Date: Sat, 1 May 2010 00:02:24 -0700
From: "titboiSanDiego @msn.com" <titboiSanDiego@msn.com>
Subject: BOYS ROOM ON THE THIRD FLOOR BY THE BACK STAIRS

A screwball comedy, featuring scat, rimming and other raunchy things nasty
guys enjoy doing with each other.

Please: Do not post this story anywhere else.  Thanks.


Boys Room on the Third Floor by the Back Stairs

Pete Honquist was running late again for homeroom.  Partly because he liked
sleeping late.  But these days it was also to avoid a guy who kept popping
up when Pete least wanted to see him.  At his locker, he kept one eye on
the hallway clock while he emptied his backpack.  The homeroom bell was
about to ring when suddenly he heard a sound that made him groan.

"Hey, Pete," came a high-pitched squeak.  From out of nowhere, Larry
Winters materialized, his glasses and haircut marking him as both a nerd
and a freshman.  Grooming was not his first priority and he was constantly
pushing his glasses up his greasy nose.

Pete's heart sank.  "Hey, Lar.  Gotta get to homeroom."

"Me too.  But first I have a question about your penis."

More than a few heads swiveled.  Pete gestured with his eyes: "Village
idiot.  Pay no attention."  "Uh, Lar, could we not talk about this now."

"Oh, sure, Pete.  When would you like to talk about it?"

He had to marvel at how Larry maneuvered the conversation so that not only
was there nothing else to talk about, but the burden was on him to end this
awkward pause.  Finally, he gave in.  "Make it fast."

"You already told me your foreskin doesn't roll back on its own, right?
But what I want to know is what happens when you get an erection?  Is the
glans still covered even then?"  Larry always spoke in a crisp,
professional tone that implied he only had an academic interest in how an
uncut cock worked.

Pete shook his head helplessly.  "I don't know," he moaned.

Larry's eyes narrowed, insulted that someone would offer so transparent a
lie.  "Oh, come on!  Everybody watches themselves masturbate."  He shrugged
off Pete's attempts to "Shh!" him.  "I can't see how you don't know whether
your prepuce covers the glans when you get an erection."

Pete clasped his hand over the boy's mouth.  "I'll check next time."

Larry calmed down.  "Think you'll know by this afternoon?  Maybe tonight?
I can jerk off five or six times a day, no sweat."

"Let me get back to you."  The homeroom bell finally rang.

"You'll know by this weekend, won't you?"

Pete poked him.  "Depend on it!"  He slammed the locker and raced down the
hall.

__________________________

Pete sat at the lunch table with guys from the football team.  They were
arguing about whether the game on Saturday would be a cakewalk or not.  Joe
Strasser was particularly insistent.  "Have you ever seen those assholes
from Archer?" he thundered.  "They aren't such big shit."  When he wanted
to, no voice carried farther than Joe's.

"You'd know something about assholes, would you?" said one of the guys as
the others laughed.

Joe turned on him.  "What the fuck does that mean?"

Pete put his hand on Joe's arm.  "Easy, easy.  Deep breaths, Joe."

>From out of nowhere came a familiar squeaky voice.  "Hey, Pete."  Larry
stood there, holding his tray in one hand and pushing his glasses up with
the other.  Everyone fell silent.  Conversations at nearby tables grew
hushed while students stared in shock at this breach of protocol.

"This is the senior section!" Pete hissed.

"Oh, I don't mind," said Larry, blithely unaware of the stir he was
causing.  Pete dropped his head into his hands, thinking how much simpler
life would have been if only he had been circumcised at birth.  Larry cast
his eyes around the table.  After a long moment, one guy took his books off
a chair and Larry set his tray down.  "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

"So, how was Physics?" Pete said to no one in particular.  "Stolkowski give
you that quiz?  Bet that was a killer."  But if he thought a change of
topic might rescue him, he hadn't counted on how much the guys were
enjoying this.

"Aren't you going to introduce us?" asked another teammate.

Making a note to throttle him later, Pete turned Joe.  "You were, uh,
saying, Joe?"

The burly hunk looked a bit dazed.  "I was?"  At 6' 2" and 240 lbs, Joe
Strasser was a presence, not only on the football field but everywhere he
went.  With thick black hair, he was the only student who had a five
o'clock shadow by lunchtime.  Over the years, the guys described him in
various ways that added up to, "Not the brightest lunchbox on the school
bus."  Now that he was co-captain, they refined the description: "He came
to practice too often without his helmet."

Pete prodded him.  "Remember?  You were saying the Archer team isn't such
big shit."  Suddenly, Larry giggled loudly.  The others looked at him,
uncomprehending.  He shook his head, trying to force the giggle back.

"Was it because he said, `shit'?" one of them asked.

"No," said Larry, giggling again.

Someone at another table called out, "Shit!"  The squeaky giggle came
again.

"Hey, kid," Joe shouted back.  "Say `fuck'."

