Date: Thu, 29 Jan 2004 23:23:32 -0500 From: Eric L Subject: I DROOLED FOR BRAD - Chapter 1 (new series for high-school) Eric L. I DROOLED FOR BRAD - Chapter 1 (of many) a multi-part story of love and male-male (gay) sex by Eric L. *** ADULT FICTION *** erotic_dreams_story@hotmail.com --> Please mention "Robby" or "Brad" in your subject line <-- and I will open and read your email. Thanks. --Eric ** Let's remember to keep the stories coming. DONATE to NIFTY ** (AND WRITE TO YOUR AUTHOR EVERY CHAPTER OR TWO) --There are no fetishes, s&m, etc., in this story.-- _________________________________________________________________ ``` IF UNDER LEGAL AGE, DO NOT READ ``` ``````````````````````````````````````` "Robert Larrister?" Our Math teacher was passing out the test we took last week. I hated being called 'Robert'--everyone called me 'Robby,' but I think Mr. Ellenford was either having a senior moment or he just wanted to piss me off that day. I just waited--not standing up or raising my hand--just to let him know (again!) that 'Robert' was not the acceptable name for me. "Mr. Larrister?" "It's ROBBY," I said, smiling real exaggerated and standing up, "You remember, don't you, Mr. Ellenford?" The whole class laughed, but Ellenford had no clue why. He just handed me my test paper, and gave me a hard stare. "Try studying for the next one, Robby old boy," Ellenford said, to everyone's surprise. The class laughed at that, too. The old man had spark in him after all. Actually, he wasn't that old. Right away, I stood up real straight. "Yes, sir," I said, holding my body stiffly, military style. Mr. Ellenford got it. He looked me over like a drill sergeant would. "Bad shoe-shine, 10 demerits; bad pants crease, 20. If you were in my platoon, you'd have a very sore ass by now, Mr. Larrister," he said, succeeding in embarrassing me. Whoa! He really got me that time. The class hooted. I got the double meaning, but I wondered how many of my classmates got it-- seeing as I didn't think any of them were gay. I was a little red in the face and said, "Thank you, sir," another exaggeration, and sat down. None of us said 'sir' to anyone. Well, I did with my dad sometimes when I was in really deep shit, but only then. At that point, Ellenford gave me the wink. He was one of many teachers who knew what I was up to--my "modus operandi" as Mr. Gregory, my English teacher put it. Most of my teachers knew I was one of those unfortunate kids with an IQ near the genius range, and that I did bad sometimes just to stay popular. I even talked bad and used bad grammar--imagine that. And those teachers were cool about what I was doing--as long as I was passing their class with a decent grade. It was sad that I had to be that way. But that was the adult side of me talking--the side of me I hid from my friends. I also hid my gay side from them. With my IQ, I was bored with school most of the time, and I probably could get 100% on every test if I wanted to, if I read the book. So I failed my share of tests on purpose so I could be one of the guys--and I was. But whether it was Math or social situations, I could put 2 and 2 together, real quick. The only thing I made sure I did really well in was vocab. I was always a good talker and needed to keep up my skills to survive. Besides that, I got just enough good grades to get by. I wanted to be in with the in crowd. I wasn't Mr. Popularity or Joe High School (I was a freshman), but most of the guys liked me and I had a lot of friends. I was a little shorter than average at 14, but other than that, I had average everything. I had dirty blond hair; grayish-blue eyes; I was sorta cute but really average looking. My best feature was my tight skin. I wasn't exactly skinny, but I had no fat on me. The muscles I had were just right. And my dick was average, too. I know because I checked it out--I looked at so many other dicks of kids my age, I think I memorized he anatomy of the penis. It wasn't exactly an all-work-and-no-play task. But I had tight skin--mostly on my chest and abs. It made my ribs stand out just a little, not real obvious. And my tummy wasn't flat--it curved inward. And my butt was really firm. That's what tight skin did for me. I kinda liked it. Made me look like one of those guys that works out, hard. It got me a lot of looks--even from some people I wanted to meet. If I did work out, I probably would work out hard--boned from seeing all the good-looking, half-dressed guys. I liked dick, I liked boys--older boys mostly, and men. I dreamed of sucking dick. I liked hot-looking guys, and I had enough to deal with seeing all the nice bodies at school every day. Mostly I liked Brad Adams. Brad was just hot. Cute, tall, 16 years old, flashing eyes, killer smile--with his dark hair and deep brown eyes that could drive you crazy. Brad's smile could melt me and make my little penis stand up from 300 yards away. Brad was also very straightforward--he'd tell you exactly what he thought of anything. And he was the only guy who, if he peed next to you and he had a boner, wouldn't blush, act weird, or apologize for it. Brad would just whip out the ol' hardon, piss like a race horse, and stuff his pole back into his jeans. Then he'd say Hi, or whatever, and never bat an eyelash. Meanwhile I had to hold on to the flush handle just to stay standing--that's how hot the kid was. I think he was boned most of the time because he was sexy and hot-looking. I mean, if I looked like that I think I'd be hard all the time, myself. I guess some people might think I shouldn't call him a kid--he was 16, and pretty tall. I was younger than him, I was 14. But we all said 'kid' when we talked about each other. What helped was that Brad and I