Date: Sun, 29 Jan 2023 21:14:45 -0500 (EST)
From: doctordestiny@comcast.net
Subject: DENNIS MY MENACE

Hi, fellow Nifty readers and writers. Thanks for reading my stories. I'm
a retired journalist living in Boston and Fort Lauderdale. I've enjoyed
many of the tales on here. Lots of hot, entertaining writing. Nifty needs
your help in order to remain a viable and vibrant site. Think of how many
great stories you've read on here and please donate, as I have.

https://donate.nifty.org

DENNIS MY MENACE

By Dudley Jarvis-North

I am 17 and a senior at Boston Technical High School. My homework is
finished and I'm looking for something to do on a dull Thursday night.
My father and mother have commandeered the TV to watch boring Perry Mason
and Dr. Kildare fare, so that avenue is closed. Eureka, I have a thought.
It's team competition night at the Mount Pleasant Bowladrome and my
older brother Joe bowls for one of the teams. I call him and ask if it's
OK if I come and watch him bowl. That is about a younger bro being
respectful to his older bro -- asking permission when it is not needed.
It's from the Italian book of silly male etiquette.

"You haven't watched me bowl in a while," he says, his ego aroused.
"Meet me there at 7? You can keep score for us."

I head up Dudley Street toward Uphams Corner. My brother has already
arrived with his three teammates as have four guys from the other team.
His team's nickname is the Red Raiders. They are bowling against the
Chippewas, from another neighborhood. Joe introduces me to his four
opponents -- I already know the guys on his team -- and they are happy to
see me. Keeping score is a pain in the ass while you're bowling
competitively, so I am freeing them up just to bowl, drink beer and
concentrate on winning.

I have a seat in the middle of things as they get started. I have to pay
attention. I am used to keeping my own score. Now I will be doing it for
eight. By the way, this is candlepin bowling, New England's version of
the sport. You throw three balls instead of two, but it is harder to
knock down candlepins as the balls are smaller and the pins are bigger.

My brother is 29; most of the others are in the same age bracket. I know
several of them from watching Park League baseball games. There is Huck,
Jerry and Al. The Red Raiders and the Chippewas represent the Irish and
Italian tribes of Boston. They grew up together, hang out together, play
together. There is none of the ethnic gang tension you might expect from
watching West Side Story. Some of the Irish boys have married the sisters
of the Italians and vice versa. Most of them wear wedding rings, grateful
for a night out with the guys away from nagging wives.

On closer inspection and in the bright lighting, I can see that the years
have not been kind. They look older. Most have gained weight. Some are
balding. They seem to have the weight of the world on their backs and
they're barely 30. When I was 13 or so, I was crazy about Jerry, one of
the Irish guys. He used to be magnificent -- handsome, trim and fit in
his blue dungarees. (This is the '60s. Levi's were called dungarees).
Now, Jerry's face looks bloated, tired, has red blotches from too many
beers; he has bags under his eyes. He is no longer in shape and looks
shorter, although it's more likely that I have gotten taller. What has
marriage done to these poor fools, I think.

Jerry comes by my perch and gives me a warm greeting, "You're growing
up, kid," he teases. "Are you getting lots of poontang?" I imagine
he's not getting a whole lot of that himself as he and the missus have
four kids. He shakes his head, "Nah -- Catholic girls around here don't
put out. I hear you're going to college next year. The girls there are
slutty. You'll get laid every night."

The other guys laugh and I chuckle myself.

As the match wears on, I focus on the other team -- they are from a
different part of the city, so I don't recognize any of them. Boston is
funny that way. People tend to stay in their own little enclaves. Again,
I see out-of-shape bodies, wedding rings and tired faces -- all except
one face, the one on Dennis, as in "Knock down those damned pins,
Dennis. We need to beat these bums."

Dennis is the Chippewas' captain and best bowler. They count on him --
and, betraying family and neighborhood loyalties, his sexy looks are
enough to get me to secretly root for him and his team.

He looks to be in his late 20s, about 6 feet tall, slender, and blond.
Not bleached blond like Justin Bieber, blond like Brad Pitt -- "dirty
blond" we call it. Darker, more masculine blond. Dennis has short hair
-- a military cut, a whiffle, we call it. It suits him. I take in his
eyes, which are dark brown and set close together. They are a nice
contrast to his angular, lightly freckled white-pink face. His eyebrows
are thick and darker than his head hair. His nose is ramrod straight, not
large and bulbous like some of the Italians and not too small and buttony
like some of the Irish. It is the perfect nose. Dennis has blond scruff.
He hasn't shaved in a few days.

I fall into a reverie of wondering what he looks like naked. His arms are
covered in blond hair --that's a sign that his whole body is hairy.
Halfway through the match as the action and the place heats up, he pulls
off his sweatshirt. Now I can see his white T-shirt, more grayish than
white, actually. It looks as if it has been washed a thousand times but
not lately. It has sweat stains at the armpits. The collar is yellowish.
I can imagine how delicious it smells. I forgot to tell you that I have
perved on masculine smells as far back as I can remember. I've gone so
far as to sniff my brother's boxers that lay on his bedroom floor,
although his looks do nothing for me.