A passing teacher stopped at their table.  "What'dja say, Strasser?"

"Nothing, Mr. Stolkowski."

"Oh, I think you did."

Joe clenched his jaw and stared straight ahead.  Pete cleared his throat.
"We're practicing runs for the game, Mr. Stolkowski."  He spoke softly, as
though keeping a state secret.  "Joe is supposed to take the snap on 36,
15, 28, HUT."  He looked around nervously.  "We'll keep our voices down,
sir."

"You do that."  Stolkowski walked off, not at all convinced.

As soon as the teacher was gone, Joe stood up and thrust himself into
Larry's face every bit as effectively as he did each Friday night on
scrimmage line.  "I'm getting the FUCK outta here, you little shit!  I'm
going to my FUCKIN' English class and I don't never want to see you at this
FUCKIN' table ever again.  You got me, you fuckin' FUCKER?"

"Uhm, okay."

"`Sir'!"

"Yes, Sir!" said Larry, positively beaming.

Joe grabbed his tray and left.  The other guys followed, grinning at Pete.
"C'mon guys.  Let's leave these two to whatever they have to chat about."

Pete turned to the boy.  "Well?"

"I was just thinking -- "

"Is this about unclipped cocks?"

Larry blinked.  "Uncircumcised, yeah.  Howd'ja know?"

"Wild guess."

"Studies show that the prepuces of guys who are uncircumcised often cover
the head, even when the subject has a boner.  Actually, they call it an
erection, but you know -- "

"You wanna see my cock?"

It was a gamble, but there wasn't much choice.  He couldn't risk having
Larry come up to him for the rest of his life asking the same question.
Looking down the road, Pete could foresee the consequences: none of his
friends would eat with him, the football team would replace him, he might
not get into college and the price of gas would continue to soar.  (Get a
grip! he thought.)  Not all these catastrophes would happen just from
talking with Larry Winters.  But he needed to nip this in the bud.  "So
what do you say?  Wanna see my cock or not?  Today.  Four o'clock.  Where?"

"Boys room on the third floor by the back stairs."  The speed with which
Larry rattled this off suggested it wasn't the first time he had set up an
assignation there.  Pete looked at him suspiciously.  "No one will be
there," Larry assured him.

"They better not.  Because if anyone finds about this, your name is shit.
And don't you dare giggle."

"No, Sir!"

As Pete grabbed his tray and headed for the door, he could feel everyone in
the cafeteria staring at him.  After he left, they would start talking.  By
mid-afternoon, it would be all over the school.  By nightfall, the police
might -- Get a grip!  As Pete exited into the hallway, he saw Joe
waiting.

"What the fuck was that all about?" Joe demanded.

"Hey, Joe!  I dunno," he said, trying to sound mystified.  "He's looking
for a tutor, but I keep telling him, `No way.'  Say, we're going to be late
if we don't get a move on."

"I think he has a crush on you."

"What?!"  Pete tried to laugh.  "No fuckin' way!"

The cafeteria door opened and Stolkowski walked out.  Pete spoke quickly.
"Remember.  It's 36, 15, 38, and then comes the `HUT'."

"TWENTY-eight," said Stolkowski, softly.  "Give me a fuckin' break, guys."

Joe looked at his watch.  "This afternoon still okay?  Four o'clock?"

Pete shook his head, as though trying to clear it.  "This afternoon?  What"

Joe looked at him, horrified.  "You said you would help me take donations
to Goodwill!  It's extra credit.  I need it for my college apps."

"Sorry, Joe.  No can do today.  Something came up."  Pete clenched his
eyes, although it was hard to imagine anything more bizarre than Joe going
to college.

"You said it was okay just ten minutes ago.  What came up in ten minutes?"

The doors opened and Larry came striding out.  "S'long, guys.  See you
later, Pete."

"Not if I see him first," he said to Joe with a chuckle that sounded
heartier than it needed to be.  "Completely forgot that I promised to drive
my mother somewhere after school."

"Where?"

"Uhm, she's going to tell me when I pick her up.  How about tomorrow for
Goodwill?"

"Tomorrow?" said Joe, suspiciously.  "Yeah, okay.  I guess that will do."

"Gotta run."  The bell rang and Pete was swallowed up in the swarm of
students that poured into the hallway.  Joe stood on his toes and peered
over the crowd.  In the distance, he glimpsed him talking to someone.  When
the crowd thinned out, he could see that he was talking to Larry.  They
compared watches and Pete turned on his heel.  Larry stood there,
blissfully staring after him.

Joe pondered this.  "Well, if I'm not going to fuckin' Goodwill anyway,
we'll see what's going on at four o'clock."  He let the thought dangle out
there while he walked to his fuckin' English class.

