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Hey, Big Guy (Complete Story 6/25/19)


TQuintA

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Ou love how this is going ~ 

Boy how i feel when they do it James will scream the magic words ~ that may affect the growth more or both of them?

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Chapter 22

            The first week after the soccer game passed.  After chem lecture on Friday, Dave and I went to meet our boyfriends at the cart, but there was a crowd waiting there.

            “Why are there so many people in our spot?” I asked.

            Dave looked through the crowd.  “Except for James, they’re all on the soccer team,” he said in fake surprise.

            I pulled out my phone.  There was a reminder flashing—a reminder I didn’t put in my phone.  It said: “Photoshoot! Today at 11!”

            I showed Dave my phone.

            “Oh good,” he said, “you got my reminder.”

            I had completely forgotten that was today.

            When Dave and I joined the group, everyone stood.  I made my way over to kiss James hello, and Luke started talking.  “Now that everyone’s here, let’s go.”

            We moved as a group to the photoshoot.  The whole time, I stood close to James and we whispered to each other.

            “I don’t get it,” I started.  “The guys on the soccer team love it when the girls in the stand fawn over how hot they are.  Even when Dave does it.  They had no problem doing the shirtless car wash last year.  Why would only 11 of them do the calendar?”

            James shrugged and said, “I assume they have tiny dicks.”

            The herd of us had arrived at the art building.  Before half the team had backed out, Luke had secured one of the studios in the basement for the shoot, and the photographer was meeting us there.  His name was Nicholas Donner, and he was nothing at all like I expected.  He was a fireplug of a man, a really macho, burly guy dressed like he was going on a hunting trip, not to a photoshoot.  He was wearing a tan vest covered in pockets, a flannel shirt, faded jeans, and paint-stained boots.  He completed the image with a thick beard.

            The studio was intense, full of professional equipment and more workers than I expected.

            “How can the soccer team afford all this?” I blurted out loud.

            Dave coughed.

            “No way,” I said.

            Dave demurred.  “I’m not saying that I tricked my mother into footing the bill for a nude calendar of my boyfriend,” he paused, looking for a way to finish the sentence.  A moment later, he said, “But that’s exactly what I did.”

            “You masterminded this whole thing.”  I was almost impressed.

            Dave feigned an innocent look.  “What?  She can write it off.”  Then, as an afterthought, he added, “It’s for charity!”

            For the ease of organization, the team had decided to do the shoot in the order of the months.  I was November, so I was going dead last before the group shot.

            To protect our modesty—a notion I found adorable given the circumstances—Nicholas had cordoned off part of the room with a portable partition that went two-thirds the way across the room, designated as the nude area.  Only naked people, Nicholas, and his staff were allowed in the nude area.  Two teammates would be behind the cordon at any given moment: the one being prepped with hair, make up, and minimal wardrobe, and the one being shot.

            When it was Luke’s turn (June), Dave tried to peek over the cordon, but a lighting guy fended him away.

            While October was going, I was asked behind the cordon to get ready.  Once behind the wall, I was surprised to see just how many people were on this side: three light technicians, two runners, a costumer, a makeup artist, a hair stylist, and Nicholas.  How rich was Dave’s mother?

            One of the runners pointed to a place I could hang my clothes, and I stripped naked. 

            I was then pointed over to the makeup chair where the artist, an older red-haired woman with a gravelly voice—said, “You don’t need much, now do you?”  Apparently, she’d been using makeup tricks to make the other guys’ muscles pop out more.  For my shoot, I needed to look wet, but sexy wet, so she sprayed me with a glycerin solution.  I wanted to ask about its composition, but this wasn’t the time or place. 

            At the same time, the stylist, a rail-thin woman with hip-length ashen blond hair, looked closely at my hair and said, “Oh, thank God, you dye it.  If this was your natural hair color, I would have to poison you.”  She rubbed a styling gel through my hair to give it a faux, messy, I-just-stepped-out-of-the-shower look.   I shook my head back and forth, and not a single hair moved.  That was weird.

            Nicholas called me over after October was finished and had me stand in front of a green screen.  The background was going to be superimposed later.

