Car Ride
Frank's head gently bobbed as the car raced down the street. With each crack and bump on the road surface, his sleeping body moved--ever so slightly--in quiet rhythm. He was utterly relaxed, and utterly oblivious to the world going on about him.
As the car came to a stop at an intersection, Simon looked over at his friend. He drank in the young man's supple, unconscious form. Frank was wearing his trademark attire: blue jeans and a black t-shirt. He was slender and small--detailed and delicate in his appearance and his proportions: broad shoulders and narrow waist; a firm, yet indifferently muscled frame; and, longish legs-certainly slender, but not spindly. Frank's body was a clean, well-maintained package. His clothes weren't tight, but hardly loose. His shirt fit just right and his hips, buttocks, and cock were tucked neatly into his blue jeans. He wore a black belt and dark-colored running shoes, white socks and a wrist watch.
Owing to his father's Spanish background, Frank's skin was tinted slightly olive, and he always appeared vaguely tanned. His skin was soft and nearly hairless--only a mole or two differentiated its smooth geography. His hair was dark and full, and soft to the touch. He had small, well-articulated ears and a button-sized, yet proportionate chin. Frank's eyes were dark and doughy, large and probing. He had full, pink lips and a fantastic, life-giving smile. Even at twenty-one, he had only scarce facial hair and shaved only periodically. He was a gentle, beautiful figure, and Simon swelled at gazing upon him.
The two had been a curious pair for four years now. Friends, undoubtedly, but vaguely alienated. They rode to college together almost daily and spoke often on the telephone. But, although their conversations were frequently intimate and personal, they rarely spent time together outside of this routine. On only a handful of occasions had they spent time with eachother in a non-scholastic setting. Most of the time, their relationship was confined to the ride to school. Nonetheless, though it had often frustrated and upset him, Simon was content and thankful for the time he had with Frank. Any time he spent with him seemed a blessing.
Since that first day in a high school history class, Simon had been thoroughly taken with Frank. He'd sat next to him only accidentally, but, as time passed and his affection for Frank grew, he'd begun to feel the meeting had been fated. Simon adored Frank. He relished their conversations and cherished their shared confidences. For Simon, to look upon Frank--just to be with him--was the high-point, the consummation of living. He felt truly alive in his presence, and longed to know him better, more intimately.
Lately, however, Simon had begun to feel cheated of his time with Frank. Having grown weary of the same, stale conversation, Frank had taken to falling asleep on the ride to school. Shortly after departing their neighborhood and exchanging a perfunctory salutation, invariably, over the past several weeks, Frank had closed his eyes and nodded off to sleep.
At first, Simon was annoyed. Such scarce time he had with Frank in the first place, he thought, and how cruel that he was the only one who passed it consciously. He'd contemplated complaining to Frank that it was rude; he considered telling him that it was thoughtless and boorish to sleep while he--half asleep himself--had to drive to school without even conversation to pass the time. But, then, one morning, this morning, while looking out the passenger-side window at the rushing traffic, he turned his attention briefly, accidentally over to Frank.
'There he is,' Simon thought, 'beautiful and delicate-and right next to me!'
He felt a lustful rush of excitement. As the traffic light glowed red, he looked down at his sleeping, oblivious companion--his unconscious, beloved idol. He inspected Frank's form as he'd never been able to before. Indeed, while Frank was awake, Simon's lustful gaze was curtailed--he was confined to stealing looks as he climbed into the car or sat down at his desk. But now, as Frank slept, he had free reign--complete freedom to examine, to contemplate, to imagine.
He scanned his body from head to toe, taking note of curves and angles he'd only vaguely known before. He dwelt upon his chest for a long-while, considering Frank's defined, yet modest pectorals. His t-shirt was pinched slightly at the sides, bringing his boyishly articulated breast into splendid relief. Even his nipples seemed to be revealed, as suggestive folds in his shirt hinted at tiny knobs of flesh in exactly the right places.
Then, making his way down Frank's body, he drank in the sight of his firm, slender torso and waist. For Simon, this was a particular pleasure. Having discussed the purchase of clothes with Frank on more than one occasion, he knew him to have a waist of no more than thirty or thirty-two inches. He was a slim, small fellow. Though he was roughly Simon's height, he weighed a mere one-hundred and forty pounds and cut a slight figure. He was a true 'twink,' as they say, and exactly Simon's preference.