_________________


Pete walked slowly up the back stairs to the third floor.  As much as he
enjoyed hanging out in men's rooms at the bus depot and other party spots
around town, right now he couldn't think of any place he'd less rather be.
He was tempted to say Fuckitall and leave.  But if he didn't give Larry an
up-close look at an uncut cock today, he could count on the kid coming up
to him at lunch tomorrow.  And if that happened, he'd be reduced to eating
in the freshman section, he would have to change schools, the army might
reinstate the draft -- .  (GET A GRIP!)  On the bathroom door was a blue
plate with drilled white letters: "Boys Room".  Why didn't "Boys" have an
apostrophe?  (Jesus fuckin' Christ.  I'm the only one who would correct
grammar while waiting for a trick.)

He pushed the door and heard the familiar "Schu-luck!" sound of a men's
room door opening.  "Hello?" he called.

The odor of stale piss and other musty smells drew him in.  There were
three urinals and two stalls: only five places teenaged boys could unload
and yet it smelled like a mushroom refinery.  He had never even been in
this bathroom and apparently the cleaning staff hadn't either.  The mirrors
over the sinks were tagged with names and monikers of students long gone.

The urinals had no modesty panels.  It wasn't hard to imagine guys standing
there, checking each other out from the corners of their eyes.  Each urinal
was crusted over from years of use and misuse by sperming schoolboys.  He
leaned over one, searching for evidence that someone had jerked off
recently.  He couldn't find white or even yellow stains, but in the corner
was a dried dollop of something brown: a few boys were horsing around, one
daring the others to take a crap in there.  They would probably exit as
quickly as possible, leaving logs for the next person to... to do what?
Break down into smaller turds by burrowing shrisms of piss into them?
Perhaps hold one up to the frosted window to examine?  Maybe even break it
in half to see what the inside of a teenager's turd looked like?  What
WOULD someone do if he came across a turd in a urinal?

The stalls were covered with crude drawings and scribblings that referred
to men and sex.  Someone had scratched, "Stolkowski sucks a royal rod."
There was even a little peephole bored into one wall.  A witty and
obviously savvy student had written, "This is NOT a glory hole."

Pete always checked the porcelain.  In this stall, the toilet held clumps
of toilet paper, some smeared from wiping.  Pete liked to think that
someone had knelt at one of these toilets -- or perhaps forced his buddy
to -- and stick his face into the quagmire, rooting about for a log and
being forced to eat it on the spot.  He tried to open a window, but like
everything else, it was crusted shut.  Suddenly there was a "Sch-luck!" and
the door swung open.

"Pete?" came a familiar whine.  After a moment, the voice was less certain.
"Pete?  You there?"

"Yeah."

Larry breathed deeply.  "Sorry I'm late."

"You lost ten minutes of your time.  I gotta pick my mother up at five."
(Once you tell a lie, there's no reason not to use it again.)  "So where do
you want to do this?"

Larry shifted his eyes around the room.  "How about the stall?"

"Lead the way."  How fast can I show this boy an uncut cock and get the
hell out? he thought.

Larry pushed open one of the stall doors and stepped aside.  "Sorry it's so
small," he said as though they were on a date and he was apologizing for
the car.  Pete unbuckled his jeans and unzipped his fly.  "Wow!" Larry
exclaimed.

"You haven't seen anything yet."

"I think boxer shorts are hot."  Pete decided to lower his light blue
boxers slowly to create as much dramatic revelation as possible.  His cock
was at the semi stage -- lengthening, but not completely hard.  Larry
took the cock in his hand and appraised it professionally.  "Mind if I
touch it?"

"What else are we here for?"

Larry's hands were trembling.  He pushed down on it with his index finger
and watched it bounce back.  Next, he gingerly lifted the shaft, skinning
back the snood.  He pointed the head up and peered into it carefully, as
though he might find something worth saving deep inside the folds of the
slit.  "Do you retract your foreskin when you urinate, Peter?" he asked.

It took Pete a moment to realize he was the Peter that Larry was referring
to.  "No, Lawrence, I don't retract the foreskin each and every time I take
a whiz.  Probably should, but I don't."

"Oh, you should," said Larry earnestly.  "There's stuff that can grow in
there and start stinking bad.  All kinds of icky stuff.  Smigma."

"Smegma."

"You've heard of it too?"

"I get it."

Larry giggled.  "Oh, right.  Didn't think of that."

"Seen enough?"

"No!  You haven't shown me what it's like when you get a full erection.
Does the prepuce still cover the glans?"

"Uh uh," Pete said, pulling up his drawers.  "We'll save that for next
year."

"But you're a Senior.  You won't be here next year."  He snaked his hand
out to rub one of the furry buns under Pete's shirt tails.  "I can get you
hard real fast if you want."

Pete looked Larry Winters over, from top to bottom.  "You're a piece of
work, kid."

"And that's good, right?"

"Sch-luck!"  The door opened with a bang.  "Anyone in there?  That you,
Pete?"