            He looked me up and down, up and down, smiled, then looked me up and down again.  “So, soccer tweet guy actually looks like that,” he said, nodding in approval.  He turned to his lighting technicians.  “Let’s get some split lighting on this beefy motherfucker.”  He turned back around to me.  “Can you tuck that thing,” he pointed to my cock, “or do we need a prop to hide it?  Like a firetruck?”  Every word he said sounded like an accusation.

            “I doubt I can tuck it,” I said honestly.

            “Of course not,” he said.  He turned to a runner.  “Get him a prop.”  He turned back to me, “We want to give the audience a thrill, not a heart attack.”

            “Whatever you want me to do.”

            He grabbed the back of the runner’s shirt to stop him from leaving.  He then said, very slowly, to me, “You’d let me shoot your whole dick?”

            “Sure,” I said bluntly.

            “From base to tip?”

            “Isn’t that the point of this calendar?”

            “Everyone else teased,” he released his runner and had a one-sided conversation with him.  “If he’ll show that mighty cock, I have to seize this opportunity.”  He paused, and then, filling in the other half of the argument, added, “But no one else did, so it would throw off the calendar.”  He paused again, and then taking up the first half, suggested, “Compromise?  Show most, not all?”

            I had been standing in a neutral stance, but I decided I had to end this man’s torture.  I spread my legs further apart so my cock and balls dangled between my legs.  I then began swaying back and forth so they would swing, showing their weight.

            That made up Nicholas’s mind.  “Okay, we’re making erotica, not a monster movie.  Get the prop.  Now, you, November.  In this picture, you are getting ready for the big game.  You’re fresh out of a hot shower, and the camera catches you getting dressed.”

            “If you made it a cold shower, my nipples would be hard,” I suggested.

            Nicholas turned to the other runner.  “Get November some ice.”  The second runner ran off.

            The first runner came back from the costumer with an athletic cup, and I laughed.

            “What’s so funny?” the runner asked.

             I held the standard-sized athletic cup in front of my meat to show how woefully inadequate it was. 

            Nicholas growled, “Are you serious?”  Then he snorted.  “For the love of fuck, get him something big enough!”  As the runner scurried back to the prop table, Nicholas said to me, “He’s my nephew, or I’d fire him.”

            The runner was stumped.  He hadn’t brought anything big enough to suffice.  So, I put up my finger to tell them all to wait, and poked my head around the cordon.  “James, my bag.”

            James handed me my bag, and I went back around the cordon.  I took my jock out of my bag, held it in front of me as though I were about to step into it, and asked, “How’s this?”

            Nichola grunted his approval and then yelled, “Ice!”  The second runner came up to me and offered me a bowl of ice.  I took a handful and iced my nipples until they were hard and sharp.  The first runner then handed me a towel, which I draped over one shoulder.  I put my jock back into position.  Nicholas then shouted a bunch of directions in a row about how to hold my body, and I complied.  He was about to take the first photo, when he whispered something to the second runner, who swapped the towel with a tiny wash cloth.  Once the swap was made, I returned to the exact same pose, and Nicholas took a dozen photos in rapid succession. 

            After he had his shot, he turned to his costumer.  “Do we have a pouch big enough for him?”

            “Pardon?” I asked.

            “The last shot’s all 11 guys—the group shot.  Everyone else is going to be wearing a modesty pouch, but I’m pretty sure these fuckwits didn’t bring one big enough for you, and you’ll go commando.”  He thought about it for a moment, then added, “The would be great for the photo, but shit for their egos.”  Then, to the costumer he said, “Give him the biggest one, see if it fits.”

            The costumer came over with what looked like a beige colored sock with an elastic ring at the top.  I put one testicle in, then the other, and then there was no room for my shaft.  The costumer, undaunted, handed me a second pouch just for my cock.  All by itself, the cock was thick enough to hold the elastic in place.

            “The difference between a professional and an idiot nephew,” Nicholas decreed.

            The other guys all came back behind the cordon.  The conceit for this picture was that we were all in a huddle.  The guys on the team protested that huddles were more of a football thing than a soccer thing—something I did not know—but they relented when he explained the camera would be pointing up from underneath us in the middle, making us all look like giants.

            When the shoot was done, we all got dressed.  James and Dave were happy to see us, and as we were about to leave the studio, Nicholas came up to me, lit a cigarette three feet from a No Smoking sign, and called out, “November.”  I turned around instinctively.  “Who represents you?”

            “Represents?”

