The Hockey Mask

(For Satyr69)

One dark and stormy weekend in my preteens my parents went out of town for a romantic getaway. As usual, they left my oldest brother in charge of myself and my next oldest brother, while my younger siblings were carted off to a relative’s house. My brother, who was almost 18 at the time, was your typical sports-loving, practical joke-playing, girl-chasing kinda guy. His idea of being in charge was ordering a pizza, telling us we could watch any movie we wanted and sneaking his girlfriend upstairs for make-out session (or more).

So as my second oldest brother and I ate our pizza, we turned on a cable movie channel and watched one of the Friday the 13th movies. Needless to say, after never being allowed to watch anything scarier than The Wizard of Oz – and yes, the witch did scare me for years – I was beyond wrecked. As if that wasn’t bad enough, after being told just how freaked out I had been during the movie, my oldest brother began pranking me the entire weekend. Popping up outside my bedroom window, jumping out of my closet, yanking back the shower curtain screaming as loud as he could – all while wearing an old hockey mask he had bought in town that weekend just to torture me with. Though he eventually lost interest in playing his pranks on me, I never fully lost my fear of hockey masks.

The following year my brother went away to college out of state and after graduating got a job in the same city. At age 18, newly out and looking at colleges myself, he encouraged me to come visit and check out the school he had attended. I hadn’t seen him in over three years, and he was willing to buy the plane tickets, so I jumped at the chance for adventure.

He lived in a small house with two of his college buddies. One was a stocky, 6-foot-tall blond named Nate who was the epitome of the college fratboy jock who had yet to realize college was over and it was time to grow up. The other was a shy, 6’4″, fair-skinned guy with black hair and bright blue eyes named Steve. He had a crooked nose that was almost too large for his face and that I-just-shaved-but-it’s-already-grown-back look.

The first two days I was there we were constantly on the go; somehow in the last few years my brother had become an anal-retentive planner and had mapped out almost every second of my stay. Over dinner each night, Nate and Steve were subjected to the stories of our youth – mostly the rotten pranks he pulled on me throughout the years.

“… So he’s sitting at the computer in his room and he starts wanking to porn, having no clue I’m in his closet,” he explains to them as I roll my eyes. “So I wait until he looks like he’s gonna blow his load and jump outta the closet with the hockey mask on! He screams like a girl and jumps so high, he and the chair go flying! Fuckin’ funniest thing I ever saw!”

While my brother and Nate are laughing hysterically, I catch Steve looking at me with what seems like a look of pity. He then said to my brother, “Wow, dude … you hide in the closet to watch your brother jerk off? Sounds kinda creepy.”

“No man, he’s afraid of hockey masks. I was …” My brother’s face turned red. “Never mind.” I looked back at Steve who gave me a slight smile and a wink as my brother changed topics.

While it was great to spend time with him, I was secretly glad when Monday arrived and my brother went off to work, leaving me with a chance to catch up on some sleep. When I finally got up around noon, I found Steve in the kitchen looking into the freezer and noticed he had on a sports uniform with his last name stitched across the back. I reached into my brother’s food cupboard to get a box of cereal. When I turned back to the fridge to get some milk, Steve was now facing me, but the only thing I could see was a beat-up hockey mask staring back at me.

Despite myself, I let out a large yelp, dropping the cereal on the floor. “Very funny, fucker!” I said, still trying to catch my breath. He didn’t react; he just stood there staring at me through the eyeholes.

After a few moments of his silence I rolled my eyes. “Whatever, dude.” Having lost my appetite, I walked back to the guest room and showered in the adjoining bathroom. When I opened the door to the bedroom, he was standing there, still wearing the mask. I jumped again, both out of shock and because I was nude. I made a half-assed attempt to cover myself, but finally just stood there feeling pissed off.

“Dude, could you move so I can get my clothes?”

He didn’t budge, didn’t even blink as he stared at me. I started getting shivers up my back as I looked at that damn creepy mask and finally just pushed past him – or at least tried to. As soon as I was on the other side of him, he grabbed my arm, spinning me back to him and pushing me backward quickly until I had fallen back onto the bed. He then began moving over me, crawling between my legs, his large hands taking hold of my wrists and pushing them flat against the bed.

Looking up to see that mask – the center point of my childhood fears – hovering just a foot above me, as the man wearing it pushed my legs open with his knees and lowered his clothed crotch onto my naked semi-hard dick, sent conflicting feelings rushing through me. He began to move his hips back and forth in a fucking motion; the friction of his uniform rubbing against my 18-year-old dick made it inflate to full size. The more he rubbed against me, the more my body responded; replacing my fear with a burning sexual desire.

I was so hard now, I was leaking precum onto his uniform and my hips began rising to meet his every downward thrust. He lowered his face until it was only inches from mine. I had nowhere to look now except directly at the mask and into his bright blue eyes which were half closed in lust. The feeling of his weight on top of me, my arms pinned flat and his hips slamming his clothed crotch into my leaking cock was overwhelming me – I was so close to coming, I could feel my balls beginning to tighten. I pushed my head up until my lips were against the mask, my lips parting and my tongue licking the flat hard surface.

His hips bucking faster, he suddenly let out a loud moan and his body shook on top of me – he was coming. Feeling his body tense, hearing his moaning and my cock still stimulated by his movements, I started to shoot. When I was done, my cum was everywhere – on his uniform, on my stomach and pubes, and on the bed. He let go of my wrists, letting his full weight rest on top of me. We stayed like that for a good five minutes before he finally stood up, looking down on me and then left the room, never removing the mask.

After that day I no longer feel afraid when I see a hockey mask; now I get turned on, which, for me, makes hockey games somewhat akin to softcore porn.