"Oh Jesus H. Christ," Pete muttered.  "Joe?" he shouted, trying to sound
pleased.  "Almost done."  Pete pushed Larry into the corner, raised his
finger to his lips and flushed the toilet.  He pulled his pants up and
buckled them as he opened the stall door.  "Hey, you found me," he said
lightly, trying to sound embarrassed.  "Didn't want to stink up the
bathrooms downstairs."

"So you come all the way up here?" asked Joe, dubiously.

"Actually, it's the first time I've been here.  Really needed to drop a
couple and thought I would spare you guys downstairs."  He finished washing
his hands and reached for a paper towel.  "Ready?"

"But it don't stink so bad right now."

Pete sniffed.  "Hey, you're right.  Guess my mom didn't put chilies in the
enchiladas last night after all.  Ready?"

"Or maybe you didn't take a dump after all."

"Why else would I come all the way up here?"

"Oh, I don't know," Joe said casually.  "Because you wanted to read about
Stolkowski's royal rod?"

"Heh, heh.  Yeah, I saw that."

"What else did you see?"

"Man, you should see the shit guys write in there.  I'll tell you on the
way down."

"What's your hurry?"

Pete tried to look surprised.  "No reason to hang out here.  Besides, I'm
late for picking my mom up."

But Joe was already poking around and headed to the stall.  "Let's see what
they've written lately."  Pete squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself
for the sounds of scuffling.

"Let me go!" came Larry's high-pitch squeak.  Pete turn around and leaned
his head against the wall, banging it repeatedly.

"Look what I found," Joe sang out.  He held Larry by his shirt.
"Disgusting, Pete!"

"Calm down, Joe.  It's not what you -- "

"Little bastard was hiding in the corner.  Probably licked the seat after
you were done.  I've heard about these guys.  Disgusting that it had to
happen to you."  For a split second, Pete held out hope that he might be
home free.  But it was obvious the stall was too small for anyone to hide
in the corner.  "How do you want to work him over?" Joe continued.  "Can't
have Junior running around telling everybody what he saw."

"I'm a freshman." Larry said.

"Let's rough him up, "Joe continued.  "Give him a reason to keep his
fuckin' mouth shut."

Larry was trembling in absolute terror at the thrashing that was about to
come.  His eyes begged for mercy and showed shame.  "Ah," Pete said,
carelessly, "let's just let `im go."

"I won't say anything," said Larry.  "Promise."

"No, sir-ree.  We can't allow this pre-vert stuff to go on."  There was a
part of Joe's outrage that was beginning to sound forced.  "This is the
little prick from lunch, isn't it?"

"Let him go.  He had to ask me about something."

"Besides," said Joe, glaring, "I thought you had to pick your mom up at
four."

"No, at five," said Larry, helpfully.  "He's picking her up at five."

Pete groaned.  Joe turned to look at him.  "And exactly what would the
little turd be asking about, here in the boys room on the third floor by
the back stairs."

"`Boys room on the third floor by the back stairs?'" repeated Pete.  "You
seem to know rather more about this than you've let on."  Even Larry seemed
to recover his wits now that he might come out of this un-bloodied.

"I come to read the porn," Joe explained.

"And watch!" added Larry.  "I seen him watch, too."

"I don't watch shit, you little prick!" shouted Joe, cuffing him on the
side of the head.

Pete started laughing.  They were here because (1) Pete was afraid the guys
would find out that a freshman was pestering him about his uncut cock.  Now
he learned that (2) the football co-captain liked to come up here to (3)
read gay porn and (4) maybe watch kinky stuff.  Joe and Larry scuffled
again, and Pete had to separate them.

Joe was shouting.  "Yeah, well I seen you trying to get guys to unload in
your mouth.  But none of them would, would they?" he sneered

"They do too!"  Larry shouted back.  He turned to Pete.  "I give great blow
jobs.  Ask anyone."

Joe cuffed Larry on the side of the head again.  "He uses this place as his
study hall."

"Oh, shut up -- the both of you!"  Pete shouted, between bursts of
laughter.

"What are you laughing at?" said Joe.

"Do you have any idea how stupid this is?  He wants to see an uncut cock.
I was gonna show him mine so he wouldn't come over and bother us at lunch.
"THAT'S what got this started."

"Did you show him?" Joe asked.

"Yes."

"No!" shouted Larry.

Joe turned to Pete.  "Well, either you did or you didn't."

"He showed me his uncircumcised penis," Larry explained.  "But he didn't
retract the foreskin and uncover the glans."

"Is he in medical school?" asked Joe.

"I think he's just been playing `doctor' too long."

"It's a fair size penis, Pete," said Larry, trying to reassure him.  He
turned to Joe.  "At least it might be when it gets hard.  You probably know
that the average penis is between 5 ½ and 6 ½ inches.  Now that," he said,
pointing in Pete's general direction, "was no 5 ½ to 6 ½ inches."

"I didn't have a hard-on," said Pete, defensively.

