Chapter 1 - First Aid Then Man Made
There is nothing wrong with finding two athletic college sophomores taking advantage of an empty gymnasium on a Sunday morning. This is especially true if one of the young men happens to be the coach's son, Bruce. He and I met when we were freshmen, and our friendship has become closer with every passing day. I am Harry, and my Dad is something else, and he is somewhere else. I live with my Mom, Bernice.
Anyway, we had been out on the oval track trying our best to burn off some unwanted pounds. We picked a perfect day. It is hotter than Hell, and we had been sweating like two prostitutes waiting for their pimp down at the police station. To further complicate things, most of my excess weight has gathered in the general area of my hips and my thighs. It is no surprise that my inner thighs up high were blistered raw. My crotch was on fire.
Not to worry. Bruce, as always, has a solution. Not surprisingly, he has a key to the varsity team locker room wherein there is an abundance of first air paraphernalia.
"They keep tons of medicated talcum powder on hand for situations just like yours. Come on," Bruce said as he turned and headed for the hallway leading to the locker rooms. I was willing to do anything to relieve some of my misery. I followed, but I lingered in the hallway while he went into the forbidden zone. He returned shortly with a large shaker type can of the magical powder.
"Try this, buddy," he said handing me the can.
As I turned over in my mind just how I was going to treat my injury, I suddenly realized I was about as prepared as a one-legged man at an ass-kicking contest. I not only could not see the infected area, it was also too painful for me to contort my body sufficiently to apply the powder properly. Bruce quickly saw my problem.
"Need some help, Pal," he asked as nonchalantly as he could under the circumstances. I was desperate. I ignored the smirk he was fighting back as he offered his help.
"Damn, this is embarrassing," I grunted as I tried to avoid eye contact. It wasn't a question of modesty; it was intimacy.
"If you need my help, Harry," he said soberly, "I'm here."
I handed him the can of powder still avoiding his eyes as much as possible.
"It appears to me," he mumbled in his version of an authoritative tone and shook out a generous portion of the magic powder into the palm of his left hand, "that you need to give me more room to operate my good man."
I looked at him with my confusion showing on my face.
"Squat and spread, Harry," Bruce said treating his request as inconsequential as possible.
I knew this was going to smart, but I would go to great lengths to relieve some of the pain racking my crotch. I squatted as much as I dared, and I spread my feet farther apart. With his best clinical detachment in play, he reached between my legs from behind and gently patted my scrotum with the wonder drug.
I relaxed somewhat when I discovered that the powder was cool and comforting to my wounds, and surprisingly I also realized that Bruce's hand was soft and gentle as he applied the talc. By this time he was kneeling in front of me, and without thinking of how it might seem, I reached out and rested a hand on each of his shoulders. He seemed not to notice my action, and continued to spread the powder around on the surface of my raw skin. Oh man did it feel great. So did his hand.
"Does that seem to be doing the trick," Bruce asked in a friendly manner.
