All the characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, either living or dead, is entirely unintentional.
The story is copyrighted and may not be reproduced in any way without the express permission of the author who can be contacted at: pjalexander1753@gmail.com
A Very Ordinary Boy (Part 2)
From Chapter 5:
Hey, it's nearly time for you to go and I can't help thinking about the special homework idea you mentioned earlier. It was when I was talking about being at my sexual peak but not being able to wank as much as I did when I was fourteen, so I'm wondering what sort of experiment you've come up with that's gonna help. Not something the teachers at school would ever set, you said. Okaaay, so I need to be in bed by nine and have my phone switched on. And a supply of Kleenex would be a good idea. And I can look forward to a good night's sleep with a guarantee of no unexpected and unwanted nocturnal emissions. Sounds cool. I can't wait.
Chapter 6:
Oh wow! You weren't wrong. There's definitely no way that your experiment would ever be given as homework by any of the teachers at Greenside High. And that's a shame, `cause it would probably get the highest grades of any homework, ever. Comparing results would definitely be interesting. Seriously though, last night, that was the most fan-ta-stic two hours of my life. Off the scale amazing. You know how people talk about all their Christmases coming at once when something big time happens to them? Well, last night was exactly like that, every Christmas ever, all squeezed into the time it takes to watch a movie. And I'm definitely not worried any more about being past my physical peak. At least, not when it comes to cumming.
So I followed the instructions: in bed by 9, phone nearby (it always is) and Kleenex in reach. It was the Kleenex that gave me the clue to what you had in mind, but there was no way I'd figured out the whole plan. And because I thought I sort of knew what was gonna happen -- and, believe me, I was very excited - I dressed for the occasion, just briefs and a T and was actually in bed way before 9 and looking at my phone every couple of minutes, desperate for your call. I'd worked it out you see, worked out that bed, add phone, add Kleenex came to a grand total of full-on phone sex. Yeah, I know, way, way ahead of myself, especially when all we'd ever done up to then was make-out. But then, that was loads more than I'd ever done with anyone before -- apart from the Noah thing, and that doesn't count for anything - so it's a bit of a disappointment when the phone buzzes with a message, and not the video call I've been expecting. And then I read the message and that knocks the disappointment right out of the window and gets me excited again.
Grab some of the Kleenex (on the floor beside my bed, as usual), get hard (way ahead of you) and wank while you're thinking about our make-out session when our cocks rubbed together through our clothes. And make sure that all the cum lands on the Kleenex.
No sooner said than done (that's another one of my dad's little sayings). My cock and balls are out of my briefs -- waistband tucked under, just how I like it, spit smeared over purple dickhead and wanking hand flying up and down like the end of the world is only seconds away. It isn't difficult (I nearly said `hard' but obviously it was -- very) to remember our lips and tongues and bulges touching or how out-of-space amazing that made me feel. Your lips so soft and your tongue so mobile and your hard-on so, well, hard. I won't say it was the fastest wank I've ever had but it had to be in the top three or four. And a pretty good cum load too. The Kleenex is in my other hand so catching it all is no problem and I'm just about to screw it up and toss it away like I usually do when your next text comes through. At first I'm not gonna look, just toss the Kleenex and carry on with my standard cum-down gentle stroking. Good job I don't.
Take a picture of the Kleenex and send it to me.
Oh wow! Shit, if anyone had walked in just then. Ha! There's me, kneeling on my bed, half-chubbed cock and balls hanging out, huge after-wank grin on my face, taking a picture of a Kleenex soaked in fresh cum. Granny Smith would have had heart failure on the spot.
Picture sent and then a new message arrives.
Don't fall asleep. Back again in 30.
Don't fall asleep? As if! Back again? So, it looks like that's not the end of your plan. So what's gonna be next? And how to fill in the next half hour? That's easy -- lie down and imagine you opening the cummy Kleenex picture and knowing you'll be grinning too, just like me.