Frank's shirt was tucked into his pants, affording an unobstructed view of his crotch and waist. Though his jeans were hardly tight, they were not loose, and offered an exciting silhouette of his endowment. The fold of his zipper pointed suggestively upward and at its base came to a neat conjunction with his crotch. Simon could spend hours gazing at this package--and nearly would have, had not the light turned suddenly, and regrettably, green.
The car continued along the street and as it did Frank's head continued to bob. Simon looked over to him in darting, lustful glances. He looked so lovely, so darling. Simon wanted to reach out and embrace him--to cradle him in his arms, to stroke his soft, dark hair, and to kiss him tenderly, lovingly on the neck.
The car came to another stop, only minutes from school. Simon looked over again at Frank, still sleeping soundly beside him. This time, he dwelt upon his head, hanging casually to Frank's right. Simon considered the soft, supple skin tautly outlining his cheekbones and jaw line. 'If only I could kiss him there, just once,' he thought. He looked then to Frank's mouth and his lips--pink, full, and moist. An electric current of excitement shot through Simon's body. He had to do something about it-had to resolve this tension which had been pent up, frustrated for years now.
The light turned and the car continued down the roadway. 'What can I do?' he thought. 'I can't touch him, that would be wrong. But, then, I love him... so thoroughly, so completely--how can it be wrong?' He looked over at his friend, gorgeous and incapacitated beside him. Angelic.
The car came to a stop again. 'No thinking, just doing... you've got to do it,' Simon thought. And with that, he reached out his right hand to Frank. Nervously, almost shaking, he slid the back of his hand quickly down Frank's thigh. A wave of lust infected Simon that he'd never felt before. He caressed the thigh again, more slowly this time, from mid-thigh down to Frank's knee.
It wasn't enough. He opened his palm and placed in gently, carefully on Frank's thigh, just inches from his waist. Simon came alive at this contact with his secretly loved friend. He squeezed Frank's thigh lovingly. Then, sliding his hand down the young man's leg he approached the knee. Cupping it in his hand, he squeezed. He repeated the process, once, twice, three times more. Then, inspired and courageous, he lifted his hand and placed it on Frank's torso. It was firm and muscled, and it moved slowly up and down as Frank breathed. Simon fondled his sleeping friend's stomach tenderly, and felt an unknown brand of happiness and satisfaction.
The light turned green and they were off again. But, almost as quickly, they hit another light and Simon resumed. He slid his hand across Frank's chest and gently stroked his pectorals. Then, letting his hand slide slightly downward, he searched-out and delicately fondled Frank's hardening nipples. They were small, wondrous ornaments, and Simon relished their precious beauty.
It was a glorious, transcendent experience. Finally, after all this time, he knew a little of the Frank he'd longed to know-and a little of the pleasure and contentment he'd longed to feel. But there remained one more exercise--a final, stolen moment of penultimate intimacy and significance.
Simon slid his hand down Frank's body, over his chest and torso, down to his waist. He slid his hand carefully over Frank's belt-buckle and traced the upward curving thrust of his zipper with a single finger. Then, approaching the base of the zipper, Simon cupped his hand and gently pressed it into Frank's crotch. He felt instantly the shrunken, fleshy substance of Frank's penis. Simon held it firmly, but delicately, being careful not to wake his sleeping friend.
It was perfect, unequivocal satisfaction, and Simon prayed that he could remember each moment, each sensation fully. Here he was, his hand enveloping Frank's limp member--his inert, tender vulnerability. Such a moment, such a privilege. Simon could barely conceive his bliss. Then, finally, just before yielding his grip on Frank's small, lumpen manhood, Simon leaned in and planted a gentle, loving kiss on Frank's soft, warm cheek and thought, 'I love you, Frank. Thank you.'
Then, as he pulled his hand away and leaned back into his seat, a horn honked. The light had changed and they were just sitting there. Frank woke, but Simon had pulled himself away just in time. Frank suspected nothing.
"What's going on?" Frank said, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
Simon smiled. "Oh. I wasn't paying attention. I dunno where my head is at today." Then, after pausing to press the accelerator, he said, "You can go back to sleep."