Lucky for me, too many washings have rendered the cotton threadbare and
shrunken enough that when Dennis glides athletically as he rolls a
bowling ball, his shirt rises high and exposes delicious parts of him. I
can see that his lower back is smooth and very white, but his flat
stomach has a forest of dark blond hair. Sprigs of the same color hair
spring out of his collar. His T-shirt when lifted reveals something else
that thrills the fetishist in me. The elastic band of his underwear has
the blue and yellow stripes of the BVD brand. Unlike my brother, who
wears boring boxers, Dennis wears tightey-whiteys.

I have been a devotee of white cotton briefs since my first day of high
school, eager to join my schoolmates in the locker room after gym class.
They wore BVDs, Hanes or Fruit of the Looms. I stole glances, being
careful not to get caught, even though they would never believe that I
was "a queer," as they called a kid like me. I was too good an athlete
for that in their small minds.

A vision of sinewy, blond Neal Bennett, reaching high into his locker in
his tight Hanes briefs, pops into my head. Dark and hairy Richie Casagna
wears looser briefs, which summoned the hope that his dick might pop out
of one of the legs at any moment. John Kopinski, a prettyish Polish kid
with perfect features, had the whitest briefs of all. His mother didn't
spare the bleach. Theo Sotiris, Greek and the tallest and best built kid
in my class, posed unabashedly at his locker in his FOTLs and took far
too much time getting dressed. I think he was inviting the other kids to
look at him. I was happy to oblige. Then there was William, my first sex
partner. I had blown him several times in the basement bathroom that was
off the beaten path. I remember me pulling down his pants in one of the
stalls. When his white briefs popped into view encasing his thick
circumcised penis, my eyes lit up. One day I ran into him after baseball
practice and he took me home and deflowered me. That is the total of my
sexual experience.

My fond memories are interrupted by a sad thought: Will all of these
beautiful high school lads marry and wind up like the poor bastards I am
watching bowl tonight?

I snap out of my reverie and ask loudly how many pins Dennis has knocked
down after rolling his first ball after a spare. I have spaced out.
"Eight," Dennis barks, and for the first time all evening he stares
into my eyesand doesn't turn away when I stare back.

"Got it, big guy," I respond and lick my lips self-consciously, hoping
he'll pick up a smidgen of my desire for him. The next guy's turn is
up, but my eyes follow Dennis as he takes a seat beside mine.

Now, I am nervous. It will be uncool if he or the others, especially my
brother, find out I like guys. I should be careful. Close to me,
Dennis's T-shirt has unlocked his spicy odor of tangy man sweat. He
doesn't wear deodorant, thank Jesus, and he is making me horny. He
isn't wearing a wedding ring either, unusual for a guy his age in
marriage-obsessed Dorchester, Mass. I like that Dennis is not squeaky
clean like some preppie who showers three times a day, does his laundry
twice a week, changes his undies at the drop of a hatand irons every bit
of his clothing. Dennis's look lived in, a bit grimy, are molded to the
contours of his body, and hold his manly scent, which makes him even more
appealing. I told you I am a perv.

"So you're Joe's brother Pete," he casually makes conversation as he
taps my hand. "I am," I squeak out, more nervous than I had been taking
the SAT test.

"Al just bagged a spare," Dennis points out. "You want to pay
attention to the next pin fall, so you can add the right number to the
total." Then he squeezes my shoulder.

He has touched me twice. That must mean something, I hope. I love
Dennis's voice. Masculine, but not loud and braying like my brother's.
It sounds commanding without being bossy. He is trying to help me, not
correct me, as my brother likes to do.

Suddenly, I have lost my enthusiasm for my dutiful role in this match and
just want to flirt with Dennis. What can I say that will hint at my
sexual fantasies and lead to more?

So far, he does all the talking. "So, are you planning on college,
Pete?" he asks, genuinely curious. I nod. "Happy to hear that. Nice to
see a handsome kid with brains." And he gives my thigh a squeeze and
winks.

That's two squeezes, two taps and several winks. Is he coming onto me or
am I dreaming?And, gee, he thinks I'm handsome? How can I pay back the
compliment by telling him that he's the sexiest guy I've ever seen?

In truth, he is right about me. I am pretty cute -- Italian olive skin,
long dark brown hair in a Beatles cut that is fashionable for the `60s.
My striking blue eyes from some recessive Sicilian gene get lots of
compliments. I have been told I have nice features, perhaps more delicate
than what I personally like in a man, but I am only 17. I am 5-9, about
150 pounds and have an athletic body from playing basketball, baseball
and flag football.

"How old are you, Pete, if I may be so bold as to ask that question?"
Jeesh, I can't believe it. He's polite, too. "I'll be 18 in two
weeks," I say and wink back.

Was his question about my age his making sure I'm not jailbait? My
fantasies run wild. My mind is on overdrive.

Between attending to the bowling scores, I sneak glances at Dennis's
body. He has stretched his legs out to reveal black low-cut boots, not
close to being polished, white socks and faded dungarees that fit him
just right. His jeans are tight in the crotch and thigh area. He has a
promising bulge. I remind myself to get a better look at his butt when it
is his turn again to bowl. I want to take off his jeans then and there
and sniff and lick his whole body. My dick is getting hard in my shorts.

