I have two parents who are still living together and not only love me a lot, but also still love each other. I have an older brother and sister who are usually no more annoying than they're supposed to be and on some rare occasions they're actually pretty nice. We're not rich and we're not poor. I go to a normal high school and I shave once a week even though I could probably wait ten days. I'm not tall or short; I'm not smart or dumb. I'm not a big jock but I'm not a complete nerd either. I surf the Internet, but I don't live there. I have friends I hang with at the mall or the beach and we play video games a lot. Also ever since my brother went to college, I mow the lawn and take out the garbage and even though I always tell my parents it's not fair, I know it is. I use styling gel in my hair but I never dyed it purple or green. There are lots more things I could tell you about me but only one more thing I really hafta tell you about me—I think about sex a lot. Like when I'm pouring milk on my cereal, it's so sexy I get a boner. Like when Mom's folding laundry and I see her smoothing out my boxers or even a T-shirt, I get hard. When I hear Mr. Denechaud next door driving his long powerful car into the dark depths of their garage, my dick is a stick. Even though I think about sex like all the time, I've never done it. I mean, if you're by yourself that doesn't count, does it? And I've spent plenty of time by myself. Every day I spend some time by myself. I wake up by myself, I go to sleep by myself, I take a shower by myself, I do my homework by myself, and sometimes I'm just by myself. I like being with my friends, but I really like being by myself. So you might be saying to yourself that for a fourteen-year-old guy, I'm normal. And you'd be almost right. I'm almost normal.
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The only thing about me that's not normal is thinking about sex all the time. I know everybody else is thinking about sex all the time, too. They hafta be thinking about it all the time to be talking about it so much. That's not what I meant. What I meant was, what I mean is, when I'm thinking about sex I'm thinking about Phillip Carlton's cock. What would it be like to have sex with Phillip Carlton's cock? What would it be like to hold it in my hand? Just like holding mine? I don't think so! What would it be like to feel the head pushing against my lips trying to get into my mouth? How hard should I resist, if at all? Should I just gobble it up, just gulp it down? I don't want him to think I'm a total slut. I want him to believe me about it being my first time. I want him to know how special it is.
Plus, wouldn't it be better for him if I made him work to get in? Wouldn't it be better if he felt my warmth and wetness a little bit at a time? I could hold him right at my lips and write my name on the head of his cock with the tip of my tongue. Should I spend a lot of time licking it first? Kissing a cock seems kinda silly. I mean if you're kissing you may as well suck; it doesn't seem that much different from the one side and probably would be a whole lot better from the other side. What would it feel like to have Phillip Carlton's hot hard huge cock sliding between my lips, gliding into my mouth, riding on my tongue? Would his hot cock actually be hot? My cock gets hot when I get hard, I can feel the heat with my hand. How huge would it be? I mean, I wouldn't want it too big! What would his cum taste like? Would I like it? I usually like mine but some days it tastes different from other days. When he came in my mouth, I'd definitely swallow—I've known that forever—but would I be able to swallow it all? I mean, what if there was really a lot really fast like when I try to drink too much milk too fast and it spills down the sides of my mouth? I want to swallow it all and I want him to know I did. I wouldn't want him to come too soon and I wouldn't want him to take too long. What will he be like when he comes? I hope it totally destroys him like it does me. When I come I'm in this frantic panic-frenzy-convulsion and then I'm paralyzed for like at least ten minutes. I mean, I just can't move; I can't even take my hand off my cock; I can hardly breathe. That's why I have to start jacking off the minute I get in the shower—I hate running out of hot water. So this is what I'm thinking about all the time. So I'm almost normal.
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I think I know more about cocksucking than most other people who haven't already done it. If you've done it, then you know more than me, but if you haven't I think I've got you beat cause I've really studied this a lot. I've read all kinds of stuff about who does it, how to do it, when to do it, how it feels, and all kinds of stuff. I know I'm supposed to keep my teeth out of the way! I know I'm supposed to keep my tongue busy doing something all the time. And I've seen videos as well as pictures—girls with guys, guys with guys, old guys with young guys, young guys with even younger guys, even guys younger than me! I've done my homework. God bless the Internet!
