My Bullies - Part One

The final bell had rung twenty minutes ago. Most of the school had already emptied out—hallways echoing, distant car engines fading into the late-afternoon haze. Ethan stayed behind on purpose. He always did on Thursdays. Swim practice didn’t start until five, which gave him forty delicious minutes alone in the boys’ locker room to change slowly, to let the quiet soak into his skin, to pretend for a little while that the building belonged to him.

He was peeling off his damp T-shirt when the door banged open.

Four sets of footsteps. Heavy. Deliberate.

Ethan froze, shirt halfway over his head, arms trapped in cotton. He knew those gaits without looking. Knew the low, mean laughter that followed.

“Aw, look who’s still here,” Caleb drawled. Team captain. Six-two. Shoulders that made doorframes feel narrow. “Little fag’s having his private spa time.”

Ethan yanked the shirt down fast, heart already hammering against his ribs. He turned.

Caleb filled the doorway. Behind him: Mason (wrestler, buzz-cut, perpetual smirk), Tyler (lacrosse, lean and cruel-eyed), and Diego (football, quietest of the four but the one whose stare always felt like it was measuring Ethan for parts).

They fanned out without a word. Blocking the exit. Blocking the benches. Blocking every direction that wasn’t toward them.

“I—I was just leaving,” Ethan said. Voice cracked on the last word. He hated how small it sounded.

“Were you?” Caleb stepped closer. Slow. Boots scuffing tile. “Didn’t look like leaving. Looked like you were about to get naked for us.”

Heat flooded Ethan’s face. “That’s not—”

Mason cut him off with a laugh. “Bro, he’s already blushing. We haven’t even touched him yet.”

Tyler circled to Ethan’s left, casual, like a shark drifting. “You always take so long in here, princess. We’ve noticed. Thought maybe you were… putting on a show for someone.”

“I’m not—” Ethan took a step back. His calves hit the metal bench. Nowhere left.

Diego spoke for the first time. Low. Almost gentle. “You’re shaking.”

Ethan hated that he was. Hated that they could see it. Hated more that part of him—some sick, traitorous part—felt the familiar liquid heat pooling low in his belly at the same moment his stomach twisted with dread.

Caleb closed the remaining distance in two strides. One big hand shot out, fingers curling around Ethan’s wrist like a manacle. Not tight enough to bruise. Tight enough to promise he could make it hurt whenever he wanted.

“Strip,” Caleb said. Not loud. Not angry. Just flat. Final.

Ethan’s mouth went dry. “What?”

“You heard me.” Caleb’s thumb pressed against the inside of Ethan’s wrist, right over the pulse that was sprinting. “Or we do it for you. And we won’t be gentle.”

Mason cracked his knuckles. “I vote we do it anyway.”

Tyler leaned in from the side, breath hot against Ethan’s ear. “Come on, baby. Show us what you’ve been hiding under all those baggy hoodies.”

Ethan’s free hand jerked up like it could shield him. “Please. Just—let me go. I won’t tell anyone.”

Caleb’s smile was slow. Predatory. “Oh, we know you won’t. Because if you do?” He leaned closer until his lips nearly brushed Ethan’s temple. “We’ll make sure the whole school sees the video we’re about to take.”

Ethan’s stomach dropped.

Diego pulled his phone out. Held it up. The red record light blinked on.

“Last chance,” Caleb said softly. “Do it yourself… or we make it hurt.”

Ethan’s vision blurred at the edges. His fingers—cold, numb—found the hem of his shirt anyway. He didn’t look at their faces. Couldn’t. He just lifted.

The cotton dragged over his skin, slow, humiliatingly slow, until it cleared his head and dropped to the floor.

Silence. Four pairs of eyes crawling over his bare torso.

“Fuck,” Mason muttered. “He’s actually kinda pretty.”

Tyler reached out first. Fingertips trailing down Ethan’s sternum, light enough to make him flinch. “Soft. Like a girl.”

“Keep going,” Caleb ordered.

Ethan’s hands shook so badly he fumbled the button on his jeans twice. When it finally popped open, the sound seemed impossibly loud in the tiled room.

He hesitated.

Caleb’s hand slid from Ethan’s wrist to the back of his neck. Not choking. Just holding. Possessive. “All the way off. Underwear too.”

Ethan swallowed. The metal button of his jeans bit into his palm as he pushed the zipper down.

He could feel their eyes like heat lamps.

He could feel his traitorous cock twitching against the cotton of his briefs.

He hated himself for it.

He shoved jeans and underwear down in one clumsy motion, kicking them off with his sneakers still on. Naked. Completely naked. In front of four fully clothed boys who looked at him like meat.

Caleb’s grip on his neck tightened just enough to tilt Ethan’s chin up. Forced eye contact.

“Look at you,” Caleb murmured. “Hard already. You really are a little slut, aren’t you?”

Ethan’s throat clicked when he tried to speak. Nothing came out.

Tyler stepped behind him. Pressed the length of his clothed body against Ethan’s back. Let Ethan feel how hard he was through denim.

Mason circled to the front. Dropped to a crouch. Face level with Ethan’s cock.

“Jesus. Look at that.” He didn’t touch. Just stared. “Leaking already.”

Diego kept filming. Silent. Steady.

Caleb’s thumb stroked once along the side of Ethan’s throat. Almost tender.

“On your knees,” he said.

Ethan’s legs folded before his brain could catch up.

Tile was cold against his shins.

Four pairs of shoes stepped closer, forming a loose circle around him.

Caleb reached down. Tipped Ethan’s chin up again with two fingers.

“Open your mouth, princess,” he said softly. “We’re just getting started.”