It's the buzzing of my phone that wakes me up. That first wank has obviously taken it out of me (in more ways than one). That, and the lying down, and the dreamy picture of you in my head, had zoned me out. But it can only have been for a few because I look at the time before opening the message and it's just about exactly thirty minutes since the last one. Of course, I'm expecting another set of wanking instructions so there's no way I'm ready for the picture that fills my screen, the picture of your unbelievable body from neck to belt. Fuck, you're beautiful. Yes, you are. So toned. So sharp and defined. So smooth and tanned. And a proper six pack. And fantastic swimming shoulders. Sooo sexy. All those Italian artists missed a trick by not being born 500 years later. Your body would be in every gallery, on the side of every bus, on the wall of every straight teenage girl and gay teenage boy. (Fuck! They'd all be sooo wet!) And, of course, all over the internet and on every catwalk. That semi-chub that I mentioned before, which had become totally soft while I was napping, well, that's instantly back, standing to attention and 100% ready for whatever action you have in mind.
And then the message.
Send a pic of your body -- bare chest and abs like mine -- painted with your cum.
My bare chest and abs like yours? I don't think so. I mean, yeah, like I said before, I've been working out with my dad's home gym stuff and I've even got the start of something going on in the chest area, but there's no way I come even half way close to your unbelievable body. True, there's no flabby belly, but neither is there anything even close to looking like visible abs, much less a full-on six-pack.
It's not difficult to work out the result of this realisation, that all the guys you see in the locker room and in the pool are just as built as you and that I'm gonna be a total disappointment compared to them. Yeah, my cock goes from on parade to standing down in something less than a nano-second. There's no way you're gonna still be interested in me when you see how rubbish my body is, not when you've already told me (well, hinted) that all you guys on the swimming team do sex stuff together. So now I'm feeling like shit knowing I'll not be able to handle it when you give me the brush-off, but you must be reading my mind `cause next thing there's s new message
It's what's inside the parcel that I'm liking more and more, and the wrapping is just fine as it is. Don't over-think it -- just WANK!
Easy for you to say,' I think, but then my hand goes down to my junk and, hey, the good old think-about-sex-and-it's-instant-boner-time' magic has happened and my friend downstairs is definitely wanting to join the party. Oh, what the fuck,' I think and I'm pulling my T over my head with the other hand. Next thing, I'm horizontal on my bed, T on the floor, knees bent and open, feet flat on the covers, waistband still under my balls and wanking hand going at it, but not crazy fast like the first time. No, slow(ish) and steady, building up a decent rhythm, letting pre-cum coat the head, thrusting my hips a little without lifting my butt off the bed, letting myself enjoy it. And all the time making myself not think about how my body is complete rubbish compared to yours cause that would totally ruin the moment.
And it's a very nice moment, with the old, familiar feeling beginning to build up, along my shaft, through the head, down to my balls and onwards to my toes and up into my tummy. I know I'm not far from lift-off and part of me wants to slow down to make the feeling last as long as possible but somehow my brain can't get that message to my wanking hand and then it's too late and I'm past the point of no return. My other hand goes down to my sack where it finds it tightening up, the guaranteed giveaway sign that my balls are just about ready to deliver another load. By now the whole of my body, except my feet, shoulders and head, is thrust up off the bed and my hips are doing their best to get my cock to stretch out and touch the ceiling. At the very last moment I have the sense to point it towards my face, just in time for three rockets of fresh cum to explode onto my body, with the first one landing somewhere south of my right nipple and the other two painting a line down towards my belly button. With a sigh of total satisfaction, I collapse back onto the bed. Wow! That's two good sized cums in not much more than half an hour. The grin on my face couldn't be wider if it tried.
I'm just about to reach for a Kleenex to clean myself up when I remember the picture request. I reach for my phone, point and click. Then click again. And again. Yes, third time lucky. This one, from neck down to just above my pubes, clearly shows all three landing sites with the light from my reading lamp giving each one a perfect reflective sheen. And even my chest and abs don't look too rubbish. Perhaps I wouldn't look completely out of place with the other guys on the swimming team after all. I press send. Seconds later a crowd of thumbs up, clapping hands and smiley face emojis appears along with a three-word message.
Mister Big Shot!
Oh yes, it can get wider -- the grin I mean.
So that's two loads I've rubbed out in quick succession. Even back when I was fourteen, fifteen I didn't wank that close together -- I needed a good hour apart, at least. So a big hand for the old guy! Maybe not clapped out after all. Thanks to you.
