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blinked, feeling the beginnings of tears in his eyes, and then he handed the picture back to Luke, forcing himself to smile.
    “You can keep it if you want,” Luke said.

10
    That afternoon at training, they had relay practice, four by one hundred, because there was a meet coming up. They could only enter one team, and Mitchell wasn’t on the team. He didn’t know why Coach Marley hadn’t put him on the team, because the relay was a medley, and Mitchell had the best time for backstroke. He had even won the state final last year, though that was for the two hundred backstroke, and perhaps Coach Marley thought Jack would be better over one hundred meters. He wasn’t. Mitchell knew that, but he said this to himself, trying to find an excuse for Coach Marley, because he knew Coach Marley didn’t like him. Often, when Coach Marley was talking to them, he would stare at Mitchell’s speedos, at his little jutting cock, and the expression on his face was one of distaste. His eyes would flick from it to Mitchell’s face, as though he was saying, “Aren’t you going to do something about that?”
    “Jumbo,” Coach Marley said, calling him over. Coach Marley had started calling him Jumbo a week or so after the guys had started. And Mitchell had even seen a smile on Coach Marley’s lips when he first heard the guys calling him the name, as though he got the joke at once and knew what it was all about. “I’m going to pull Jack and put you on the team,” Coach Marley said, “and I’m going to try Tadd in fly. We’ll do that today and see how the times come up.”
    Mitchell nodded.
    The guys had been practicing in three teams of four, racing each other. Mitchell walked over to the blocks in lane three where Mason (freestyle) and Tyler (breaststroke) were already standing. Coach Marley called Jack and Ben over (who had also been waiting behind lane three) and Mitchell watched as Coach Marley told them they were being pulled from the team — at least for today. Ben shook his head as he turned away. He was always last, always the guy with the worst times, the guy who didn’t belong on the team, though to look at him, you’d think he’d be the best swimmer, because Ben had that sort of body — wide shoulders and narrow hips, a perfect triangle.
    “Hey,” Tadd said, coming over to lane three. “It looks like we’re teammates.” He put his hand out and shook Mitchell’s hand. Tadd was always doing stuff like this, shaking people’s hands and patting them on the back, asking for high fives and putting his arm over people’s shoulders. He really was a jerk.
    Mitchell slipped into the water and waited for the starting pistol. Coach Marley had a pistol that he always used. It was pretty stupid, Mitchell thought, because the guy carried it around like he was a gun-slinger, waving it around all over the place.
    The gun went off and Mitchell arched his body backwards. He was having a problem this afternoon, a problem keeping his cock up. After what had happened yesterday, with the guys finding out that he always had a boner (supposedly), he was finding it difficult today to keep it up, because he was worried about the whole thing, worried that he’d get a soft cock, and then the guys would know he had been lying. And the worry about it was what was actually causing him to feel his cock going soft every now and then. He had to keep looking over at Luke, or at one of the other guys, and imagine getting fucked by them, which was what he always imagined, because Mitchell didn’t want to fuck a guy himself. He wanted to be fucked. He wanted to feel a hard cock up his ass, sliding in and out, and he used plenty of instruments on himself, things that weren’t designed to be put up a person’s ass, even once or twice getting himself into a mess with it.
    He had heard stories of guys getting things stuck in their asses, but somehow (Mitchell didn’t know why) he kept pushing himself every time he did it, finding larger and