I know I want to, that's for sure! But so far I haven't sucked anybody's cock and nobody's sucked mine. I mean, I tried to suck my own cock myself, but I couldn't reach. And I tried a buncha times. I got pretty close but not quite close enough. Actually, I haven't given up trying yet. The last time, I started thinking if I put a pillow under my head that would get me closer than I could get by just trying to pull my head up with my neck muscles and I started planning just which pillow I'd use and just where it would go but then I thought as long as I'm in this awkward upside down position with my neck scrunched up and my legs way over my head, I may as well jerk off and shoot in my mouth so I did.
The problem with that is that even though my cock is only like about an inch from my mouth, and that's nothing—I mean when I'm laying on my back and jerking off really hard if it's been a really long time since the last time I jerked off, like six hours or some other really long time, I cum all over my face and sometimes even in my hair—so like an inch is like nothing, but the problem is like, when I cum, well, I'm not just jerking off I'm also jerking all around a lot and I guess my eyes are like closed or something cause I can't see anything and so when I'm upside down and trying to cum in my mouth it's like just luck if very much actually gets in my mouth. The other problem is that when I cum I'm like totally wiped for a long time so I forgot about the pillow and all. So I'll have to try that the next time, which is going to be just as soon as I finish this paragraph or at least the next one cause I think being able to suck my own cock would be so cool. So I'm almost normal.
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Then there's the fucking. I've read a lot about this, too. Phillip Carlton can definitely fuck my ass but only if I get to fuck his, too. And only if he promises to go really slow, at least, at first! That's the most important part. Not the best part—that's later—but getting started right, nice and slow, waiting for him to like open up for you, that means that you really care about the other guy. I want Phillip Carlton to care about me. I think he already does, but you can never know for sure until you know for sure and certain. I like him a lot and, even though I've never told him, I think he knows.
I won't ask him to promise to take it out if I tell him to cause I won't be telling him to take it out. I mean why let him put it in if you're going to make him take it out before it gets really good for both of you. I've read a lot about that, too. I know right at first it's going to hurt and all, but it couldn't be all that bad or else millions and millions of guys wouldn't be doing it all the time. Some girls, too! Not if it were all terrible, would they? I've been practicing for that, too. With my finger. Well, two fingers actually and soon three, I hope. I'm pretty flexible so it's no big deal to reach—I do it all the time—it's really good! It helps a lot if I use something to make me all slippery—then it's not just good, it's really great!
I don't think that Mom's noticed that any of her slippery stuff is missing yet. It feels kinda funny having to share with her but I'm not quite ready to buy my own. I mean I've seen what I want on the shelves in the drug store and the grocery but then I'd have to go through the checkout line and pay for it and wouldn't that be embarrassing—especially if it was like some old lady or even worse what if it was some kid I know who works there after school! And I just know there'd hafta be a price check!
"Health Care, price check on five-gallon K-Y Jelly for a strange fourteen-year-old boy who likes to stick his finger up his ass! Health Care, make that two fingers!”
Of course, next time Mom and Dad go the grocery and say, "Is there anything you want?” I could just tell them! Or maybe not.
There's just one problem. Phillip Carlton's cock is a lot bigger than my finger. Or even two fingers. And I'm not talking about when he's at his biggest; I don't know how big he'll be then. I don't know, yet! I do know exactly what he's like normally though. I've been making some pretty close observations. Every chance I get which is like every day or every school day anyway. We had a fire drill second period yesterday and it took a long time cause it was the first one of the year and nobody really knew what to do—even some of the new teachers didn't know where to go. Anyway, what that's all about is after we got back from the fire drill, Coach said we didn't have enough time to dress out so I didn't get to see Phillip Carlton's cock so the whole day was like a waste. So I'm almost normal.
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So by now you're probably wondering how did I get so crazy over Phillip Carlton's cock when I didn't even know who he was three weeks ago, when I hadn't even ever talked to him and he hadn't even ever talked to me one week ago. Well, it's all about showers!
Second period PE is something else. My dad picked me up after school week before last on Thursday, my fourth day of high school, to take me to the dentist. The first thing he said to me was, "You stink!” So I had to explain to him that I couldn't help it cause I had PE second period so I had all day to ripen and I always smelled at the end of the day.
