Power Couple

Part 1

Bruce and Roger met in the 8th grade. They were both 13 at the time, tall for their age, and way too smart for their own good, even in a class of smart kids. Big vocabularies and coke bottle thick glasses and just a little too swishy and too interested in art and music and books for the other guys to take them seriously (the girls, of course, loved both of them.)

They instantly latched on to each other, recognizing a kindred spirit, although probably not (at least in Roger’s case) recognizing just what that spirit was. At their middle school all members of a given home room stayed together throughout the day so they hung out together at lunch, on the playing fields, and wherever else, except for Civics. Turns out Bruce had pissed off the elderly lush who taught that class so he was consigned to Mrs. Robertson’s class instead, much to Roger’s dismay.

Their teachers, the ones who actually paid attention to their students, clucked their tongues and shook their heads or rolled their eyes. It was the early 70s, so it was just as well that the oblivious ones were usually the religious nut jobs; the ones who paid attention tended to be of the “live and let live” variety.

They spent long hours talking on the telephone, discussing everything under the sun. Bruce was inclined to want to relay ALL the details of the latest book he was reading, whether it was “Lord of the Flies” or, better yet, “The Chosen,” about those two cute Jewish boys in Brooklyn right after World War II.

They talked about the changes they were growing through, the hair that was popping up in different places, whether they were still getting taller, even the size of their genitals. “Mine are large,” Bruce said, while Roger allowed he had “no basis of comparison” (and, yes, even at 14 that was a typical sentence for boys who had been reading on the college level since they were 6th graders.)

One time they talked so long that the telephone operator interrupted the call. Roger’s parents were out visiting friends and Roger’s dad went ballistic when he couldn’t through to check on his eldest son and his younger brothers.


And then, horror of horrors, it was time to go off to high school, where you didn’t hang out with the same kids all day, where they actually had a gym, not just playing fields, and…they were going to different high schools!

Actually, neither of them really gave it that much thought, assuming they’d talk on the telephone ad infinitum. But in fact Bruce went off to Woodlawn and Roger went off to Wentworth and nightly telephone calls turned into weekly calls and weekly calls turned into monthly calls.

But they kept enough to know that Bruce was getting into his school’s choral group and that Roger was psyched that his gym had decent weight-lifting equipment and that both of them had signed up for Latin.

They went to see a couple of movies together at Christmas (Bruce’s mom would take them, Roger’s mom would pick them up, or vice versa) but that was it until April.

“Are you going to Tampa?” Bruce asked before Roger could finish saying “hello.”

“You mean for the State Latin Forum?” Roger replied. “Yep, I’d like to do so. I think Mom and Dad will spring for it.”

Bruce squealed with delight (yes, there were reasons the other guys tended to be standoffish around the two of them, if not actively hostile…)

“We’ll room together, in that case,” he said.

Aside from the movies at Christmas the two hadn’t hung out together on a regular basis since the summer previously. They were both taller naturally. When they first met, Bruce had been 5’10 to Roger’s 5’9 and now, nearly two years later, they were 6’1 and 6 ft respectively.

On the other hand…

“Oof, Roger,” Bruce said, pushing on his friend’s denim jacket, “when did you get so padded?”

They were both about 150 lbs. when they first met but Roger, thanks to pretty much non-stop weight-training at Wentworth, was up to a very solid 200 lbs. He probably outweighed Bruce by 30 lbs. even though the latter was an inch taller. For someone who never worked out, other than swimming, Bruce was broad-shouldered and had a narrow-waisted but next to Roger he was feeling a might skimpy.

“I keep telling you to hit the weights,” Roger replied.

Bruce pouted.


Roger rolled his eyes.

“I’ll show you when we get back,” he grinned.

The Latin Forum was a blast. Kids from all over the state of Florida, some of them in costume, geeking out. Bruce took first place in Freshman Derivatives, Roger bested a junior from Sarasota in Declamations. For a couple of kids from the Panhandle, they held their own. Afterwards there was a dance and Roger stood on the sidelines and watched while Bruce, a head taller than most of their classmates, danced with all the girls.

They shared their hotel room with three other guys, two from Woodlawn and one from Worthington (who was pretty much the geekiest of all and who insisted on sleeping on the floor…)

Bruce and Roger took the bed closest to the door.

In the dark, with the a/c blasting, Bruce and Roger spooned, with Roger’s broad back to Bruce’s lean torso. In no time the other guys were snoring…and Roger began moving his thick squat butt up and down on Bruce’s cock.

“What are you doing?” Bruce whispered in his best friend’s ear.

“You said it was big,” Roger replied. “Just how big is it?”

In about 15 seconds Bruce was totally hard.

“It’s that big, OK?”

Bruce could have sworn Roger was purring.

“How big is yours?” Bruce asked.

Roger pulled Bruce’s arm around his waist.

“Why don’t you find out?”

And that was the beginning.


Part 2

“Did we really do that?” Bruce asked on the bus trip home.

“We really did,” Roger pointed out.

“But what does it mean?”

Roger smiled.

“Only time will tell…”

And, in fact, not much changed. They still went to different high schools, they were far enough apart that bike rides and nearly non-existent public transportation meant they were still dependent on their parents for getting together, and that didn’t seem like such a good idea!