            “Agent.  Manager.  Whoever got you this gig.  You’re clearly a ringer.”

            “I’ve never done this before.  I’m on the soccer team.  Technically.”

            “That was your first nude photoshoot?”

            “That was my first photoshoot,” I corrected. 

            He handed me his card.  “If you ever want to take pictures like the one we almost took, I’d love to work with you again.  This time, I’d pay you.”

            “You’re not hitting on me, are you?” I said.  “My boyfriend …”

            Nicholas interrupted me.  “Fuck no,” he said, flicking some ashes.  “I have a wife and two mistresses.  I need to take the photograph you deserve because I take photos of beautiful people.  Who gives a fuck if they’re men or women?  Beauty’s beauty.  I would love to shoot beautiful you again.  I could do a whole gallery show on you.”

            “Maybe,” I said, and the four of us left the studio.

            Once we were away from the art building, James asked, “When you thought he was hitting on you, were you tempted?”

            “Not even a little.”

            “He was hot,” James admitted.

            “The only thing hot about him is his beard,” I said, kissing James on the cheek.  “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

            That was the moment James decided to grow a beard.

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This is amazing. They are the greatest coupe and im amazed that James being such a powerfull guy cause he has a bodybuilders build is so shy around everyone. It's weird he hasnt take anything from being with Dave and Luke

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Awesome job.  These characters are so likable.  And I actually like the little breaks in growth where they enjoy their current size for a while...  

...of course, I hope they keep growing too ;)

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Chapter 24

            Unlike most college campuses, ours has both a fall and a spring break.  Fall break this year was the second week of October, the week after James did his striptease.  Usually, the four of us would just use the week to hang out because the campus stayed open the whole time.

            “I can’t do it this year,” Luke said.  It was the Friday before fall break, and we were having breakfast at our usual picnic table by the library.  Break would start as soon as James got out of his afternoon class, and Luke was just now dropping this bombshell.  “Our team has a real shot of making the College Cup this year, and I have an away game both weekends and extra practices in between.”

            “How are you going to survive a whole nine days without your better half?” I asked Dave, a little sarcasm in my tone.

            “Oh, I won’t,” Dave replied.

            James pulled out his cell phone to look at the clock.  “Time of death, 10:48 AM.”  Then, to me, he added “I’ll miss Dave.” 

            “Very droll,” Dave said.  “I am going with him to the away games.  And the coach asked me to make some behind-the-scenes photos and video clips to sell as merch.  Now that there are fans, someone has to do it.”

            “You’re getting paid, aren’t you?” I surmised.

            “I’m on commission,” Dave corrected.  “I might as well take the job.  I’m going to be at half the practices anyway.”

            “Half?” I asked.

            “The fall mainstage, Chrissy.  Thanks to our showcase, I got the lead.  I’ve got rehearsals every weekday during fall break.”

            “And how are you going to survive without your cheerleader by your side?” James asked.

            “I’ve already cleared it with his director.  When I don’t have practice, I can watch rehearsal.  As long as I’m really quiet.”

            “So, you’re going to be here for most of break, just too busy to hang out?” I clarified.

            “That’s the long of short of it,” Dave said. 

            “Later, James.  Later, buddy,” Luke said, clearing his seat.  “See you…” he thought about it, then finished, “after fall break.”

            Dave cleared his space and said, “Do try to think fondly of us in our absence.”

            As soon as they’d left, James slumped happily in his seat.  “They’re a lot, aren’t they?”

            “Yeah.  That’s what I like about them.”

            “Don’t get me wrong.  They’re my friends too.  They’re good company and generous and funny.  Without them, I doubt I’d go to half as many campus events as I do.  And they’re really good at drawing attention away from me, so I don’t feel like a raw nerve in a crowd.  But they’re a lot.”

            I shrugged.  “I like their over-the-top personalities.  And you do too, or you’d run headfirst into the woods.”

            James turned in his seat to face me head on.  “That gives me a great idea.”

            A little wary, I gave a minimal response so he would continue.

            “My Uncle Henry has a cabin on a lake about two hours from here.  He never gets the chance to use it, so he rents it out to people for vacations.  It’s beautiful.  October’s the off-season, so why don’t I call him to see if we can get it for the week?”

            “Sounds perfect,” I said.  “If it’s available, let’s do it.”