So he asks me why I didn't take a shower like all the other guys and he's starting in on one of his long painful lectures about something I'm supposed to already know and this lecture is about how my body is nothing to be ashamed of and how everybody is really the same and how this and how that and how Mom and he never hid themselves from us kids and how he and Mom never complained about me not wearing anything on my way back to my room from my shower or even when I ran naked across the family room to get some clean clothes from the laundry and how he couldn't understand why just taking a shower with a buncha other guys would bother me now and even though my body was changing he thought my development was about normal not really any earlier or later than most other guys my age and hadn't I always taken showers at the Y when I went there on Saturdays and then he started in on health this and health that and then something about social norms and consideration of others in my classes—just going on and on and on and on not letting me say anything even when he asked me a question just like he always does. And if you think that was a run on sentence, well, then you shoulda been in the car with me cause I didn't tell you like one-tenth the stuff he said to me. I mean, when he gets wound up, there's just no stopping him but after a while I just couldn't take it anymore.
So I yelled, "Nobody takes showers! There isn't any soap! There aren't even any towels!”
And that shut him up for a while. But then he started up again about why weren't there any towels, was the washing machine broken, was the water heater broken, wasn't this just temporary, wasn't this only for the first week of school, was I sure I understood, was I sure I'd heard everything? Had I been paying attention like I was supposed to or had I been daydreaming like he knew I sometimes did? It was really a relief to get in the dentist's chair and have some teeth drilled.
I was wondering if I could convince Dr. Maartens to drill a few more teeth or maybe even a few exploratory holes in my skull—anything to keep from having to ride home in the car with my dad and getting interrogated/lectured/blasted for another half-hour which would seem like another half-century. But I didn't. I also didn't ask him if he noticed that I was sticking my elbows even farther over the arms of the dental chair than I had on my last visit. I was pretty sure he noticed. When I couldn't stay in the safety of the torture chamber treatment room any longer I went out to the waiting room. Dad said he'd made some phone calls and confirmed what I'd said about the showers.
And I, being unusually mature for fourteen, said, "Duh!” which, just in case you don't know, is a three-syllable word.
Dad let me drive home anyway. I got my learner's permit on my fourteenth birthday because Dad drilled me and grilled me on all the written stuff for a whole month and took me to the DMV right on my birthday to take the test. He didn't make me ask even once, so, even though he's a lunatic, he's not all bad. When we got home, Dad said he would take me to school in the morning and get this shower business straightened out, which made perfect sense cause that's what he does. He's an engineer and whenever there's a problem anywhere in his company they send him and he gets things straightened out.
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"Fuck the goddamn Fundamentalists! They're not the only ones who can file a lawsuit! Presbyterians can, too!"
There are a few sounds I can recognize instantly and my father's voice is right up there at the top of the list, so when I was changing classes on Friday, I had no doubt that it was my father screaming like the madman I already knew he was. Things were getting straightened out. On Monday there were towels and soap and hot water and there was me—the only boy in my entire gym class who was taking a shower. And on Tuesday and on Wednesday and on Thursday and on Friday. And I got new names like Showerboy, Mr. Clean, and Soapy. So I'm almost normal.
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This Monday in first period Algebra, before class had actually started, while I was hiding in my corner desk in the last row desperately trying to finish my homework before class started, Phillip Carlton took the desk next to me which was totally absurd cause Phillip Carlton sits in the front row in all his classes cause he likes to ask teachers questions and cause he always has his hand up with the answer to everything and cause he's a total goody-good and would never talk to me even if he knew who I was which I didn't think he did, even if he ever even saw me which I didn't think he even ever had which was okay with me. Then, from his wrong desk, Phillip Carlton asked, "Why do you take a shower after PE?"
Just like that! No hi, hey, how are ya, what's up, or anything! Just the shower business! Then the bell rang and Mr. Williams started taking roll. Adams, Anthony, Baker.
"Bauer?"
"Here, sir!"
Half the class laughed.
They'd never laughed before when I said, "here” or "yo” or just waved my hand. By the way, that's me, Bauer, Billy Bauer, William Faulkner Bauer. Mr. Williams didn't miss a beat. Brewster, Calder.
