How I Got Carter


By Roe St. Alee


My name is Jackson, and this is my story. It's the best story. A story about the good guy (me) winning out over all the odds and getting exactly what he wants. And what I want is currently nestled up behind me wearing only his boxer briefs with his beautiful, soft member pushing gently into my behind. Sorry if that offends you, but it's the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I'd like to sing my story to the heavens, thank you very much.

But it hasn't always been like this, and for a long time I never in a million years thought this dream would come true. The story has to start somewhere, and the somewhere I'm thinking of is the Lou Perry Memorial Pool. It's August 11, and my life is about to change forever.


I've known for a long time what my sexual preference is, and it's male. Sorry, grandma and grandpa. That's just the truth of the matter.

While it hasn't been quite as long as that, I've also known exactly which particular male I want, and it's Carter.

It makes me sick to my stomach to even think about it sometimes – his hair, his smile, his eyes. And moving along a bit lower than that on his body – his chest, his stomach, his v-lines... and I'm not even talking about what's below his waist yet. Yikes.

At the moment, my view couldn’t be better. Suffice to say, he isn’t wearing that much in the way of clothing right now. Carter's making his way over to the diving board along with most of the swim team. He's wearing dark blue jammers with yellow trim, leaving very, very little to my imagination. He is sculpted out of marble, with perfect, borderline unnatural musculature in his torso. For how toned he is, he isn't too big, he's just... perfect.

I told you, it makes me sick to even think about it sometimes.

It’s something of a tradition, the way almost everyone ends swimming practice. A jump off the diving board. Sometimes they try to see who can jump the highest or farthest, sometimes it's a perfect dive competition, and sometimes it's some trick they have to do. You know how boys like to compete and show off, right?

Well, not me. Don't get me wrong, it feels good to win, but I don't have that drive that other guys on the team seem to have. I like swimming a lot but it's not the races that get my blood pumping. It's Carter.

Ok, I'm being a little facetious here, but not entirely. I mean, any chance to hop in a pool with a scantily-clad Carter Mulkins is a good one to be sure. But I really do enjoy swimming. It's fun, it's relaxing, and it keeps me in ridiculously good shape. Not Carter ridiculous, but just regular ridiculous, which is fine by me.

And on that note, let me digress for a second with the name “Mulkins.” Is that not the least sexy name in the world? This kid is God's gift to women (and gay boys like me), and his last name is Mulkins. It's like everyone needed a flaw, and they skipped physical appearance and personality and settled for his name. Whatever immortal hand put Carter together must have looked at the finished product and said, “I can't bear to ruin something so perfect, so let's just name him 'Mulkins' and call it a day.” God made Carter Mulkins, and it was very, very good.

Today it's a backflip contest, with highly subjective judging from a couple of sophomores from the girl's team. The girls practice after us, and if any of them happen to get here a few minutes early, they usually get a front row seat at the diving board, where they can either judge the proceedings, or at the very least get an eyeful of a bunch of super fit high school boys wearing practically nothing jumping around and showing off. I don't blame them in the least.

As we watch, s bunch of the guys pull off their best backflips, resulting in everything from gymnastic-quality maneuvers to full-on belly flops. It's a pretty good show. The girls score everyone out of ten, with several of the flips we see meriting as high as a seven, although there were plenty of ones and twos in the mix. After about five minutes of nonstop launching, flipping, and flailing, only three competitors remain. One of which, of course, is Carter.

First of the three, however, would be Robert. Robert is one of the more jocular guys on the team, and he's making a big show of toeing and testing the end of the diving board. He's known for being a funny dude, and he certainly takes his time trying to build up some laughs as he reaches down and strokes the end of the board like some long lost lover. For what it’s worth, I’m the one who’s actually in the drama club.

He finally turns around so just his feet are on the edge of the board, takes a few tentative bounces, then flips off the board. Not too bad. Robert's a little bulky, and although he can do a decent backflip, his size takes away from any grace his movements might have on the board. He pops his head up and looks to our judges expectantly. They confer in a fit of giggles and whispers.

“Seven!” they cry in unison.

Robert gripes and moans melodramatically as he climbs dripping out of the pool. He's an alright guy. Jocular, as I mentioned – not my type, but an alright guy.

Steven is next. Everyone calls him “Stever,” but I refuse. He's a real prick, and that asinine nickname only makes it worse. Some of the guys like to call him “Beaver Stever,” because of how much he gets game with the ladies. Barf. I don't have anything against straight dudes – and trust me, I get to hear all their hetero-exploits and that stuff on the team – but Steven is just a dick. Thankfully he goes to a private school, so after another few weeks I won’t have to see too much more of him.

Steven takes us all by surprise, and instead of jumping off the end of the board like everyone else, he runs full speed down the length of the board and leaps into an epic gainer. Asshole or not, it's pretty impressive. He lands almost perfectly, and the everyone goes crazy. The girls again set to whispering and giggling.

“Eight,” they say before pausing dramatically, “point five!”

Oh, Steven. What a lady-killer. He jumps out of the pool and hugs each of the judges before making his way over to a viewing spot with his friends. Gross.

I don't have time to focus all my antipathy towards “Stever,” because the real show is about to start. Carter Mulkins steps up onto the board.

Everything stops in that moment. It's almost like slow motion as he moves forward down the length of the board. His eyes shine through his dirty blonde hair, and his mouth is twisted upward in the slightest grin. The muscles in his chest and stomach flex and relax alternatively as he takes each step, and I follow his perfect, hairless v-lines down into his jammers, where I can see the outline of his gorgeous cock against the tight fabric. It's pushed over to the side, and I can just barely make out the faintest outline of the head.

Oh, what this boy does to me. It's like this every time. I can't think, I can't act, I can't breathe. All I can do is watch, savor, and enjoy. The ordinary becomes sexual, and the sexual is completely intoxicating.

Carter pushes down hard on the end of the board with his feet and everything shifts and bounces deliciously as he jumps into the air. He tucks expertly and flies out over the water completing an entire backflip before he even reaches the apex of his jump. He untucks as he descends and finishes into the water hands first in an Olympic caliber dive. What can't this boy do?

Everyone goes nuts when he hits the water. The girls are jumping up and down, holding both hands up showing a perfect ten without any conferencing whatsoever. Carter pulls up out of the pool and is greeted by everyone with backslaps and high fives. Freddie Mercury rises from his grave and belts out “We Are the Champions” at the top of his lungs. There are fireworks, shooting stars, and military flyovers all at once. Carter is radiant as he pulls himself dripping out of the water. His tanned, toned body glistens in the setting sun as he strides towards the locker room. He walks past me on his way and I feel faint, intoxicated with his body and his being.



So maybe it wasn't exactly like that, but that's how it feels to me. And I'm at least not making this part up. Carter won the backflip contest with that dive, and he looked amazing with a capital 'A' when he did it. So Freddie didn't break free of his grave and sing us a power ballad – the facts aren't nearly as important as the story, and this story is all about Carter. What you need to know is the truth: He's popular, he's charming, he's hot as hell, and this story is all about how he became mine.

Needless to say, my August 11 was about to become a lot more interesting.

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