I am struggling to make conversation. Asking what he does for work
doesn'tseem out of order. I ask. He answers that he drives rapid transit
trains for the T, Boston's public transportation system. A working class
bloke in a working class neighborhood.

A ton of questions I shouldn't ask run through my brain: "Do you have a
girlfriend and if not, why not?" "Why aren't you married? All your
friends are." Do you like getting your cock sucked?" That last one
makes me chuckle. I could picture his shocked face if I had the balls to
hit him with that one.

I wonder where he lives? In Dorchester somewhere or maybe South Boston. I
can't ask my brother for his address. I could ask Dennis himself, but
what would he make of that? Conversation with an object of my affection
is new to me and it's awkward. I have never flirted with anyone,
especially a grownup. I wonder what would happen if I knocked on his door
one evening and he answered in just his BVDs? My dick is now fully hard.

Dennis goes to the concession stand for a bottle of Budweiser and
squeezes my thigh again. I think the squeeze was higher this time, closer
to my crotch, but I'm having trouble telling fantasy from reality.
Shockingly, he brings back a Bud for me. "I know the drinking age is
21," he says, "but you're almost 18 -- close enough."

So he likes breaking the rules, I think hopefully. Does this mean he'll
break them in other areas, such as having sex with a horny teenager?
Sitting next to him all my thoughts run in a sexual direction. I watch
his perfect lips wrap around the tip of the beer bottle and think of what
I could do with my lips. Everything he does turns me on.

"Thanks, that was nice of you," I say politely. "Hope I don't get you
in trouble."

"I asked your brother; he says it's OK."

The match is nearly over; the Chippewas have a commanding lead. I feel
that the evening is fading away, that Dennis will remain only a dream. I
can go home and beat off to a vision of sucking his dick, but I have done
that using other guys a thousand times.

He jolts me back to reality. "Hey, little man, thanks for keeping score.
I hope you're not too disappointed that your brother's team lost. They
put up a good fight." And he gives me that sly grin. "They did. I'm
not blowing smoke up your ass, ya know."

Whoa. I have never heard that expression before, but I love the image of
him doing that, his mouth blowing air on my butthole. Can a guy actually
blow smoke up another guy's ass?

I tell Dennis I am not disappointed. "Don't tell Joe this, but I was
rooting for you all the way, especially after I watched you in action.
Your technique is perfect. I studied how you approach rolling the ball
because I want to bowl just like you."

Dennis looks a little disappointed. "So that's why your eyes were
drilling a hole in me -- you were picking up bowling tips?" his voice is
louder than it has been all evening. "You like my bowling technique?
That's it!"

I am taken aback until he smiles and says, "I was hoping something more
was going on." And he winks again.

Oh? How do I tell him something else was going on, that my lust was going
on.

As we walk out the door onto Dudley Street -- the others have left
already -- the beer has given me just enough courage to say what I want
to say in an explosion of words.

"Dennis, I need to tell you this. I find you unbelievably handsome.
That's why I couldn't take my eyes off you. It had nothing to do with
picking up bowling tips. It wasn't about your technique. I can't let
you think that. It was about me enjoying how sexy you are how hot you
look. I hope you're OK with me saying that."

Dennis looks pleased and his eyes light up. He is miles from angry. He is
not turned off. He doesn't even seem surprised. "Thank you, Pete. The
feeling is mutual. I've been ogling you all night as well. I noticed you
when you walked through the door tonight and felt a spark. You are a
damned good looking young man and I'm feeling a connection with you
already. Then came the words I had not expected. "Would you like to
explore that and have coffee with me and talk more?"

My heart is pounding. I want that more than I want to breathe. I nod yes
repeatedly. It is that moment when you realize your fantasy has a chance
of coming true.

(to be continued)



Other stories I've posted are:

ENCOUNTERS:

The Bass Player (Sept. 13, 2017)

The Pact (Sept. 13, 2017)

James (Jan. 26, 2018)

At the Underwear Rack (2 parts, April 23 2019)

Aleksandr (two parts, Aug. 19 and 21, 2020)

Michigan Mitch (Aug. 27, 2021)

URINATION:

Drink It (2 parts, Sept. 24, 2018)

Lesson at Rock River (Nov. 6, 2018)

ADULT YOUTH:

Aaron's Basement(two parts, Jan. 12, 2018)

AUTHORITARIAN:

Taken in the Woods (May 28, 2018)

Forced Reenactment (four parts, Nov. 12, Dec. 14 2020)

The Punishment that Wasn't (Feb. 9, April 2 2020)

Shane the Barber (Aug. 11, 2021)

CAMPING:

Camping with Josh (4 parts, Sept. 24, 2018)

HIGH SCHOOL:

William the Great (3 parts, Jan, 16, 2019)

INCEST:

How Did My Bro know? (March 16 2020)

Greek Reunion (3 parts, July 17 2021)



Be glad to hear from you if any of these stories excite you.

doctordestiny@comcast.net... Thanks and happy reading, Dudley.