"Carlton?"
"Here, sir!"
Nobody laughed.
Mr. Williams paused to see why Phillip Carlton's 'here, sir' wasn't coming from the front row. He found Phillip Carlton instantly and then looked at me like it was my fault Phillip Carlton wasn't sitting in the front row. He didn't say anything, but I could tell. He went on with the roll and I went back to my homework.
"Hey! Why?” Phillip Carlton whispered.
"So I don't stink all day!"
Number 4 was easy; I just wrote down the answer. The same with 5 and 6. Number 7 required a little thought but I think I got it. Number 8 was tough. Mr. Williams had finished the roll; I'd never be able to finish my homework in time.
"X equals three Y minus four. Can I shower with you?"
Phillip Carlton had saved me and shocked me. I wrote down his answer. I didn't look at him right then, but I knew he was staring at me. Then, right in the middle of my first binomial equation, I got the biggest boner of my whole life! So I'm almost normal.
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"Mr. Bauer, if Mr. Carlton has finished your homework you can solve the first problem on the board and explain it to the class."
I was lucky he had me do the first problem cause I actually understood that one. Also I was lucky I'm right handed cause I could stuff my left hand in my left pocket where my big boner was trying to rip through my cammys and I could still do the problem with my right hand although it was a little awkward to hold both the chalk and the eraser in the same hand, but it worked for me. When I finished, Mr. Williams smiled at me more than I'd ever seen him smile before and said, "Good work!"
Then with Phillip Carlton and every other kid in class staring right at me, I stuck my right hand in my right pocket and, a little out of balance upstairs as well as downstairs, I stumbled back to my seat looking and feeling really weird.
"Can I?"
"I guess."
They weren't my towels, it wasn't my soap, it sure wasn't my water and there are like fifty or some big number of shower heads, so why Phillip Carlton thought he needed my permission to take a shower, I don't know. And in a shower that was so gigantic it was bigger than most people's houses why Phillip Carlton thought he was going to shower 'with me' I don't know. And why the more I thought about it, the more I liked it, I don't know, but I did. And by the end of the period I still didn't understand Problem number 8. So I'm almost normal.
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I guess our locker room is like lotsa others where there're baskets where you can keep your gym stuff locked up and one basket is yours all the time but you can use any locker you want cause you're only gonna use it for one period. I'd chosen a locker that was near the entrance to the shower. It just made sense. I already had my shirt and shoes off when Phillip Carlton dropped his basket on my bench and knocked on the locker right next to mine.
"Can I use this one?"
"I guess."
"Thanks!"
"Yeah, sure."
When I got down to just my boxers I turned away and slipped them off and pulled on my jock strap just as fast as possible then covered that with my gym shorts—all without taking a single breath. I don't know why I did that. I'd never done that before. When I walked to the shower during the week before, I always just carried my towel in my hand; I didn't bother to wrap it around my waist. And on the way back I was usually using it to dry my hair. I was never shy before in my whole life. But now, in front of Phillip Carlton, I was shy. Well, I'm not sure shy is the word, but I was something that I'd never been before.
Phillip Carlton wasn't shy. He turned toward me and pulled his bikini briefs down to his knees and let them fall to his ankles. He stepped out with his left foot and with his right foot he tossed them up in the air above his head, laughing and catching them in his hand. When he reached up to grab his briefs, everything bounced. Everything I was interested in anyway. He fumbled around in his gym basket as if he couldn't decide what to wear while I sat on the bench, tied my shoes, and, eyes exactly level with his crotch, stared at the most beautiful cock I'd ever seen or could possibly imagine. Topped by short silky blonde hair. So straight, so smooth, so thick, so sharp, so beautifully flared, and so, so suckable. I've taken longer to tie my shoes, but I was four then. For the second time in less than an hour I got the biggest boner of my whole life. I had to get out of the locker room as fast as I could cause I'd stopped breathing and started drooling. So I'm almost normal.
