Everyone is 18+ and fully consenting.
I had a pass to the bathroom but no real urgency to get there. I didn’t even really have to pee, I just wanted to do something. The corridor was empty. It was the middle of third period. My footsteps were the only sound in the hall.
The bathroom was empty too. I checked under the stalls out of habit, saw nothing, and felt my brain make the pivot it always made when I was alone somewhere. I was horny and hormonal, always. It was basically a constant state, a chronic condition. Being bored made me get hard, just like seeing a flash of a girl's underwear, or armpit, or short shorts, or even a face, really. Being stressed made me horny. An empty room in the middle of the school day, apparently, also made me horny.
I got myself out at the urinal. I was already growing, just knowing what I was about to do.
I thought about the bathroom itself, which sounds strange, but there was a whole mythology to this specific boys' room. The guys had been supposedly jerking it in here specifically forever, so much that it had a nickname, the "Jack shack." Maybe that's why I subconsciously chose this one today, even though it had been out of my way.
Without realizing it, I had been collecting evidence of this bathroom's reputation for years. The dried white streaks on the stall walls. And sometimes, they weren't even fully dry yet. The floor near the back stall had its own collection of stains that the janitor failed to properly clean up in time. It happened all the time, by guys who were probably standing exactly where I was standing, thinking roughly what I was thinking. I found that comforting, oddly.
I put one earbud in, so I could hear if anyone was coming. I pulled out my phone with one hand, loading up some porn while I started to rub myself firmly with the other. I wanted to have a nice, slow-build orgasm, the good kind that wasn't just a quick shot off. Otherwise, I would be shaking in my seat, itching for another round with myself before the end of this period.
I was maybe forty-five seconds into slowly spanking it, just barely milking out my first drop of pre-cum when the door swung open.
I folded forward fast, pressing myself close to the porcelain, and turned my head just enough to see who it was out of the corner of my eye. It was Bradley. I felt my whole chest tighten a little, without really knowing why.
Bradley was basically a “popular” guy. He was starting pitcher, and our school’s team was good. On top of that he was known to be smart, near the top of the class, a fact he had mentioned to me personally on multiple occasions, unprompted. He was going to go to a good college. Everyone knew it and he knew everyone knew it. He walked through the hallways with confidence. He was intimidating. And I hoped he didn’t realize I was jerking off.
He saw me at the urinal. He gave me a nod. "Hey, kid."
I nodded back, which was the full extent of what I was capable of in that moment.
He went into the nearest stall and the door swung shut behind him.
I thought about packing it in, putting my junk away and walking out. That was obviously the correct move. But the fact that he was in here, ten feet away, not knowing what I had been doing, gave me a new charge I hadn't expected. I stayed where I was. I started stroking again, quieter now, more delicately. I couldn’t let my pre-cum squelch or make a squishy sound on my cock.
I found the sensations somehow elevated from trying to keep the act hidden. It was extra naughty if someone was right there. I rubbed the pre-cum into the sensitive part under the hear of my dick, and felt like I was going to cum already. I ran my tight fingers to the base of my dick, squeezing hard, holding off from orgasm in a desperate, intensely pleasurable way. I fought the urge to breathe harder, determined not to alert him of my shenanigans.
The problem was the buildup. Soon I was losing my ability to judge how obvious I was being. I didn’t even realize that I had been standing at the urinal for longer than any reasonable piss would take, and things had progressed in my crotch to the point where I was wet and slippery, and the sounds I was making, even trying to minimize them, were unmistakably specific, a small, squishy friction I could hear clearly in the silence of the bathroom. Yet, somehow, I believed he couldn’t hear any of it, that he was too far away.
I thought I was getting away with it.
"You jerkin' it dude?"
His voice came out of the stall flatly, no particular judgment attached to it. It echoed.
I paused. There was no version of a denial that worked here.
"Yeah," I said, giving up the pretense. But I noticed one thing, that he didn’t seem bothered by it. I didn’t freak out. I didn’t move to put myself away.
A beat of quiet.
"Me too," he said.
I didn't say anything to that. I wasn't sure what there was to say. I started up again, slower, more careful, listening to the silence from his stall. The charged feeling I'd had before was different now. It was something else entirely. I was very aware of the wall between us.
"Race me?" he said. I heard him start stroking, quickly, skin rubbing against skin.
I stared at the stall door in front of me, and picked up my pace. I could see hints of movement in the crack of the door. He was standing, his pants at his ankles. I saw flesh, and an arm going up and down. I saw the side of his toned, baseball-playing ass. I was close already. I had been close for a while. I thought about what was happening on the other side of the stall wall, and how wrong this was, and I got closer.