"So?  Anybody can get a hard-on that's between 5 ½ and 6 ½ inches."

"Precisely!" shouted Pete.  "That's why they call it `average'!"

Larry rolled his eyes.  "Anybody can measure out between 5 ½ and 6 ½ inches
if it's hard."

"Ain't been no complaints, Lar!"

"Hold on there, Junior," said Joe.  "Are you saying you got one that's 5 ½
to 6 ½ inches -- soft?"

"Flaccid."

"Flaccid.  Limp.  Wet spaghetti.  Whatever.  You're saying that without a
hard-on, your cock is around six inches?"

"Oh, sure," he said quickly, as though that were a given.  There was a
sharp intake of breath.  Joe and Pete exchanged glances.

"Think you could get it hard if we asked you to?"

"Oh, sure."  Again, that quick assurance.  "I was telling Pete earlier that
I can jerk off five or six times a day."

Joe let his eyes play over Larry's crotch.  "Let's see what you got there,
kid."  Pete and Joe watched as Larry unbuckled his pants and pulled down
his underwear.  The two of them shouted simultaneously.

"What the FUCK?"

"What the FUCK?"

Joe reached out and laid Larry's soft penis across the palm of his hand.
The tip hung off the edge, but quickly straightened itself out as Larry
became hard.  Joe estimated that the cock, when erect, would have to be at
least eight inches.  Not only that, it was a thick one.  When he grasped
it, it felt like the grip of a hammer and just as hard.

"What the FUCK?" Pete shouted again.

"Big piece," Joe said.  "No question."

"He's uncut!"

"So?"

"He's been following me around for the past month, asking every question he
could come up with, practically ready to pay to see an uncut cock -- and
all this time he's uncut himself?  What the FUCK?"

Joe turned to Larry.  "You been following Pete around?"

Larry kicked at the floor.  "I asked him a few questions."

"But you're uncut yourself!" Pete continued to shout.  "I mean, what the
FUCK?"

"I couldn't get to see his any other way," Larry said to Joe.  "He only
does older, hairy guys at the bus station.  He won't do guys my age."

"You been hanging out at the depot, Pete?"

Pete banged his head against the wall again.  "Omigod," he muttered over
and over.

"I couldn't get into his pants any other way.  So I asked about his cock."

"Omigod."

Joe reach his hand out to cushion Pete's head.  "Enough with the `Omigods'
already."  For the moment, the continual expansion of Larry's penis
occupied their attention.  From 6 ½ inches soft, it had grown long enough
to overshoot Joe's palm by a wide margin.  Pete put his hand next to it to
catch the excess.  The two looked at it gleefully, as though they had
discovered a sand crab on the beach and weren't sure how to play with it.

"That's as big as it gets," Larry said presently.

"Omigod," Pete sighed one more time.

"I know," said Joe, shaking his head.  "It's just so fuckin' -- " And
like so many of Joe's sentences, the thought was left hanging.

"Is it okay?" Larry asked.  Joe snorted, but Larry misunderstood.  "Is
there something wrong?"

"I don't think so.  Pete, do you think there's anything wrong?"

Now Larry was alarmed.  "You gotta tell me.  Is it gonna be okay?"

Pete reached out and put his hand on the younger boy's shoulder.  "It's
going to be okay.  In fact... in fact, we both think you're going to be
mighty popular.  You got a whopper there."

"And that's good, right?"

"Yeah, kid," Joe said wearily.  "Always good to have a monster piece.
Girls are gonna be standing in line."

Larry cleared his throat.  "I'm not interested in girls.  I'd rather -- "
He cleared it again, and squeaked.  "I'd rather be popular with the boys."

"Fairy, huh?"

Pete's retort was sharp.  "Shut it!  He's only 14."

"Uhm, sorry, kid.  That wasn't nice."  He actually sounded embarrassed.
Pete suspected this was a feeling Joe didn't confront very often.

"Are you gay?" Pete said to Larry.

"Oh, sure.  Been a fairy since I was five."

"Don't worry.  Guys'll like it too.  That thing is going to make you
friends wherever you go.  What do you think, Joe?  Eight inches?"

"Maybe a bit more," he responded, with the cool eye of a professional
appraiser.  "Wish I had my tape measure."

"That's pretty good!  `Wish I had my tape measure.'  I like that."

"I have one," came the squeaky voice.

"A tape measure?  You have a tape measure?"

"Oh, sure," he said easily, and pulled it out of his pocket.  "I always
carry one."

"Are you taking Home Ec?" Joe asked.  "Why do you carry a fuckin' tape
measure?"

"So I can measure guys after I go down on them.  Never thought to measure
my own."

"Let's see what you got."  Joe laid it under the boy's rigid penis.  "Hmmm.
I'm better at this than I thought," he said.  "Eight, let's see here --
eight and five-eighths.  You got a cock that's a shade over 8.5 inches.
Speaking for Pete and myself, I think it's fair to say you're gonna mighty
popular with boys, with men and even with some Shetland Ponies."