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When I came back in the locker room after PE, I picked up two towels and two bars of soap; by the time I got to my locker, I felt really stupid. Phillip Carlton was a lot smarter than I was; he could see the towels and soap; he wouldn't forget to pick them up; maybe he'd change his mind about taking a shower; even if he didn't, he'd think I was really weird for getting a towel for him. But he didn't get his own towel or soap. He just looked at the two towels lying between us on the bench and he smiled way too much when he said, "Thanks!"
And he took the shower right next to me even though there were like fifty other showers he could have used. On Tuesday, even though I promised myself I wouldn't, I picked up two towels anyway. I didn't even notice until I got to my locker and then I wanted to take one back but that would have been even stupider so I didn't. Phillip Carlton didn't say thanks; he just smiled this smile so gigantic that, even though I didn't want to, it made me smile back. And then, even though I went all the way down to the far end of the shower room so he wouldn't take the shower right next to me, he did anyway! And on Wednesday when I tried to wait for him to go into the shower first, he out-waited me.
So, just to be funny, I asked him, "Where do you want to shower today?”
And without thinking or blinking, he said, "Beside you!”
And he slammed me with that gigantic smile that makes me smile back! And he still took the shower right next to me and we were both late for third period.
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Today, at the end of first period Algebra when we were on our way out of his classroom, Mr. Williams said, "Mr. Bauer, just a minute.” I went over to his desk while everyone else escaped. "I want you and your friend to come see me here just as soon as you finish lunch. Okay?"
"I guess."
"No guesses. You be here."
"Yeah, sure."
As I was walking out I thought that he hadn't said which friend—I have lotsa friends—but I knew who he meant even though I wasn't sure we were friends. That's what I was still thinking when I got to my gym locker.
"Mr. Williams said to see him after lunch."
"Me?"
"Both of us."
"What's he want?"
"I donno."
"What'd he say?"
"Just see him after lunch. Just as soon as we finish. In his classroom."
"What about?"
"He didn't say."
"Didn't you ask him?"
"Uh-uh."
"Why?"
"I just didn't!"
"Why not?"
"I told you I didn't ask him! Why do you hafta keep asking me? Leave me alone!"
"Jeez!"
Even though Phillip Carlton had already started undressing before me I finished dressing out way first and left the locker room fast, which was pretty stupid cause if I'd stayed I could have spent at least another ten seconds looking at his cock. Or watching. Or staring. Or studying. Or memorizing.
For the whole week I've been zeroing in on Phillip Carlton's cock whenever I could. The first day I had the basics down so when I got home I spent six hours going through the thousands of cock pics I'd downloaded from the Internet looking for any that resembled Phillip Carlton's cock. If they were at all close, I copied them into a new folder that I named PCC. At the end of my search I had 283 likely candidates for comparison. Tuesday and Wednesday I made additional observations and comparisons and had reduced the PCC folder to only 23 top quality candidates—all of which were actually very nice cocks but also all were too hairy to be an exact match. Thursday we had the stupid fire drill. Thursday night I started enlarging my favorites and digitally removing some hair. And doing a little morphing. It's a long process if you're going to do a good job, but I had an almost legal copy of Dad's Adobe Photo Shop and a 21-inch monitor, so I had the best tools to work with. Phillip Carlton wishes he had what I created. But not me! I didn't want something bigger or better than Phillip Carlton's cock. And I certainly didn't want just a picture! I wanted the real thing! So I'm almost normal.
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"So you guys are friends now?"
"Yeah!” Phillip Carlton answered way too fast, way too enthusiastically, and way too for both of us. And he smiled way too much.
"Great and good friends, Mr. Bauer?"
Phillip Carlton looked at me all smiling and expectant so I said, "Uh. I guess."
Then he smiled even more.
"Okay!" Mr. Williams leaned back from his desk, took a deep breath and held it like he was going to dive to the bottom of a pool to pick up a penny, then he let out all the air and leaned forward toward us, resting his weight on his forearms. He looked straight at me, straight into my eyes when he started talking. "Sometimes being friends can be difficult. A lot of people wouldn't understand and you don't always know who you can trust. Here's my card, there's one for each of you. It's got my name and the regular school stuff on the front. I wrote my home phone number and my private email address on the back. I'd appreciate it if you didn't give that to anyone else, I don't want to get a bunch of strange calls, but you guys, either of you or both of you, can call me any time you need to talk or even just want to talk. Anytime, day or night. So if you need to know something or if you have a problem, you can call me. If something is important to you, it's important to me. Especially if you need help. Especially if you're in any kinda trouble, you can call me. Or you can email me. I laminated those so they should last. When you get home today I want each of you to send me a test email, just to make sure it works, okay? And, of course, anything you tell me is just between us. Most of all, I just want you guys to know you're not all alone. Okay?"