I clean myself up and toss the soggy Kleenex across the room and, Bam! It's straight into the waste paper basket beside my desk. Is there no end to my skills? I'm just about to send you a `Thanks and good night oh great Cum-Master' message but before I have a chance to press the button I get distracted by the photo of your beautiful body and start zooming in and enlarging each different area -- abs, chest, shoulders, belly button -- every part. You'd think, wouldn't you, that after two close-together work-out sessions my cock would want to be tucked up in my underwear and ready for a good night's sleep? No chance, not when it's got a direct line of communication with my eyes as they scan every unbelievable square inch of you. It's definitely hard (whether that's still hard from the last wank or hard again having been after-wank soft I'm not sure), and not only hard but also leaking a good amount of pre-cum. Fuck! It wants to go again.
And going again is exactly what you've got planned, obviously, so you send another picture and, wow, what a picture. The last one, with your amazing bare body, was more than cool (even though there was nothing below the waist). This time it's the same beautiful body but with so much more. I can feel my heart beat faster even now, nearly a day later, just from thinking about it. It almost made me stop breathing. I said that last night was all my Christmases rolled up together, but this one pic, all by itself, is Christmas, birthday and every other special occasion you can think of all boxed up into one unbelievable package. And I do mean package, cos there you are, full length on your bed, wearing just a pair of pale blue CK hipster boxer briefs and a really sexy smile. Talk about fan-cum-tastic. I'm aware of my balls instantly filling again and I can't understand how they don't spontaneously explode. The sight of your perfect, sexy body, lying there, just for me, is something else. Something unfuckingbelievable. My eyes take in the smile, the cummy pecs, the ... just a minute, did that picture of me make you do that? Great shooting, man! And then I realise what you're doing with the hand that's not taking the picture. It's pointing to those cute blue CK's and, more importantly, at what's straining away inside them. I can hardly believe what my eyes tell me they are looking at but it must be true cause I hear next door's car pulling into their driveway so I can't be asleep and dreaming. I see the perfect outline of your cock reaching up in a diagonal line from the swell of your balls to the waistband of your underwear. And it really is a detailed outline `cause I can clearly see the perfect helmet shape of your cut cockhead. Oh man! This is, like, perfection overload (is there such a thing?) and my head -- that's the one fixed to my shoulders, not the one down below -- doesn't know what to do. But then my hand, without any instruction, strokes down my tummy, straight to my bone-hard cock which is dripping pre like I've never known it do before and demanding to be wanked hard and fast. NOW!
And I don't even try to resist that demand, just spread the pre with one hand, grab my balls with the other and begin to rub. My eyes are glued to your pic and my hand is glued to my cock and between the two it's only a couple of minutes before load number three is shooting out. Well, to be honest, it's more of a dribble than an eruption which, despite being number three, is still a pretty good load, which slides between my fingers and down over my ballsac and, before my brain lands from is post-cum high and I have the sense to think about grabbing a Kleenex, drips onto the bed cover. Shit! My creamy white cum is gonna leave a big, giveaway stain on the dark grey cover. And it was fresh out of the washer just a couple of days ago. What's eagle-eyed Rosa gonna think? Fuck it, she's brought up five sons of her own and she got, like, a dozen grandsons so I don't suppose she's never seen teenage cum stains before. Maybe she'll even be pleased that, as she's been wishing ever since I got home from the hospital, I'm finally "getting back to normal", though I don't think she had the state of my balls in mind when she said it.
You've no idea how pleased with myself I'm feeling as I lay on my bed, three cum loads in an hour and a half -- way to go! - as well as two pictures of you that are gonna be more than enough wank material for, like, forever! True, my cockhead is feeling a little sore and I'm sure my balls must be as dry as the Gobi Desert, but neither of those things is enough to take away from the warm, satisfying glow that is rippling through my body. I'm definitely ready for sleep and so I'm just tucking my junk back up inside my briefs and crawling under the bedcovers, with a big smile on my face and remembering your guarantee about `no unwanted or unexpected nocturnal emissions' (not a chance, not with a pair of completely empty balls), when my phone buzzes again.
This, I think, must be a `Good night. Sweet dreams. Hope you really enjoyed my little experiment' message but, oh shit, how wrong am I? In fact, there are no words at all, but there is a picture of you, standing on the floor of your bedroom (nice rug by the way), with your back to the camera -- you must have put it on a stand or a shelf or something - and with your butt hidden behind a white arrow head video button. I press it.
