You realized that your Dad was coming home early tonight to cook dinner and wanted the family to eat together. I'll try to run through the woods to get back home," you figured. Your sister needed the car today so you ha to walk to school.
You left the classroom where you were playing and headed down the corridor. You could have walked out the front door but you would have had to walk around the entire campus to get to the woods to head home. Alternately, you could walk through the athletic hall which would probably cut your time down by at least 5 minutes. "Oh shit," you said. You had gone through the athletic corridor before, but didn't know your way very well. It also required you to walk through at least the football and volleyball team's men locker rooms. You definitely didn't want to run into anyone there. You had heard what happened when non-jocks tried to walk down those hallways. But you didn't have time, better hurry.
It was 7 after all, you told yourself as you made a left down toward the athletic corridor. All you had to do was make a right, go down the stairs, walk through the football team's locker room, then open the door, through the shower corridors that the football, volleyball and cross country guys shared, and then through the volleyball team's locker room. You could leave from their door and be at the edge of the state park to get you home.
Down the stairs you went, quickly and lightly walking to keep your shoes from echoing against the concrete that surrounded you. At the bottom of the hall you made a left, passing the pictures of football teams of the glories of yesteryear. The high school had always been known for its football program, recruiting many talented mean into the bigtime college leagues. As you approached the end of the hall, you saw the sign for "Football. Men."
It was enough for anyone to know what that meant.
You listened carefully. No noises, no jocks giving each other shit, talking about how they were going to score with girls after they won their game on Friday. They had to have all left. Right?
You opened the door as it slowly creaked. No response. No sound of anyone. You listened further to hear if you could pick up the fall of shower water. Nothing.
You stepped in. The room still felt humid from the jocks showering after practice, but there didn't seem to be anyone around. You stepped in.
No sounds.
You picked up your pace again, hurrying faster and faster. This was the dangerous corridor. If you made it through here and the showers, then you could make it through the volleyball team's with no issues. Just had to be stealthy and quick.
You made a right, walking down the first row of lockers. You turned to the left and noticed a dead end. "Oh fuck!" you said.
You paused. Still no sounds.
You walked three rows down then another left to head back down another row of lockers. The next corridor had to be here somewhere. Had to be close.
You saw the door. Just fifty feet away. You picked up your pace. You exited the row of lockers and entered the next when a figure appeared right before your eyes.
"Oh lookie what we have here!" a deep, massive, jock voice exclaimed.
You looked up. It was Brock. You gulped. "Oh fuck."
"Little fuckin faggot coming onto my turf thinking he could get away with it, huh?" He said. He walked around the corner of his locker row and toward your's.
The jock was down to his compression short. Black Under Armour compression shorts clung tight to his sweaty body. He had just pulled off his T-shirt and dropped it to the ground.
Your eyes widened, your breath quickened. As frightened as you were you also found yourself enviously turned on by the sculpted body in front of you. He was everything you had wanted.
You turned once more to walk away from him but he was already too close. He grabbed your backpack and forced you to turn around. "I don't think so, fag." He said. "This is my fuckin turf and I get to do with you what I want."
What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Brock took both of his palms and shoved you hard a pace away from him, causing you to lose your balance and fall onto the floor, backpack making contact with the floor first. "Cling!" sounded the lamp inside the backpack.
Brock paid no mind. He pulled down the front of his compression shorts, exposing the dark public hair that ran up from his Adonis to his treasure trail on his sculpted six pack. He smiled. "What the fuck am I gonna do with you?" He said, sick thoughts probably swirling around in his head.
You started to scoot back but as you did you noticed that the backpack was open, the pressure of your back against the concrete floor caused the lamp to slip right out and in front of you and Brock.
Brock chuckled. "What the fuck is this?" He said, as you continued to scatter back, just trying to keep away from the jock.
You lunged back for the lamp, but not before Brock was able to grab it and pick it up. He chuckled as you missed the lamp and fell back onto the floor again.
"What the fuck is this" He said, studying the golden runes and foreign marks on it, admiring the black coal metallic against the gold lettering. Even as a jock, Brock noticed the lamp was uncomfortably heavy. The black sheen on the side hypnotized him though as he tried to piece together what it could be.
"What is this thing?" Brock asked. Now more serious. "Is this like a fuckin genie's lamp or something?"