A knock on the bathroom door startled me. I turned the shower off. The water had finally erased the remnants of several volleys of come on my stomach. Fuck. It was late, I've been in the shower for thirty-five minutes already. "Ben," mum said behind the door, "Kathy's already downstairs waiting. Hurry up!" I couldn't help but smile. Once again I was late for a date. She was downstairs waiting for me to take her to that concert in the Village. Time check...hmm...five minutes before six...and the concert is at seven. We'll have time.
My hands reached for the yellow towel. Smiling and looking down at my naked, slightly flushed body, I started drying myself. Slowly, I started at my feet, which I, surprisingly, thought looked delicious. The towel's roughness gave me a hardon as I slowly massaged my dick and shook the remaining water droplets off my nutsack. My stomach came next. Dissapointingly, I noted that I had not yet gained my goal of having the washboard abs that other guys in my school sported in the locker room. Must change my exercise schedule. And gotta stop eating those chocolates. Damn. Oh well. My hair, which clung dark blonde and moist to my skin I dried, along with my chest, stopping in the middle to tweak a nipple or two.
"Benjamin!!!" screamed mum, "your soccer coach is on the phone. He wants to know if you were ok. Have you been going to practice lately?"
"No mum...nothing...no, I didn't go, I'll be out in a few minutes. Tell him that I can't talk right now."
I left the bathroom and took that short journey to my room, crossing over my little sister sleeping on the floor and even screaming quietly after stepping on a pair of her Barbie's high heels. My light was on. Odd. I thought I had turned it off before I left for the bathroom. French music was wafting from my stereo along with the coconut incense that I so loved. What the hell? Nobody inside. Empty. A solitary candle burned furiously on my windowsill against the dark backdrop of the woods surrounding my house. I turned around to shut the door.
I froze, eyes wide in surprise. Kathy stood there grinning ear to ear. Taking advantage of my shock, she locked the door and pulled the towel wrapped around my waist. With that, she proceeded to bring my quietly slumbering cock to life.
"Woah. Excuse me? But I believe that my cock liked where it was on its bed of soft down."
"Nope," she said, in between takes of air, "it likes it better in my mouth. Why aren't you getting hard?"
"I can't," answering, "I just took a shower. Give me a chance to change. We're going to be late."
She slipped the flacid four inches of it out of her mouth, smiled, unlocked the door, and went out. "I'll be waiting in the car."
I shook my head. Why couldn't I get hard? Shivering from the sudden blast of cold air from the window, I dressed. I decided against white socks, choosing black instead to match my slacks, which I put on after, purposely neglecting the size thirty-one hanes my mother had left on my bed. My shirt I buttoned next, carefully remembering to leave the top two buttons unbuttoned. No collar. Wow. Nice. Mum finally was moving on in the world. Every since dad had died last year when I was 15 in 1997, I'd been stuck with his old pink oxford shirts. They were too big first of all, and, nevertheless the amounts of times I scrubbed them, the smell was still his. This new shirt I tucked in and, with a few sprays of cologne, I ended the whole ritual. Walking down the stairs, I heard Kathy giggle and say, "Nice bum. But aren't you forgetting something?" I whirled around and found my underwear in her mouth. Apparently she was having a helluva good time tasting the clothe that held my balls. Were they even washed? I smiled.
"I thought you were waiting in your car?"
"You took so damn long, Benjamin."
"Well then, where are the keys?"
"In the car."
"Shall we go then?"
With that, I took her arm, led her down the stairs, kissed my mum goodbye and went out the door.
"Nice joke, Ben, where's the car?"
Deciding to play along I said, "Oh. I forgot."
"Seriously, we're going to be late!"
Panic. She wasn't joking. And the silver Accord really wasn't there.
"I don't know, Kat."
The night ended right there. She screamed. And for good reason too: someone had stolen her car. And naturally, of course, she blamed it on me. She ran crying back into the house. Police came. Our plans for the concert were cancelled. Kathy cried. I held her but did not feel remorse. She felt something and looked into my eyes, "God gave you the most wonderfully deep blue eyes, did you know that, Ben?"
