I'm not sure what it was about him. He was clean enough. He wore clothes as nice as anybody else. His hands were smooth. But he was... mussy. He could not have known it was a weakness of mine. Those smooth people, the ones with the expensive haircuts, with the magazine looks, when they had their clothes off, they'd be "nude." More than anything, I wanted a boy "naked." Give me an unkempt bush and a drape-y bag any day. Give me a boy caught unawares with his clothes off. A boy, natural, like him.
I saw him in school, most days. He had a pleasant, plain face and that wavy kind of ginger hair that you can't do much of anything with. The kind that always looked like he needed it cut, even when the edges were fresh and clipped. No amount of razor stopping, hot cream barbering was going to make him anything but mussy.
Below calm hazel eyes, his wide mouth was always gentle, trusting. And if you could get him smiling, he did have beautiful white teeth. But mostly, he kept those hidden, behind the subtle Mona Lisa enigma that was his face in repose.
In a couple of classes, he sat next to me. His body distracted me: mussy in his boyish way. He smelled mussy, not that you could smell him. But you just knew that, if you could get his clothes off, if you could breathe on his skin and inhale him, his mussiness would give you a boner. His mussiness would be all over him, down to his mussy bush, between his mussy legs. Would his cock be mussy? What would he come like? Would he be a mussy lover?
On the band trip, I got a chance to see him asleep and got a peek -- just a peek -- of him being naked. His pubes were mussy! They lay against him in vague disarray, hiding the root of his big soft cock. Below, hung a generous set of delightfully wrinkly nuts. Pretty big ones, but so wonderfully drape-y and soft, the soul of this boy's nakedness, and they were mussy like the rest of him.
I had to live for days with that picture stuck in my mind, his mussy package. It must smell mussy. It must feel mussy on the lips. Would his cock be mussy? Would the skin be loose, would the pee lips be a little crooked? How would he be, as I brought him over the edge? What's a mussy come? What's it feel like, mussy semen shooting hot on your chin, on your neck, on your chest? Would there be a whole lot? Was there a huge load of mussy come in those big balls of his?
It scared me, honestly. To ask him overnight. When he accepted. When I first touched him, watching his face. When it was clear we were going further. It made my tummy quiver, when he took down his pants and it was time. Time to touch his mussy bag, to nuzzle in the wildness, unearth the root of him, run my city lips wild across the mussy hardness of him, across the mussy skin, across the mussy folds of his big bag. Terror turned to yearning, as he pressed me back, made me wait as he straddled me, took my dick between those wide lips of his, as the warmth of his mouth engulfed me. His mussy balls fell careless across my nose and cheeks, as I craned to get his bigness into my mouth, as I suckled dreamily. He smelled mussy, he tasted mussy. My come was torn from me as he hummed and shot, his load sweet and musky. Mussy, like I'd dreamed.