There was a simple reason why Jones Prep School had both the best test scores and the hottest, hunkiest guys of all the prep schools in California, but of this Sean was blissfully ignorant as he arrived for his first day as a public school transfer student. All he knew was he'd never seen so many hot guys with muscle-packed bodies straining their clothes—in this case, the same school uniform of charcoal jacket, white shirt, a tie striped with the school colors (blue and burgundy), and black pants.

Sean had known a handful of guys built like this at his old public school—well, not known, but seen across the lunch room, laughing at some asinine joke, or on the other side of the gym, maliciously aiming a dodge ball at him. But practically the whole school was built and beautiful, to varying degrees—some looked like the bigger fitness models, and some looked like bodybuilders, and some—some were practically beyond description, with beautiful faces, long necks spreading into massive shoulders, huge heavy torso muscles shifting this way and that under the uniform tapering to narrow waists, then sculpted spherical asses and long muscular legs straining their slacks. Sean trembled, realizing this school was full of the kind of guy that he'd always feared and yet surreptitiously watched when he thought they weren't looking.

But these guys weren't jocks the way he'd known them. In fact from the look of it they were all ardent students. The campus outside was ranged with juniors and seniors, their beautiful faces buried in thick books; while in the classrooms he passed, trailing after a tall young drink of water who was supposedly the guidance counselor but couldn't have been older than 19, every one of them was listening alertly to the lecture, their eyes shining with interest. As they came to one doorway, the counselor entered while he stood rooted just outside, watching the faintly discernable movement of twenty-three ponderous biceps bouncing around underneath gray blazer sleeves as the muscle-bound students busied themselves in taking copious notes.

The teacher, another strapping young man who looked less like a teacher than an older (and cuter and slightly beefier) brother to this roomful of muscle hunks, paused in his lecture and looked up, noticing the new arrivals. And after a slight pause (in which the only sound was pen scratching on paper) the students did the same (and now there was no sound at all, making Sean's ears ring). Why had they kept him in Administration, making him fill in forms just long enough that he would arrive in class making a spectacle of himself, like the ex-lover crashing a wedding?

They were packed close together in the small room, their broad shoulders and elbows brushing each other lightly. They looked like some sort of jury, a star chamber of identically dressed young guys in close-cropped hair who ranged from hot to awesomely hot, and as they stared at him with one gaze Sean suddenly feared for the verdict. He pictured himself standing in the doorway: tall, reedy, gangly, all nose and unruly hair like a very young Hugh Grant (and not in a good way), uneasy in his ill-fitting uniform which, for reasons only now dawning on him, only came in sizes upwards from extra-large.

Coming here had been a huge, huge mistake. He would never fit in here. He would have turned and run if he'd had the guts to do anything but stand there, frozen to the spot.

The guidance counselor spoke up. "This is Sean Williamson," he said, gesturing toward the new kid unnecessarily. "He's starting today. Sean," he added, addressing him, "this is Mr. Rower's English Lit class. You have the rest of your schedule?"

Sean nodded mutely.

"Well then." Startlingly, he winked, tripping Sean's already pounding heart into overdrive, and walked off, leaving Sean standing in the doorway, paralyzed.

"Well, Mr. Williamson," Mr. Rower said genially, "won't you join us?" There was some good natured chuckling as Sean smiled bashfully. He slid toward the only available seat—three desks along and two rows back, in the very center of this sea of teen masculinity. As he sheepishly took his seat, noticing heads turn around him this way and that as the young colts exchanged glances, he knew he couldn't have felt more like a sore thumb if he'd painted himself in blue and burgundy stripes to match his tie. He licked his lips, fighting off panic. There was no way out now.

Suddenly the boy to this left, a big broad-shouldered blond with rimless glasses, turned and aimed a thousand-watt smile at him. "Don't worry," he said softly, too quiet for anyone else to hear. "You'll be fine." His grin, if anything, brightened further, and he added, "You'll be more than fine."

