Twice Betrayed
by TGIBriday
Ryan Granger had been jumped before — but never by people who claimed they loved him. Getting blindsided by strangers was one thing; getting sucker punched by your own crew because of a girl you didn’t even like was a whole new level of cosmic stupidity.
The seventeen year old never saw it coming. Why would he? These were his boys. His day ones. The idiots he’d shared fries with. The idiots he’d bailed out of detention. The idiots he’d defended when teachers called them “a pack of feral raccoons.”
He trusted them.
Which made it extra humiliating when they jumped him behind the gym like they were reenacting a scene from a low budget prison documentary.
And all over Stacy.
Stacy, who thought Ryan was straight because she had the observational skills of a potato. Stacy, who had no idea Ryan was as gay as pink ink — neon, glittery, unapologetic pink ink. Stacy, who liked him anyway, because apparently her relationship with Flynn wasn’t committed so much as “committed-ish.”
Flynn, Ryan’s good friend. Flynn, who cried during Pixar movies. Flynn, who once told Ryan he’d “take a bullet for him,” which turned out to be a lie because he wouldn’t even take a conversation for him.
Understand that Ryan was tall and striking, a boy with rust colored hair, emerald green eyes, a killer smile, and a toned body that, along with his size 15 feet, made people mistake him for an athlete. In truth, he carried himself like a brooding intellectual — the kind who lived in his head even when everyone else swore he belonged on a field or a court.
Ryan couldn’t have guessed that behind some of the smiles of his “friends” lay jealousy, contempt and a secret desire to see him fall.
A few misleading statements from Stacy — the kind of vague, dramatic nonsense teenage girls weaponize when bored — and suddenly Ryan’s entire friend group decided he and Flynn’s girl were carrying on a clandestine relationship.
On the sly.
On the sly!
Ryan didn’t even talk to Stacy unless she was asking him for gum.
But teenage boys don’t need evidence. They need vibes. And the vibes were apparently screaming betrayal.
So they jumped him.
Not well — they weren’t coordinated enough for that — but with enthusiasm. One swung too early, one swung too late, one tripped over his own feet, and one apologized midpunch. It was less an assault and more a group project gone wrong.
Ryan hit the ground thinking, I cannot believe I’m getting my ass kicked over a girl I wouldn’t even share a pencil with.
He tried to explain — between kicks — that he didn’t like Stacy, didn’t want Stacy, didn’t even look at Stacy. He tried to explain that he was gay, which only made them hit harder because apparently that meant he was “lying to cover up the affair.”
Teenage logic is a weapon of mass destruction.
When it was over, Ryan Michael Granger lay there staring at the sky, wondering if god was laughing. Probably. god had a sense of humor. A dark one.
Flynn stood over him, breathing hard, looking betrayed and heroic in the way only stupid boys can.
“You should’ve told me,” he said.
“Told you what?” Ryan groaned.
“That you were sneaking around with my girl.”
Ryan blinked. “I’m gay.”
Flynn blinked back. “You still should’ve told me.”
Ryan closed his eyes. “I hate all of you.”
And for the first time in his life, he meant it.
Ryan opened up later, sitting on the edge of his bed, voice low and steady. He talked to his new stepfather about how the world saw him now — not as a seventeen year old honor student, not as a person, but as something dangerous. How trying to prove his humanity to “them” felt like a trap. How the anger built up inside him like pressure under stone.
Ward, who’d only been married to Ry’s mother for less than a year, asked if his stepson viewed him as one of “them.” Ryan shook his head. “To you, I’m not gay. I’m just… me.”
Ward told him he felt like a father to him. Ryan said he was too old to need one. Then admitted, quietly, that the empty space inside him — the one he’d kept for his real father — wasn’t empty anymore.
Ward’s heart nearly broke. It also tried to do a cartwheel.
But the world didn’t stop hurting Ryan. The incidents kept coming — small, sharp, relentless. And Ryan started drinking. Not much, but enough for Ward to see the warning signs. Enough for Daisy to start hiding the good liquor.
Ward remembered New Orleans. Remembered the “Slate Cleaner” potion that the Voodoo queen of Jackson Square had given him. He remembered how it could erase pain like chalk wiped from a board.
He hated himself for even considering it. But self loathing had never stopped him before.
One night, after a double victory celebration (his 18th birthday AND near perfect math SAT’s), Ryan drank the drugged beer without noticing the bitterness — trauma had apparently dulled his taste buds. Later, Ward crept into his room with the bowl of Slate Cleaner. Ryan lay sprawled across the bed, long limbs slack, breathing deep, looking like a tranquilized giraffe.
Ward whispered the hypnotic suggestions, guiding the Slate Cleaner to the memories that hurt the most — the homophobia, the humiliation, the fear. He didn’t touch the deeper wounds. He wasn’t suicidal.
Ryan swallowed unconsciously, and slowly, the tension drained from his face. He looked peaceful — truly peaceful — for the first time in a long time.
Ward stood over him, heart heavy, guilt chewing on his insides like a raccoon in a trash can. He knew what he’d done was wrong. But he also knew he couldn’t watch the boy he loved drown in pain any longer.
He whispered, “I’m sorry,” though Ryan couldn’t hear him.
And hoped — desperately — that he had saved him or at least hadn’t made things catastrophically worse.
Eventually he stopped worrying about the consequences of his actions and took the time to really look at his handsome sleeping stepson.
And Ward totally shocked himself when he felt his body—seemingly against his will—crouch at the feet of the unconscious honor student and remove the handsome young man’s big trainers.
Ward pressed his face into Ryan's sweaty, dirty white ankle socks. The smell of the knocked out mathlete's giant size 15 feet ran up his nostrils the fragrance even filled his mind. Ward loved the smell and was enjoying himself immensely as he pressed his face into Ryan's big, sweaty feet.
It wasn’t any sort of magic voodoo potion that was causing the young man’s stepfather to act this way. It was suppressed lust, plain and simple.
Eventually he took Ryan’s ankle socks off and immediately his stepson let out an obvious sigh of relief despite the fact that he was still out cold. Ryan's now bare size fifteen feet were incredible. They were magnificent, wide feet with high arched soles, soft heels and balls and perfect toes.
Ward then gently picked one of the unconscious honor student's huge feet up and opened his mouth and performed the amazing feat of putting all of the toes of Ryan's big right foot into his mouth!
He started to suck on the knocked out mathlete's feet gently ... then he sucked Ryan Granger’s toes as hard as he could and the taste he received from his stepson’s sweaty toes instantly made him feel like he were floating in a sea of pure bliss.
The honor student's feet were so delicious that Ward felt as if he could even eat Ryan's foot. He settled for hungrily kissing and nibbling the unconscious handsome youth’s foot all over, licking sucking and nibbling while his own penis grew rock hard and eventually exploded with cum in his pants!
To be continued