Pete laughed again.  Joe was turning out to be far more interesting than
anyone would suspect.  "You're a funny guy when you want to be."

"I'm a stupid stud football player."

"Stud, maybe.  But nobody calls you stupid."

"Oh, no?"  Joe counted off on his fingers.  "`Not the brightest lunchbox on
the school bus'?  `Came on board without a full duffle bag'?  Came to
football practice without his helmet'?"  He raised his eyebrows.  "Everyone
thinks I'm dense.  I hate to disappoint them."

"Disappoint them, Joe.  Disappoint them."

Larry brought them back to reality.  "Can we measure you, Pete?  I mean,
now that I know three inches flaccid is not so bad?"

"That's all it is?" said Joe.

"There've been no complaints!"

Larry sank to his knees like a pro.  "First, we'll get you hard."  He ran
his mouth up and down like a suction cup.  Next, he deep-throated while
humming, cupping Pete's balls as he did so.  A sly smile played across
Joe's face as he leaned forward to kiss Pete on the mouth.  The suddenness
left them both breathless and wanting more.  Pete knew Joe had a 42" chest
and a 40" waist -- the stocky type every football team needs -- because
it was his responsibility to keep these kinds of stats.  But there were
other stats he didn't know.  Try as he could, he couldn't remember ever
seeing Joe in the shower.  Was that because what was under his clothes was
not memorable? he thought to himself.

Joe unbuttoned his shirt; with shrug, it parted and he was standing in a
guinea T.  Pete cased his eyes across his pal's body: hair sprouted from
under the top of the t-shirt and from his hairy pits.  The t-shirt molded
around his pecs and showed a bit of a stomach.  Joe attacked Pete's mouth
again, his smile revealing pearly whites that had never seen a filling.
Pete cupped the beefy biceps and sighed.  "What?" Joe asked.  Pete shook
his head and took him into his arms.

Joe unbuttoned Pete's shirt so quickly he popped a button.  A look of
abandon crossed their faces as they pulled at each other's undershirts.
Joe's chest was as hairy as a rug, beginning under his arms and continuing
across his chest.  (When he was a freshman, his phys ed teacher took him
aside and asked him to cover up.  A guy this hairy was unsettling to
students who hadn't even sprouted pubes.)  His nipples were rigid and Pete
wondered if he might be using tit clamps.  He twisted the nips and a groan
escaped.

Joe put his hands behind his head, inviting him to twist his tits again,
this time harder.  He dug his thumbnail along the underside while Joe shook
his head wildly, unable to get enough of the pain.  The treasure trail was
hairier than any Pete had seen.  He plunged his hand inside Joe's pants and
felt hair in the front and back, and everywhere else.

Larry stood up suddenly, nearly losing his balance as blood rushed to his
head.  Joe pulled him into a lip lock, but first Larry grabbed the tape
measure.  He ran it along the underside of Pete's cock and noted for future
reference that the foreskin did indeed cover some of the glans while it was
hard.  "Six inches even," he announced.

Since he had already dropped his drawers to be measured, all that remained
was for him to kick off his shoes and socks.  Pete and Joe quickly pulled
off his shirt and in a flash, he stood before them naked, his cock swinging
from side to side, momentarily not hard.  For a freshman, he was pretty
well put together: at 5' 11" and 165 lbs, he might have some filling out to
do, but with a cock like that, one could assume most of his growing was
done.  Without glasses, he wasn't half bad looking, and there was a certain
sweetness about him they found endearing.

Pete sunk to his knees and took Larry's "monster piece" into his mouth.
There were so few uncut guys around that he rarely had the pleasure of
swabbing his tongue under a snood.  There were all different kinds of crud
to be found, and crud from a kid who was jerking off five or six times a
day and probably didn't skin it back when he peed was likely to be
interesting stuff.  An intoxicating odor wafted forth and Pete was flooded
with the same memories he had when he first entered puberty.  As he worked
his tongue around, he found clumps of white along with the kind of lint
that finds its way into navels.  (He never understood how lint could get
trapped that way, but he wasn't about to mull it over now.)

There was no "probably" about whether Larry skinned it back when he peed:
between leftover urine and leftover cum (and probably copious amounts of
precum as well), there was a lot of stuff to sample.  Pete sampled his own,
but someone else's cheese was a rare treat.  He wiggled his finger up
behind Larry's balls and past the crevice that led to the purbus.  He
especially enjoyed doing this, especially with straight men at the bus
station who wouldn't allow their girlfriends to touch them there.  He might
not get through the door right away, but if he could get his finger up to
the gate, he would know whether it was ripe and slimy, or at least gamey.
Rimming any hole was a pleasure, but the riper the better.