Sean nearly swooned. He realized he wasn't breathing and let go a big breath, feeling a sudden lightheaded rush.

The lecture was starting up again, but his neighbor stayed twisted toward him for a moment and proffered a meaty, oversized hand. "I'm Ewan," he said, still quietly, but seriously, like he was confiding an important secret.

Sean was grinning in relief, his heart now threatening to burst out of his ribcage. He took Ewan's warm hand, willing his own not to shake. "I'm Sean."

"I heard." Still smiling, Ewan turned back toward the front. Sean opened his notebook and did the same, thinking for the first time that this place might not be a complete catastrophe.

The next few weeks passed quickly, and as Sean got over the novelty of being surrounded all these big, tall, hot guys and he realized that most of them were really nice, very sweet, and almost obsessive about studying, he stopped worrying about fitting in. In fact he started to really like having all these hot, friendly hunks around him—packed in around him in the classroom, milling around him in the halls, dining en masse in the cavernous dining hall, and most especially coming to and fro in the dormitory, where the attitude toward clothing—and being clothed—was distinctly casual. As his worries about fitting in subsided he had a new worry—all these teen hormones were saturating the air, and he was finding himself constantly boned when he wasn't immersed in his class work. As he was constantly afraid of his above-average cock showing in the thin slacks of his uniform he tried studying harder, throwing himself into his books.

The other guys felt it too, it seemed. Every time he went into the bathroom between classes there were guys kissing each other—usually two, but sometimes three guys deep in sensuous kissing that hardened Sean's cock instantly with a consequent loss of blood that nearly made him faint. He began to recognize couples; they tended to eat together, walk down the halls together, and disappear together at the oddest times; while other guys tended to rotate casually among each other. Sean got the distinct sense that he was being excluded, but oddly enough he felt OK about it. He felt very visible—everybody seemed aware of him, the new guy, but in a good way. He kind of felt, in the back of his mind, like they were waiting for something.

Mid-term exams came around, and Sean threw himself into his studies, suddenly conscious of the fact that his classmates were more than just pretty faces and had been working harder than he'd ever worked for classes in his life. That material was heavy-duty—physics, calculus, literature, history, Spanish, and all his other classes were kicked up several notches from anything he'd ever experienced in what now seemed like his long-ago public school years. He knew he couldn't compete with these guys in any context except academic achievement, and the steady encouragement of Ewan and all his other classmates gave him the self-confidence to swear he'd beat their pants off.

NO! Don't think of them with their pants off!!

He barely slept the last nights going into exam week, but through sheer force of will he pushed himself through every exam, exuding with every scribble the knowledge and understanding he'd slammed into every recess of his overheated brain, until at the last he was completely drained. In the end he had just enough energy to scrawl the final answer on his English Lit exam, and then he leaned slowly forward, drained and empty, his consciousness slowly slipping away as he rested his head gently on his desk.

The next few hours were murky. He thought he felt himself being picked up by strong arms and gently borne he knew not where, a quiet, murmuring crowd around him. He smiled in his stupor, comforted by their presence as by soft old blankets on a cold windy night. Time passed, and he felt like he might be lying down in a dorm room, though not his. There was only one person with him now. His school uniform was coming off, item by item, and it felt freeing, like he was being released from confinement in stages. Before long there were no more clothes, and he felt not naked but natural, as if he were floating in warm air. He sighed.

He sensed another natural man there, now lying down next to him, now taking him up in his long muscular arms, and Sean was too detached to feel anything but comfort and contentment. He pressed their hard bodies together and sighed again. He heard Ewan's voice say softly, "Good night, Sean." He felt warm lips meet his, with a deeply comforting masculine taste. They brushed cheeks and he felt the satisfying gossamer caress of late-night stubble. They kissed sweet and long, Sean's consciousness flickering like a guttering candle.

Later, Sean racked his brain for other memories of that night, without success.

The next day he tried not to think about exam results.