At first nothing much happens, you just stand there, arms by your sides, still wearing the blue CK's and a pair of bright white sports ankle socks. Sooo sexy. Surprise, surprise, I'm glued. Then you bend your arms and bring your hands up to the waistband of your boxer briefs. You hook your thumbs into the band and -- Holy shit! Are you really gonna do what I think you're gonna do? Oh yes! Yes, you are -- you ease the waistband down, so fucking slowly, and hook it under your butt cheeks. They're perfect, of course they are, two gently curving mounds of smooth, white, toned muscular flesh. I'm instantly reminded of those pictures of Michelangelo's statue of David back in FfT. And that immediately makes me think of Noah, but, guess what? The memory of him doesn't spoil the moment and it vanishes almost as quickly as it appears in my head. No, I'm way too interested in what I can see on the screen to let anything, even him, spoil it for me.
So, I can see that all of your beautiful body is tanned except for the very tiny, Speedo-shaped section just over half way down. Nice! If I had a body like yours I'd want to show off as much of it as I could. When you're standing on the side of the pool it must feel amazing to know that every eye is looking at you and admiring -- more like drooling over -- your perfect young guy body. And it's just the back I'm looking at -- that classic triangle from those wide shoulders down to the narrow waist and, what do they call them?, snake hips, with the beautiful butt and slim, long-muscled legs. You can bet that I'll be up there in the crowd, cheering you on every chance I get from now on.
And I hadn't realised how big your hands are until now (good for pulling you through the water I suppose), now that they're moving over your butt cheeks and squeezing them, first one side and then the other. And then both sides at the same time, like testing fruit for ripeness, and, oh fuck, with each squeeze you're pulling them apart and there's a glimpse deep into your butt crack. It's only for a second but, wow, what a second. I'm pretty sure I've stopped breathing. I think I might have actually died.
Incredibly that's not the end of the show' cause now you're turning around, yes, actually turning to face the camera (and me). And there you are, head to foot, staring right ahead, hands still behind you, tall and straight (you know what I mean) and beautiful. Yes, I know I keep using that word but there isn't another one that comes close to describing what I'm seeing. You're not stupidly over- muscled like a body-builder or an addicted gym bunny. No, you're just perfectly balanced and toned with exactly the right amount of muscle in exactly the right places. Your face is square and defined and nothing's too wide or too long or too small and it shines when you smile. And ... and ... Shit! I've got no more words.
But now your hands are behind your head and there's a shit-eating grin on your face as you swing your hips so your boner jiggles about inside your boxer briefs which are baggy and bunched up at the front because of being pushed down at the back. I think you think it looks sexy, but it's way too hilarious. I definitely don't think you should try for a part in the next Magic Mike movie, though you can put on a private show for me any time you like. A private show where you do exactly the same as now, pushing down your underwear, half inch by half inch, over your straining boner, until it's finally free and bounces up and slaps your abs, sending out a shower of pre. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Talk about overload. Suddenly I feel a familiar throbbing sensation in my cock and then it's pumping cum, pumping it into my briefs. I look down and see it begin to push through the fabric and hang there on the oozing head of my cock. And my hands are nowhere near it - you've made me cum without me touching myself. A hands-free! That's unbelievable, but I've got to believe it `cause the proof is there, soaking through my underwear. You may not be Magic Mike but you're definitely Amazing Grey.
And looking at you again, scanning your body from top to bottom, I realise that you've only got hair in two places - on your head and above your cock, and both are neat and short and obviously well taken care of. Everywhere else you are smooth and hairless. I wonder if it has to be like that for swimming. Or is it your choice? And if it is, do you do your own trimming or does someone do it for you? Someone else on the team? When you're doing sex stuff together? And now the screen's gone blank and my cock's gone limp. Why did I have to ruin the moment by thinking about what you do with your team-mates? But there's a new message:
How'd you get on with my little experiment? Did you manage to keep (it) up? You can tell me all about it tomorrow. Sleep tight.
As an author, it's REALLY encouraging to know that there are people out there who are taking the time to read what I've written, and then bothering to send a response. So please, do feel free to write to me at the email address given at the top of the chapter. I welcome all comments and guarantee to write back. PJ
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