"Sure! Thanks!"
"Mr. Bauer?"
"I guess."
"Okay, gentlemen, new topic: seating assignments. Mr. Bauer, no more River Rat Row for you, front row center seat. Every day, no exceptions!"
"What!"
"Mr. Bauer, your grades'll benefit from being closer to the action. You do want to pass Algebra, don't you?"
"I guess."
"Good! Mr. Carlton, directly behind Mr. Bauer."
"Why can't I sit in the front row?"
"Front row seats are reserved for hard cases like Mr. Bauer who need a little extra opportunity to learn and a little less distraction. Besides, if you sit behind him, your insatiable need to look at Mr. Bauer will coincide with your occasional need to observe my lectures."
They talked some more but I didn't hear much else. I didn't really know what was going on but I did really know I really wanted to get out of there as fast as possible, so I was ready to keep quiet, to agree to anything, and especially to not ask any questions. It worked. Phillip Carlton and I were released into the deserted hallway.
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"What was he talking about?"
"He thinks we're boyfriends."
"What?"
"Boyfriends. You know, like gay!"
"I'm not gay!"
"Me neither."
"Why would he think something stupid like that?"
"I don't know. Cause he's gay?"
"He can't be gay! He's a teacher!"
"You're probably right."
"And he's cool! ... I mean, for a teacher." I think there was a lot of dust or something in the hall cause it was bothering my eyes a lot. "He doesn't treat you like you're just some dumb kid and he really cares if you learn something. Like making me sit in the front row and all."
"I didn't think you'd like that."
"Well..."
"Well what?"
"You don't understand! I could never go sit in front like you do, but if he makes me, well...that's different. And my dad, he's an engineer, he'd never understand if I, you know, flunked or something."
"So he did you a big favor putting you on the front row?"
"I don't know. I guess."
As we were walking down the hallway, Phillip Carlton bumped my shoulder. Then he bumped me again so I bumped him back. He bumped me and I bumped him all the way down the hall.
"Hey, Billy..."
"Hey, Phillip!"
"My family's going out to our beach house right after school for the whole weekend, do you wanna come? It'd be really great if you could!"
"I'd hafta ask my dad."
"Yeah, but do you wanna?"
"I guess."
"Alright!” Phillip Carlton dug deep into his backpack, extracted his totally illegal to use in school cell phone, and held it out to me. "Ask!"
Of course Dad said yes immediately just like I knew he would and then started in on one of his endless lectures about my table manners and my other manners and being helpful and not tracking in sand and not leaving my clothes all around and it would have gone on forever except the fourth period bell rang and I was saved.
So he said, "Have a nice time and ask if you should bring a sleeping bag."
"Okay, bye."
"Did he say yes?"
"Yeah."
"Alright! This is gonna be so great!"
"Should I bring my sleeping bag?"
"Nah."
And then, with kids swirling all around us in the hall, with his hand on the back of my neck, Phillip Carlton leaned in with his lips so close to my ear that I could feel his hot breath all the way down in the center of my ear and whispered, "I've got a double bed!”
Then I got the biggest boner of my whole life! So I'm almost normal.
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I'm not gay! I just really like Phillip Carlton. I just wanna hang with Phillip Carlton. I just wanna talk with Phillip Carlton. I just wanna wrestle with Phillip Carlton. At the beach, on the sand, in the water, at his house, on the floor, in his bed. I just wanna hug and be hugged by, to kiss and be kissed by, to hold and be held by, to suck and be sucked by, to fuck and be fucked by Phillip Carlton. I just wanna sleep with, to wake up with, to spend every second of the rest of my life with Phillip Carlton. So I'm almost normal.
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I'd be pleased to hear your thoughts about Almost Normal
Email me at: jasoncarter85@yahoo.com