They did plenty of exploring on their own, however, at their respective high schools. Despite their geekish ways they were both tall and well-built and athletic (Bruce took up tennis and turned out to be very good at it!) For all practical purposes they were studs, although they would both have laughed their heads off if anyone had bothered to mention it to them.

In the space of a year Bruce went through two girlfriends and managed to seduce the captains of the tennis, baseball, and football teams. For his part, Roger decided early on that he was a “guys only” kind of guy…and was pleased to find that there were more “guys’ guys” among Wentworth’s jocks than among the nerds. There was the guy on the swim team, the guy on the wrestling, two guys from the football team, one of the surfer dudes, one of the tennis jocks, and, last but not least, his biology teacher.

“You’re kidding,” Bruce said when Roger told him of his latest encounter. “A teacher?”

Roger moaned slightly.

“You don’t understand,” he said. “Mr. Treadwell is 6’2 and 250 lbs., all muscle. And, God, he has such a fucking hairy chest!”

Bruce chortled.

“But he’s bald! I know, I looked at Samantha’s Wentworth yearbook!”

Roger snorted.

“OK, fine, he’s bald,” Roger agreed. “But I’ll take bald and built over a long-haired skinny pot head any day.”

That last was a dig at Bruce’s latest infatuation.

It went on like that for year.

And then Bruce had his driver’s license and a few weeks after that so did Roger. The first Monday in May was senior skip day and – even though neither of them were seniors – the two of them decided it was time for them to take Roger’s hand-me-down 68 Ford Mustang to the beach.

“Damn,” Bruce said as Roger climbed out of the car.

At 16 they were both an inch taller than they had been the year before – 6’1 for Roger, 6’2 for Bruce – but whereas Bruce was a lithe, well-proportioned 185 lbs. of tennis muscle, thanks to his weight-training efforts Roger had exploded. At 250 lbs. of chiseled beef, Roger has arms that were 20 inches cold (and another inch or so bigger when fully-pumped), a 52-inch chest, ripped 32-inch waist, and powerful 28-inch quads.

“Look at you,” Roger replied. He may have grown some major muscles but Bruce had grown FUR, thick, rich, luxuriant black curls from his collar bones all the way down to his crotch. He’d had more than one female tennis partner, including his Latin teacher, stop a tennis match in the middle to tell him to put his shirt back on, his hairy pecs were just too distracting.

“I think we need to get out of here now,” Bruce said, nodding at the growing bulge in Roger’s shorts. “My mom doesn’t need to see that.”

They went to the Sugar Bowl, the secluded area of pine-covered dunes almost certain to be deserted on a Monday morning in May.

“Race you!” Bruce cried out after they parked the car, leaving Roger to grab the stuff and struggle after him. For such a big guy Roger was f-a-s-t but there was no way he was keeping up with a top-seeded high school tennis player.

“Whoosh,” he said, putting down their gear.

“What took you so long, slow poke?” Bruce laughed.

Roger grabbed Bruce under the pits and lifted him into the air, shaking him slightly.

“You wanna try a weightlifting competition next?” Roger asked.

Bruce laughed and put his hands on Roger’s thick traps, squeezing for all his worth.

“Fuck, they’re like marble,” Bruce said, then twisted his leg around Roger’s ankle and pushed him back in the sand, landing on top of the bigger teen.

“So you wanna try wrestling instead?” Roger asked, face to face with his best friend.

“And have you twist me into a pretzel? No thanks!”

Roger pouted.

“Well, now you’ve got me down here, what are you going to do with me?”

Bruce kissed Roger, a probing, deep-throating sort of kiss, by way of an answer.

“Good start,” Roger gasped, when the liplock ended. “Now what?”

Bruce attacked Roger’s nips, then his pits.

“And now…” Bruce said.

Roger cleared his throat.

“I think you’ll find…” he started.

“That it’s a bit bigger?” Bruce asked.

“See for yourself,” Roger replied.


They’d both grown and Roger had long-since determined that, yes, he was well above average.

“I see the taller / thicker paradigm still prevails!” Bruce pointed out.

“You mean, I’m thicker, you’re longer?” Roger asked.

Bruce’s reply was unintelligible what with Roger’s 10 x 8 dick crammed into his mouth. Not that Roger noticed, mesmerized as he was by Bruce’s 11 x 7 python.

“I love you,” Roger said, a long while later.

“I know,” Bruce replied. “I love you, too.”

Roger turned on his side and looked down at Bruce, who was on his back with his eyes closed and a blissful smile on his face.

“No,” Roger said. “I really mean it. I ‘love you’ love you. Like, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Bruce’s eyes remained closed but the smile became a little larger.

“I know what you meant,” he replied. “I meant it the same way.”

Roger felt a chill go down his spine.

This is a moment I will never forget, he thought.

He took Bruce’s hand.

“But what does it mean?”

Bruce stretched like a kitten, then turned on his side, spooned up against Roger, and took the bigger teen’s hand in his own.

“Well, it’s not like we can run off to a little chapel and get married, is it? We haven’t finished high school yet. There’s still college and careers and…”

Roger sighed.


“But you're mine and I’m yours,” Bruce continued. “I think between the two of us we’re horny enough that there we will have plenty of playmates along the way, separately or – here’s an idea – together! But at the end of the day…”

“I’m yours…”

“And you’re mine.”

Roger leaned back and closed his eyes. Bruce snuggled up next to him. He wondered what the coming years would bring.

Continued in Many Years Later