Being with Ewan helped. He'd woken up that morning held tight in his sleeping classmate's arms, his back pressed against Ewan's magnificent body, and nothing in the world could have felt more natural. He'd had carnal fantasies before about guys at school, especially the two gods, Brad and Joe, who occupied the top spots in the student rankings; but none of these had ever envisioned a day after, thanks to Sean's unconscious but deep-seated belief that he was still an outsider that the other guys didn't take seriously. But here he was, absolutely sure that this was where he was supposed to be, and that the man cradling him felt the same way.

He lay awake for a long time, enjoying being held, feeling Ewan's soft breathing across the hairs on the back of his neck, deeply contented. Then the breathing changed, Ewan's body shifted, and Sean felt a gentle kiss on the side of his neck, just where it met the shoulder, that caused a rush of pleasure up and down his body. He twisted round to meet Ewan's bright blue eyes and bathe in the warmest smile he'd ever experienced. They kissed lightly, Ewan holding Sean close, immersing Sean in himself, and time and everything around them vanished.

Sean wasn't sure how he found himself in English Lit class later that day. He'd had a shower but he still felt a little sweaty—maybe from these heavy clothes that suddenly seemed like an encumbrance. He sat next to Ewan and tried not to beam, though he felt sure that he was broadcasting his happiness for everyone to hear.

Mr. Rower was sitting on the edge of his desk, looking more like their big, older muscle brother than ever. Next to him were several small white waxed-paper boxes of the kind that pastries often come in. Sean emerged from his daze a little, curious, and noted that most of the rest of the class seemed to be eyeing the boxes hungrily.

"Well, folks, the results are in," Mr. Rower was saying. "And I have to say that you all did superbly. So let's get on with the awarding of the treats. They're all fudge this year, by the way, guys, baked for all the classes by Mr. Wren himself." Mr. Wren taught culinary arts.

Fascinated, Sean watched the rest of the class, which is rigidly alert and fixated on every word—except for Ewan, who seemed to be watching Sean out of the corner of his eyes. Prep school sure was different—he'd never expected to get fudge for good grades, which he gathered was what was about to happen.

"So here we go." He got up and started picking up the boxes. They were marked with students' names, and Mr. Rower started reading them off. "Mr. Garrett!" "Mr. Patel!" "Mr. McConnell!" At this Ewan got up, casting a quick smile down at Sean, and went up to get his box.

Before long the teacher called out "Mr. Williamson!", and Sean felt every eye in the room on him as he made his way up front. Mr. Rower handed him the box and nodded gravely. "Congratulations, Mr. Williamson. Excellent work." The box felt heavy as he took it. He turned and was once again conscious of the class's eyes on him. Was that a little jealousy in big Brad Garrett's eyes? What for? He was already at the top.

But then, Brad hadn't gotten the teacher's congratulations. And neither had anyone else.

Then he found Ewan's eyes and broke into an uncontrollable grin.

As he sat back down, Ewan was sliding his white box into Sean's bag. "I want you to have mine," he whispered. Just then, class started up again, and Sean was obliged to start taking notes without any answers fir the questions spinning around his head.

That day he collected five more white boxes, all of them heavy with fudge. If the weight of the confection he received was any guide, he was near the top in all of his classes. By the time he got to the dining hall to share stiffed shells with Ewan, his bookbag was weighted down with academic achievement in chocolate form, both his own and the five somewhat lighter boxes that Ewan had insisted on giving him.

"I'll share them with you," Sean said. "It'll take me forever to eat my own as it is."

"No, you have to eat them," Ewan said, his eyes twinkling. "Them's the rules. And you have to eat them tonight. They won't be any good tomorrow."

"Tonight!" Sean squawked. "That's impossible. I won't be able to get them down."

"You won't have any trouble," Sean said cryptically, taking a bite of pasta.

"And I'll blow up like a balloon!" Sean went on, shaking his head.

Ewan just laughed. "C'mon. We'll have movie night in my room. I'll steal one or two if it'll make you feel better."

"One or two boxes," Sean said. "Are you sure I have to eat it all tonight?"