"Done," he said with an exhale.
I stopped. "Yeah right," I said. "That was like fifteen seconds."
"See for yourself," he said.
The lock on the stall door clicked. The door drifted open an inch on its own and stopped there.
I stood there for a second. Then I reached over with my foot and pushed the door the rest of the way open.
Bradley was standing there with his pants still partly down, his hard, thick dick throbbing in his hand, a drop of cum still smeared on the head of it. His facial expression was flat and unbothered. On the wall beside him, a thick white streak ran down the tile. It was still dropping downward, yet to find the final shape of the stain it would leave behind. He had not been lying.
"Add yours," he said, his voice perking up.
I moved to the stall doorway. I was still most of the way there already, and I grabbed my dick, making squishy sounds as I twisted my hand tightly around the head of it, rubbing it the slimy pre-cum I had been leaking out.
It didn't take long. Bradley watched closely, staring right at my dick, which I wasn't expecting. He hadn’t even bothered to wipe up his own yet, and started talking to me in a low voice.
"Yeah. Nice. Go for the gold. Be a winner." A pause. "Attaboy. There it is, superstar."
He put an arm around my shoulder, making me tense up, but in a good way. I felt tingles run up my spine. His hard body, thick dick, his big muscles were close to me. I got a whiff of his scent, more masculine than me.
He had one more word of encouragement.
“There’s a good boy.”
That did it. I went off hard, a long exhale coming out of me, and my streaks splattering against the wall, running down next to his, thicker. My whiter jizz met his more watery release as the two piles of evidence mixed.
He pulled out a ton of toilet paper and handed me a wad of it.
We cleaned ourselves up and tucked ourselves away before washing our hands at the sinks, side by side, not saying anything. In the mirror I watched him smooth his hair back with wet hands.
"We're 1-0," he said, apparently deciding this was a competition with a scoreboard. "Next time we'll add stakes."
He left first. I stood at the sink for another moment.
I left wondering what the fuck I had gotten myself into.
—[]—
I didn't see him again until lunch, and even then it was just across the cafeteria, him laughing at something one of the baseball guys said, not looking over at me once. I told myself that was normal. We weren't really friends. We just had a fun moment together, boys fucking around, albeit crossing a certain line that some might judge to be too gay.
There was no reason for him to look over. I picked at my sandwich, not listening to my group of friends as they talked about… something. And I watched him, trying to read something in his posture, his expression, any sign that what had happened was still happening somewhere in his head. There wasn't one. He looked completely normal. I was the only one who felt different.
He caught up to me at my locker after the last period got out. I hadn't heard him coming and then he was just there, leaning against the locker next to mine.
"Hey," he said.
"Oh,” I said. “Hey."
"You busy right now?"
I looked at him for a second, thinking hard about what I was supposed to do today, but I couldn’t remember whether I was busy or not. My mind was blank. Either way, I was more interested in what he was about to suggest.
“I’m free.”
"Walk with me," he said, and started toward the side doors before I'd actually agreed to it.
We ended up in the parking lot, by his car. He leaned against the driver's door and crossed his arms and looked at me for a second. He was wearing a baseball pullover, sleeves pushed up to the elbows, and his forearms were tan, with the definition that baseball players get, especially pitchers.
"So I've been thinking about the stakes thing," he said.
"You've been thinking about it, for like six hours?" I said.
"Yeah. I think about a lot of things during AP Gov." He shrugged. " Pretty much anything except AP Gov.”
He chuckled. I chuckled. I waited.
“Let’s do it again. But whoever finishes last has to do something."
"Something?"
"Within reason. Nothing crazy. Just something that proves you lost."
"Like what," I said.
He smiled like he'd been waiting for me to ask. "Girls' underwear. Loser wears them to school. Has to prove it."
I laughed. He didn't laugh with me, which made it land differently.
"That's insane," I said.
"It's funny."
"Funny and insane."
"So you're in."
I should have said no. There was a clean version of that afternoon where I said it was stupid and walked home. But I was still thinking about the sound of his voice through the wall, and the way he'd watched me at the end, like it mattered to him, and some reckless, stupid, hormonal part of my brain decided that losing this particular bet might not be the worst outcome in the world.
"Okay," I said. "When."
"Tomorrow. Before first period. I'll text you."
He got in his car, and rolled down his window.
“Get ready for the cockfight,” he said, winking at me.
“I don’t have any girls’ underwear,” I said.
“I’ll bring ‘em,” he said with a smirk.
He pulled out and drove off. I stood in the parking lot an extra minute, then started to walk home.