hit it off when I first walked in the door of this high school, about 3 months ago. Well, sorta hit it off. I had no backpack--just my arms full of books. I could barely see over the stack, and Brad was walking backwards down the hall, talking to friends. Brad walked very fast, even backwards. Yep, he was walking right toward me. "Splat!" my books went flying. "Whoa!" "Ahhh!" we yelled. "Thump!" went my head on the stonelike floor. "Geez, kid, I'm sorry! I--" Brad stopped in mid-sentence. "Ohhhh," I moaned. "Kid . . . kid! Oh, geez, I'm sorry little guy!" The hot look of him and little tears in Brad's eyes were the last things I saw before I passed out. I had a concussion. Brad went with me to the hospital, on his motorcycle, I found out later. They kept me overnight and Brad checked in with his parents--they came too, to visit me--and said he could stay. Brad stayed late, and even helped me stand up in the bathroom so I could pee. I don't know if we were really allowed to do that, but I waited as long as I could for the nurse. I was still pretty dizzy and unbalanced at that point. We were by ourselves. Even my parents had left. Brad didn't want me to be in the room alone, so after I peed, he said he had to go, too, and put me against the wall, so I would stay standing. His hands were so strong and his grip so firm, he hurt my shoulders a little when he grabbed me and put me in place. I didn't let on about the pain. "Okay, don't move, man. I gotta pee." He was very cool. And he just whipped out a boner, peed, and put it back in his pants--like doing that in front of me was no sweat at all. I got a hardon while admiring Brad's 16-year-old junior selfhood, which looked very healthy and very big to my semi-inexperienced but lustful 14-year-old eyes. I tented even the stupid hospital gown they made me wear. Not a lot--but, still. I was NOT going to make it more obvious by holding my hands in front of my dick. It didn't matter, though. Brad looked right at it but didn't seem to mind at all. Then he picked me up and carried me back into the room. I had to be all shades of red. "Okay, bonerboy. Don't worry, little guy. You see one, you get one. I know--I got four brothers," he said, and put me down into the strange contraption they called a bed. "Oh, that's cool," I said, hoping the drool in my voice didn't come through. Most of the drool was for HIM. No wonder he was so casual about peeing in public. I could imagine having four brothers. Thinking about that really boned me up, and I was glad to be under the covers by then. I wouldn't actually DO anything with my brothers, if I had any, but the idea of having them boned me up, good. But still, in six words, Brad had acknowledged that I had a boner, that he saw it, that he knew it was from me seeing HIS boner, put forth a theory of cause and effect about getting boners, and reassured me that it was okay! IN SIX WORDS! And all that as offhandedly as buying toothpaste at the grocery store. I was impressed. "Hey, little guy! You feeling better, Robby?" "Yeah! I mean, how could I not? It's so cool--that you stuck with me and being that you're older an' all. That makes me feel great." I guess Brad's honesty was catching. "Man, that's good," Brad said, looking a little relieved. I guess he felt what happened to me was his fault, because he had a tear in his eye just then. I didn't say anything, but I thought that was cool. I looked at him and he gave me his killer smile and I could feel my whole face smile back. And that's how Brad and I became instant buddies on my first day of school. When Brad left the hospital, I jerked off furiously in record time--and drooling for real, thinking of his dick in my mouth. I'm sure I made enough noise that all the nurses knew, and I felt I'd shot a huge amount of cum--judging by the puddles on my chest. I scooped it up with my hands and slurped it all down. I felt a little weird about that and wondered if any other kids did that. I liked it though. I read a theory once on the internet that you lose energy when you shoot cum, so I figured I would get the energy back. I had a taste for it, and had fantasy dreams of Brad's cum and tasting his. My last thought before going to sleep that night was Brad and me in bed together, hugging, with me wondering if he was going to kiss me. Suddenly, he was there. Dressed in his motorcycle leathers--so I guess I forgot the first day of school was a Friday. My memory was a little scrambled. I must have slept like a rock. "How ya feelin'?" I looked at him. He looked ok, but his voice seemed weird, like I didn't hear him as loud as normal. "Oh, fine, thanks, Brad. You DO remember my name, don't you?" This was strange--I got weirded out--hearing myself ask him if he remembered my name. Why did I say that? "Sure--your name is Robert, but you don't like that. You want everyone to call you Robby . . . Robby . . . Robby . . . Robby . . . Robby?" "HUH?! Wha?" I moaned, as an arm shook me gently. It was Brad-- the REAL Brad. He woke me up. I had been dreaming. He was all raw energy and smiles, and looked at me. "Hey, little guy! Been thinkin' about ya." His smile got bigger. To be continued? erotic_dreams_story@hotmail.com by Eric L. Thanks for reading. (I Drooled for Brad, Chapter 1) Please write to me, Eric, at the address above. I hope you do, and let me know how you think the story is coming, or anything else you want to talk about. THREE OTHER STORIES BY ME, :-) ERIC L.: High School erotic-dreams (one-chapter stories) Incest my-sons-sexuality i-wanted-my-dad Any similarity between the characters portrayed in this story and actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental and unintentional. I DROOLED FOR BRAD - Chapter 1