"Every crumb." Then Ewan lapsed into silence, eyeing Sean thoughtfully as if he were sizing him up.

Movie night was great. They rented a bunch of sci-fi movies from the campus bookstore and watched them curled up in pillows and each other on Ewan's bed, wearing just t-shirts and boxers. Ewan had dumped all of Sean's fudge into a big bowl and dropped it in his lap. Sean was surprised—not only was it delicious, but it hardly seemed like he was eating anything at all. Normally fudge filled him up instantly, but this fudge seemed to have no cumulative effect whatsoever. He luxuriated in the moment, curled up against Ewan, his head resting against Ewan's firm, bowling ball pecs, one hand in the fudge bowl, the other lightly caressing Ewan's half-hard cucumber-shaped cock through the boxers, watching these dumb movies and laughing together. He scarfed up the fudge, but there was a lot to get through. Whenever his pace lagged, he was happy to let Ewan feed them to him a few at a time, though he wouldn't allow him to reciprocate.

Two a.m. passed, and the bowl was nearly empty, when the closing credits on the last movie started to roll. Ewan seemed to be lightly dozing. Sean felt like he was in some sort of sugar euphoria. He sat up, looking down at Ewan, and realized that he loved this sweet, beautiful man, and that he had to be one with him. Now.

He set the bowl on the floor and knelt over Ewan, his suddenly hard cock thrusting through the fly of his boxers. He felt potent and exhilarated. He drank in his lover's supine form, its perfectly shaped muscles sculpted like individual works of art, combining together into a perfectly proportioned demigod, accented by the snug tee and loose cotton boxers. Never had he seen anything so beautiful, and Sean knew that this was because he knew the man inside that body was as beautiful as the shape outside.

Ewan felt the movement and opened his eyes, and he stared up at Sean, his face lit with delight. "It's starting," he whispered.

Jazzed on whatever was flowing through his bloodstream, his heart pounding in his chest like a jackhammer, Sean bent and took Ewan into his arms and held him, intertwining their legs, thrusting his hyper-engorged, steel-hard cock against Ewan's hard flat abs, discernable through Ewan's thin cotton tee. As they kissed mightily, Sean felt as though some force was slowly, inexorably pushing their chests apart, and Sean squeezed Ewan tighter, trying to keep him close. At the same time he sensed, rather than felt, Ewan's body slipping up his, their intertwined legs sliding slowly against each other. Desperately Sean held into Ewan, kissing him with unfathomable recesses of passion.

Sean's hands roamed Ewan's back as he held him, and now his hands touched, then met, then crossed, his hold on Ewan closing even though something was still pushing their chests apart, Sean adjusting his hold each time. His raging cock was now fucking the crevice between Ewan's heavy spherical pecs. Sean lifted his head, panting, strange thoughts penetrating his fevered brain. He looked into Ewan's eyes, and saw only delight, love, and trust.

Strength and virility was boiling in Sean's veins. He felt more vibrant, more alive, than he'd ever felt in his life. He took in from peripheral vision some sense that it was he, not Ewan, that was changing—that it was his pecs pushing them apart, his growing, bulging arms closing the gap around his broad-backed lover—and more, much more—and he accepted it as a fantasy he could live at that moment through some kind of intoxication of feverish love; that he and Ewan for this moment would be equals, animals alike, sharing a savage passion the likes of which Sean had desperately dreamed about for years, unknown even to himself.

He grabbed Ewan and kissed and groped him with a new ferocity signaled as if in answer to his passion by what felt like the opening up of his tee-shirt straight down his spine, exposing the newly broadened back of his fantasy body to the warm air of the dorm room. Excitedly Sean reared up and ripped off his tee-shirt the rest of the way, exposing a chiseled, thick-muscled torso exactly the way Sean had always dreamed it, confirming his impression that he was immersed in some delirious fantasy. His passion surged, his now-gigantic cock, thrusting impossibly out of boxers that were now too tight across what felt like a perfect muscle ass, throbbed, hardened even further, expanded with a shiver that shot through his whole body.