Not like he looked on stage. It was obvious, though, that he intended to try to intimidate me."Don't try me," I said. "You are drunk and slow. I'm not... I could hurt you without meaning to." He looked down at his hand and started clenching and unclenching his fist, sort of waving it at himself. It was like watching him check to see if he thought he had a fight in him."Awww, fuck," he said. He plopped down on the floor and reached for the joint that had just been lit."I suppose I have to go home. But each picture was indeed titillating and it was a fair bet that most, if not all of the group of boys would be wiping spunk off their fingers and trousers with fists full of toilet tissue before the whistle blew. Alone, or in pairs, or in a gathering made no difference, testosterone was the master that dictated the need. I found my quiet place, the relatively unused two stall toilet, beneath the stairs, at the end of the Gymnasium block. The dripping tap water and auto flush of the urinals. More

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