Chapter 7.

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Rorschach Blots


Sev watched Mr. Duarte give Mr. Simmons a blow job, but only his dream that night did he stop it.


Sev would like to swear that quitting the swim team was entirely because of his all-consuming love for Finch, and the broken heart that would just not let him take another stroke in the crystal clear waters of their high school's 25-yard length swimming pool. It had been a while since he was on the team, so this almost seemed plausible, even to Sev.

However … a daily front row seat to the boy's locker room before and after practice was a crash course reminder of a much more pressing reason for quitting.

"Look, Sev jizzed himself!"

Spinning around, Sev barely had time to react before Darren Smith squirted him with a bottle of family-sized sunscreen. As the white, oily liquid dripped down his abdomen, Sev looked up with a scowl. "Fucking high-larious, dickhead."

"Besides," a teammate called out, "That looks more like birdshit than jizz. You ever actually seen jizz, Darren?"

The room erupted in echoing laughter, and Darren flipped off the other kid, shouting, "Not nearly as much as you have, man, and at least it was all mine!"

Forcing out his own chuckle, Sev quickly turned around again, hiding his face in his locker as he rubbed in the unwanted sunscreen. He could still feel Darren standing behind him, wearing nothing but a speedo. They were all wearing nothing but speedos. Or they were butt-ass naked. How could Sev have forgotten about the windowless room filled with naked swim-toned bodies? It had been the star of his wet dreams all through freshman, sophomore, and junior year of high school.

He was just reaching for his towel when a stinging slap landed on his ass. "Shit!" he said, jerking around to find Darren grinning at him.

"Thought you might have had a stick shoved up there."

Sev zoned out for just a moment, when he felt the stinging from his ass. Huh, yeah, so this was what Mr. Duarte liked. The thought made him laugh, and he let out a snort, shaking his head. Darren snorted in return, and walked over to his own locker, apparently appeased with Sev's sudden upturn in mood.

Flipping the towel over his shoulder, Sev brushed passed the other boys on his row, trying to touch as little skin as possible. His grin was plastered on his face. He couldn't wait to tell Mr. Duarte that he could totally relate now— and that he would be all the better disciplinarian for it.


His hand hit the wall, and the water from the drag overlapped his shoulders. Gripping the ledge, he let himself sink down until his entire body was submerged, his arm stretching up to break the surface. He stayed like for a moment, enjoying the silence, but then he felt something press down on his fingers.

He rose, the water rushing down over his head, and gazed up at the stupidly chiseled face of Mr. Simmons, who was lightly stepping on Sev's hand. Mr. Simmons cocked an eyebrow at him. "I thought I said four 100's, and three 75's."

Shooting him a sneer, Sev jerked his hand out from under Mr. Simmons' shoe, and flipped up his goggles. "I must have been going too fast for your old-man eyes, Mr. Simmons," he said, pulling his cap off, and shaking his head. "I did all that, plus the warm-down."

"You— liar," Mr. Simmons said with a surprised laugh. "Did you, really?"

Sev shrugged, and pulled himself out of the pool. Standing up on the warm cement of the pool deck, he was irked to realize that Mr. Simmons was taller than he was. Sev's eyes trailed down to see Mr. Simmons' salmon colored polo shirt stretched over his bulging muscles, and his blonde hair glistened in the sun. Jesus, was he a fucking Ken doll?

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