"Yes," I answered.
"But He never gave you a heart."
She left. My mother looked at me quizzicaly as I went up to my room, my life crumbling from the inside.
Our relationship was dead. That was a fact I could not accept. When she lost her car, I lost her.
I stumbled to school the next day late to second period, and still in a depression. History was never my forte, and I wasn't particularly excited that my mother had found my slumbering self under the blankets and hadn't believe my claims of "influenza" and "crabs". I took my seat next to Mike. He acknowledged me with a nod and resumed paying attention to Fedele who obtained my late pass the moment I sat down. I quick ran over a mental checklist...notes out...textbook out...SHIT! I had forgotten my homework in the flurry of last night's events. A quick tap on my shoulder found me looking to my right at Mike. He was smiling that smile of his. That smile that always grabbed the attention of girls, guys, animals, textbooks... I shook myself out of dreamland and received a piece of paper from his hands. His hands...so soft they were, delicately long and graceful, the sign of a violin player, so delicious... I opened the note and found, to my surprise, that it was last night's assignment with a "feel better" wish in Spanish and a smiley face drawn on the back.
I caught him after class and, despite the sour mood my partner for that hellish Articles of Confederation project had caused, I thanked him graciously. Apparently, he was extremely happy. His smile radiated his joviality, "No prob, bro. And don't worry about it." The bell threatened tardiness so I left him, whistling, for math class.
Seventh period found me in the midst of a gym period, sweating my balls off in an intense game of ping pong. My opponent, a guy named Blake, just couldn't be beat. We were constantly tied but he eventually came out on top when, nearing the end, I noticed that his blue shorts were ever so slipping from his waist. And when they did, revealing that we both shared the same secret of not wearing underwear, I missed the ball, fell on the floor and laughed my trachea out. He was obviously embarassed. Fortunately, thanks to our parents' hard earned tax money, we were in a private room luxuriously appointed with period murals and sable oak panelling...and to think, in gym class! He apologized and left me, still on the floor laughing hysterically. When the laughter finally died down, I found I had a raging hardon that craved attention. The bell rang.
"Holy Jesus, son of Jehovah!" I screamed. Running down to the locker room, my cock failed to stay tucked in the confines of my wasteband and flopped freely. I heard the sound of one shower being used in the shower area. I decided against showering out of lack of time, but decided to take a peek, wondering who it was.
Now, lately, I've noticed that I've been looking more and more at guys. Not just "looking", but "really" looking, and imagining, especially in the locker room, how big they got when excited. I dismissed this as lack of sex. But when I beheld Mike alone in that shower room, my heart skipped a beat.
He stood under the nozzle, in the midst of soaping up his wonderfully endowed set of cock and balls, with his tanned skin glistening and wet in the bright glare of the lights. Slowly he lathered himself up with the soap in his hand. With the other, he worked himself up to, from where I was standing seemed, a good six inches erect. To my unfortunate surprise, I found myself reaching inside my shorts. I knew that 8th period had begun and that my teacher would proabably flay me for being late, but for some reason or another, I found myself staying, moaning in unison with the beautiful body I saw through my eyes.
He didn't come. And as he shut the shower off, his cock still pointed to the ceiling. As he walked towards me hidden in the corner, it flopped up and down, slowly going soft as it hit his thighs and stomach in between steps. Quickly I ran from my vantage point to the back of the room, where I sought the shelter of a row of lockers. Fortunately, he didn't see me. He may have stepped on my puddle of come on the floor but had probably dismissed it as excess water. I smiled. Perhaps he'll wonder later when he took of his socks why one of them wouldn't come off his foot.
When he left, I knew that I'll have enough images to fulfill my jerkoff fantasies for the next year. At first, I grew increasingly mad at myself for the "sin" of looking at another man, a beautiful one to be honest. But I realized, I came to hear my body's song. I stripped, resisted once more the temptation of a warm shower, dressed, packed my bag, and left the locker room, shutting the door quietly behind me.