As he let his fingers do the walking, Larry jerked back.  That's okay, Pete
thought.  More than one guy has pulled back and still hone on to let him
poke a finger up his hole and even feed him a log or two.  He waited until
he heard Larry moaning and then touched the crevice lightly again with his
finger.  Larry pushed away.  "He's trying to corn hole me."

"Can'tcha go a little easy on him, Pete?" said Joe.  "He's just a kid."

"I am NOT corn holing him!"  He was offended anyone would criticize his
technique.  "I'm not trying to fuck him.  I want to rim him."

"What's that?" asked Larry.  Pete and Joe exchanged looks, and Larry was
instantly alert.  "Maybe I don't know everything about rim and stuff, but
that's no reason to be laughing at me."

"We're not laughing, kid," said Joe.  "We're remembering what it was like.
I don't think I knew what `rim' at the age of 14 either.  Kind of sweet,
really."

Pete looked at Joe, astonished.  How could this hunk be so dense some of
the time, and yet so attuned and caring at other times?  "He's right," Pete
assured Larry.  "I love the thought of rimming you out just because it's
going to be your first time."

"So what is this rimming?"

"Well," Pete drawled, "I'm gonna run my tongue between your cheeks.  And
eventually, I'm going to poke it up your hole and taste whatever's in
there."

"Ewww, gross!"

"He's gonna do it to YOU, Junior," said Joe.  "All you need to do is spread
your legs and take the ride."

"Say, you want to do him?" Pete asked suddenly.  He wasn't being generous,
thought.  He had his own agenda.

Joe was blindsided.  He had never eaten out a guy's hole, but he had pushed
his finger up his own hole a few times and always enjoyed licking what he
found.  The idea began to grow on him.  "Yeah, I'll give it a try.  Sure
it's okay with you?"

"No problem," Pete assured him, with a smile.

"Okay with you Larry?"

"Oh, okay.  So how do we do this?"

"Normally, we would put you on your back," explained Pete.  "But I'm not
gonna ask anyone to lie down on this floor.  Lean over the sink and spread
your legs, and we'll let Uncle Joe do his stuff."

Larry still had some misgivings, but he grasped the sides of the sink and
bent over.  Hopping a little, he spread his legs wide, his low-hangers
swinging against each other like silver balls on a kinetic motion model.
Joe knelt down to work him over, finding the same crud Pete had found, plus
a little fresh poogie.  (Larry must have had a silent fart since Pete was
down there, Joe decided.)  He dug right in.

Larry's eyes grew wide.  He tried to form a question, but Pete just kissed
him and stroked his hair.  "Let yourself float."

The boy's squeal came down a few pitches and his breath came in short
gasps.  "Tell him -- " He clenched his eyes shut.  "Tell him -- oh!
-- to go deeper.  Go deeper, please!"

Pete moved around to watch the scene from the back.  Larry was bent over
the sink.  Joe was crouched behind him, naked from the waist up.  His pants
were loosened with furry half moons exposed.  Now it was time for Pete's
agenda.

He knelt behind Joe and tugged his pants down, followed by his
Fruit-of-the-Looms.  Joe stood up and kicked off his shoes while Pete and
Larry watched him strip completely, both of them thrilling at the look of
Joe's crotch.  His cock was nice (the proverbial 5.5 to 6.5 inches that
Larry had so helpfully provided earlier as a gauge), with tufts of hair
shooting out from his groin, off the shaft of his cut cock and from his
ball sack.  At the tip of his penis, the hole was so large that Pete
wondered if he ever shoved things in it.  His balls were huge.  Massive.
Pete took them into his hands, maneuvering them around, marveling at how
big and heavy they were.  Joe flashed an "aw-shucks" grin: this was the
kind of equipment any adult would be proud to sport.

Before Pete pulled his hand away, he twisted one finger back between Joe's
legs.  It was just as furry back there and also moist.  Pete let the balls
drop and brought the finger up to his nose, noticing a smudge of brown.
Joe's shit-eating grin came back and he raised his eyebrows.  Pete could
see streaks in Joe's underwear.

"Not gonna say I'm sorry.  You knew what you were doing when you stuck your
finger back there.  There's so much hair that it's impossible to wipe.  I
usually end up smearing it around."  He shrugged helplessly.  "Fortunately,
I shit big logs and they're usually hard."

Now it was Pete's turn to kick off his shoes and strip off his pants.  All
three of them stood grinning, reveling in each other's nudity.  Larry
reached out and began to massage Joe's balls, Joe fondled Pete's, while
Pete grabbed onto Larry's swingers.

Larry bent back over the sink with Joe behind him.  Pete scooted up behind
Joe's hole and began reaming the hairy trench out, running his hands over
the furry globes.  Inside Joe's purbus was more crud than had been under
Larry's snood and up his crack combined.  In addition to dingleberries
stuck to ass hairs (hardly dingleberries, Pete thought -- these are
clumps), there was a slimy coating across his hole.  Pete dove in as far as
he could, rubbing his nose and sniffing the stench.  Tilting his head up,
his nose plowed through the thicket while he shot his tongue out, pushing
aside hairs and more crud until it was right up against the hole.

