new worry hit me, a serious one that I hadn’t considered previous to.

I didn’t make a habit of showering with the guys. The gym showers didn’t have separate stalls – they didn’t even have curtains between them.  Getting undressed with a bunch of buff boyz was just also difficult and uncomfortable for me. I usually grabbed my gear and hightailed it home after practice, showering in the privacy of my own bathroom where it didn’t matter if I sprouted a boner. If pressed, for sample after an away-game, I’d wait until everybody else had finished, then duck in, lather up, and acquire the Hell out.  Let’s face it – I fantasized about Dylan in the shower all the time. indeed seeing him there in the flesh, juicy and soapy, would result in a problem I wouldn’t be able to hide.

I’d gotten very valuable at excuses, too. Can’t shower – athlete’s foot. Can’t shower – dental appointment. Can’t shower – going to be late for doctor/date/grandma’s funeral/cousin’s wedding. Honestly, when it came to excuses, I had sufficiently material to write a book on the subject.

This time, I didn’t have a choice. I had to meet Dylan afterward for our first tutoring session, and I couldn’t show up smelling like the chimp abode at the zoo. I didn’t crave him to have to wait also long for me, either – he’d either crave an explanation or give up and go home.

Still, I dragged my feet, trying to await until most of the chaps had finished showering. I exposed slowly in the locker room, in a corner behind a row of lockers where no one could see me and greater amount importantly, where I couldn’t see them. With a towel wrapped loosely around my waist (draped in the front to hide everything that might suddenly spring up), I grabbed my soap and shampoo, kept my eyes glued to the floor and made my way into the shower room.

It was empty except for one guy showering underneath the final head at the back of the room.

Of course, the lad would have had to be Dylan.

I didn’t stare. I swear it. only one quick peek to verify that it was him, but believe me, that was greater amount than enough. I squeezed my eyes shut, cranked up the shower and stepped below the spray, careful to keep my back to him.

Unfortunately, I’d forgotten all about my towel. I didn’t even notice the wet, heavy terrycloth dragging at my haunches. I was likewise busy trying to scrub the vision of Dylan exposed from my brain via my scalp previous to parts beneath my stomach button realized it was there.

Dylan, however, noticed.

in advance of I knew what was happening, a hand yanked my towel off and reached around my shoulders, waving it in my face. “Forget something?” Dylan asked, laughing, shaking the towel. I was frozen, unable to move, unable to breathe. Dylan’s arm disappeared, along with the towel.

“Meet you in the library, dude.” that guy snapped my arse with the wet towel and was gone.

The whole incident had taken less than thirty seconds, but in my head it went on and on, repeating over and over another time in slow motion, like a sensational play on Monday Night Football.

Not solely had Dylan seen me naked, he’d touched me. He’d used the painful end of a soaked towel to do it, sure, but who was I to split hairs? I allowed myself to savor the feeling for a few brief moments, then filed the whole experience away in my memory to be taken out later that night when I was alone and safe in my sofa and could indeed enjoy it.

Then I took a deep, calming breath, and turned the shower penis all the way over to COLD.

After about five minutes underneath the icy spray, one time I deemed myself sufficiently shrunken and pruny, I turned off the water. Having no towel was a problem, but not one I couldn’t overcome. I hurried to the doorway, snaking my arm around the corner, fishing for a clean towel from the rack. For once, luck was with me. I snagged a corner of soft terrycloth and pulled hard.

I succeeded in getting a towel, and wrapped it snugly around my waist before running throughout the dressing room to my black little corner. everybody else had gone already, including Dylan. The only person left in the room was Pete, the equipment manager, who was also busy slinging jockstraps and immodest towels into a laundry bin to notice me.

It didn’t take me lengthy to dress, fuss at my hair in the mirror until I realized it wasn’t going to behave no matter what I tried short of shaving it off, and splashed on a little cologne. It wasn’t expensive stuff, but it was more good than the Old Spice my stepfather usually doused himself in. I suddenly wasn’t very anxious with how I looked – the guy had just swatted my naked booty in all its curly brilliance. I didn’t think wrinkles in my shirt or the bleach spot on my jeans was going to make much of a difference in his opinion of me.

I ran all the way from the gym to the library, which was up 2 flights of stairs on the other side of the building. Since it wouldn’t do to burst into the library wheezing and sweating, I leaned against the wall for a scarcely any minutes, composing myself. Then, gathering my courage, I opened the door and walked in.