            James kissed me on the cheek, grabbed his phone, and ran a few feet away to call his uncle.

            Two minutes into the phone call, James came back to the table.  “Hey, Chris.  Uncle Henry says it’s all ours, but there’s a catch.”

            “Oh?  We need to fix the porch or something?”

            “Nothing like that,” James reassured.  “Uncle Henry and my dad were planning on coming up for a weekend fishing trip next weekend.  So, we’d be sharing the cabin for two or three days.”

            “Meeting the family?” I said.  “I’m in if you’re in.”

            James returned to the phone, “It’s all cool.  See you soon.  Love you too.”  He hung up and sat back down at the table.  “I am so excited.  I haven’t been to the cabin in years, and I haven’t seen my dad and Uncle Henry since August.”

            “So, is he your dad’s brother, or your mom’s brother?”

            “Who?”

            “Uncle Henry.”

            “Oh.  He’s not my uncle.”

            “Now I’m confused.”  I furrowed my eyebrows.

            “I call him Uncle Henry, but he’s not a blood relative.”

            “It’s an honorary thing.  Got it.”

            James stalled before the sentence even started.

            “What?”

            “He’s my dad’s husband.  He’s my other dad.”

            I was shocked.  “Your dad’s gay?”

            “Yeah.  My mom and dad got divorced when I was four.  Uncle Henry moved in and mom moved out.”

            “And he married your father?”

            “About three years ago, when it became legal.  But they’ve been together forever.”

            “Wouldn’t that make him your step-father?”

            “Legally, I suppose.  I mean, he raised me, so I just think of him as family.”

            “Then why call hm uncle?”

            “That’s what he told me to call him when I was four.  They came out to me when I was in fifth grade, and my only follow-up question was if I could still call him Uncle Henry.  Now I’ve been doing it for so long, it just feels normal.”

            “He’s okay with that?”

            James explained, “He was so worried I’d pull the whole ‘you’re not my father’ thing that he was relieved by it.”

            “Your dad is gay, and you’re gay.”

            “Yes.”  James nodded.

            “What was that like when you came out to him?”

            James shook his head.  “I never came out to him.”

            “Why not?”

            “No one back home knows I’m gay.”

            “It’s not like he’ll disown you.  He’s gay too.”

            “And a therapist.  And an over-sharer.  He would have wanted to psychoanalyze me or send me to a summer camp where we made sock puppets and talked about our feelings.  I’ll tell him when he needs to know.”

            I turned to James and put my hand on his thigh.  “Does he know I’m coming to the cabin?”

            “Depends if Uncle Henry told him yet.”

            I cleared my throat and, very slowly, asked, “Who did you tell Uncle Henry was coming to the cabin?”

            “You.”

            “But what did you call me?”

            “Chris.”

            “Good,” I reassured, “because that’s my name.  But how did you describe me?”

            “I don’t follow.”

            “Did you say, ‘my friend Chris?’  Or ‘my boyfriend Chris?’ Or something else?”

            “Boyfriend.”

            “Congratulations,” I said, slapping James on the shoulder.  “You just came out to your fathers.”

            “I did?”  He looked completely lost.  As James said that, his phone rang and he answered.  “Hey, Dad.”  I couldn’t hear what his father was saying on the other end.  “Yeah, Uncle Henry said that right.  Boyfriend.  Yes, Chris is my boyfriend.”  A loud scream of joy erupted on the other end of the phone.  “Yeah, Uncle Henry told me.  Yeah.  Uh-huh.  Okay.  Love you too, Dad.”  He hung up and looked at me.  “I just came out to my dads.”

            “He sounded really happy about it.”

            “He’s really happy about it.  He’s coming-up-a-whole-day-early-so-we-can-spend-more-time-together happy about it.”

            “That’s cool,” I said.

            “He didn’t want to do a group therapy session or show me inkblots or anything like that.  He was just really happy to hear it.”

            “I’m glad,” I said honestly.

             “Now I can’t wait to leave for the cabin.”

            “Then let’s not wait.”

            “Yes!”  He was palpably excited.  “I’ll blow off my afternoon class.  Go pack.  I’ll meet you at my car.  I have some big ideas for our vacation,” he said as he raced off.  Before he was completely out of sight, he shouted over his shoulder, “Big!”

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