Pete didn't waste time.  With all the pasta and other bulk Joe ate, it was
a fair bet that a log was constantly waiting behind those ass lips.  "Push
out, Joe," he said.  When there was no response, he slapped the buns.
"Push out as hard as you can."  The pucker opened and Pete stuck his tongue
right up against the hardness he knew would be there.  "A little more."  As
the hole opened wider, Pete sucked as hard as he could.  A bit of turd
poked out and Pete bit it off.  The log slid quickly back into place and
the thicket closed around it.

Pete sat back, tonguing the bite-sized morsel around in his mouth, his
heart racing: when he woke up this morning, did he ever imagine he would be
on a bathroom floor that afternoon, eating shit out a football captain's
asshole?  It blew his mind to think how much had happened since lunch.

Joe's shit didn't taste that bad at all.  Since he ate mostly starch and
shit a couple of logs each day, the feces didn't stay in his body long
enough to rot or become foul smelling.  What fell into Pete's mouth
couldn't be much older than last night's dinner, possibly mixed with this
morning's ham and eggs.  It was hard and broke apart in clumps.  (Joe needs
to drink more water, he thought.)  He swallowed the clumps one by one.

Now it was Joe's turn to fall back on his haunches, staring at Larry's
clean hole.  A smile played across his face.  He didn't know why he decided
to rim this kid's poocher out, but now that he had, he knew he would want
to do it again.

They stood up, breathing hard.  "Can I kiss you?" Pete asked Larry.  They
watched the inner thought process running through his mind.  Finally, he
nodded and Pete kissed him lightly.  When that much was fine, he let his
tongue play across the lips.  Larry opened his mouth and reached out at
Pete's tongue several times.  Finally Pete finally gave it to him.  Larry
sucked in deeply and froze.

They gave him a moment to realize what it was like to taste shit because
Pete's tongue was coated with it.  And since Pete had been noodling Joe,
Larry realized it must be Joe's excrement that was in his mouth.  The idea
that he was eating Joe's shit without even being at Joe's trough blew his
mind.  He shook his head briefly as though clearing water from his ears.
He was totally connected to this hunk and willing to share the most
intimate acts imaginable.  He was proud he had been brave enough to taste
shit, and he would never be afraid to taste it again.

They looked at each other like equals, catching their breaths.  "You wanna
get something to eat?" Joe asked.

"Okay," said Pete.  "Guess I shouldn't be though.  Where do you want to
go?"

"Not Sammy's," he said, naming the haunt where their classmates hung out.
"We're not being caught with Junior here.  That's for fuckin' sure."

"I can come with you?" said Larry, positively delighted.

"We're not done playing with you," Pete said.  Think you could dump in this
pig's mouth?" he said, gesturing to Joe.

"I could try," Larry said enthusiastically.

"That's the spirit!"

"I don't see why I should be the toilet," mumbled Joe.

Pete rub his head affectionately.  "Because you're in training to be a full
toilet.  We'll fill the kid up with greasy hamburgers and with his
metabolism, you'll be eating again about" -- he looked at his watch --
"oh, I'd say about 8 o'clock or so."

They dressed quickly and headed for the hall.  Sch-luck!  Pete opened the
door cautiously and looked out.  They jumped into the hallway quickly, and
were halfway down the corridor by the time an older man turned the corner
in front them.  It was the new music teacher.

"Hey, Mr. Viscount," Larry sang out.

"I'm just up here checking things out," the man said quickly.  "Don't let
me keep you.  You haven't seen anyone up here, have you?"

"Uhm, no."  Pete was curious about the man's nervousness.

"Good," Viscount nodded gravely.  "Good.  Just checking things out.  Don't
let me keep you."  He sped down the hall.

The three boys kept walking until they heard the familiar Sch-luck!  Pete
clapped his hand over his mouth.  "Omigod!"  Next they heard footsteps from
the stairwell and ducked around a corner.  It was Stolkowski, smoothing his
hair down and looking around nervously, his neck twitching.  They waited,
and then heard, Sch-luck!

"Oh-my-fuckin'-god!" said Joe, his mouth dropping.  He punched fists with
Pete.  "Can you fuckin' believe that."

"What I wouldn't give to see what's going on in there," said Pete.

"You mean like watching from a hidden place?" said Larry casually.

"What do you have in mind?" said Pete.

"If you want, we can watch Stolkowski suck a royal rod."

"IF we want...  You know a place?"

"Oh, sure," he said again with that calm assurance.

Joe looked him up and down.  "You are a piece of work, kid."

"Just what I told him," said Pete.

"And that's good, right?"

"Yeah, it's good," Joe smiled.  "Always good to be a piece of work,
Junior."

"Where can we watch Stolkowski on his knees?" Pete asked.  "Lead the way."

They followed Larry down the hall.

END