Hookup

Hookup 5: The FrotMan by Lance Davids

[As a story told to Lance by James, the particulars are not actual. Since this is a work of fiction, all the names and details are invented.]

I guess I first got into frottage when I was seven years old. You know, frot. It's rubbing your cock against another guy's until you're both hard, hot, and cumming all over one another. I suppose it started innocently enough.

In second grade, an only child with older, distant parents, I was already on the outside, even at recess. For some twisted internal reason I wasn't into games and wasn't any good at even the simplest one. Take marbles. I loved their luster and mysterious beauty. I sure didn't want to lose any of them just because I couldn't hit a target with a steely or shooter. So, on the monkey bars, I could not make it across swinging hand over hand. I'd climb up the ladder, lose my nerve, and slide down the pole.

I gripped my legs around the pole, tight up against my crotch, and then slid down. I'd do it over and over. Something crazy-wonderful was going on with my privates as Dad called my paraphernalia. The pressure of the pole sliding against my little peckerville was something I'd never felt before. A warm, tingling feeling rose between my legs and into my midsection. It made me dizzy, but not too dizzy, numbing, but not totally, excited but in a long buzz. My mouth watered. I wanted to kiss the pole that was doing such a good job of attending to me and making me feel alive in ways I'd never felt before.

'James Wentworth, that's enough,' Miss Dillman said. 'It's time to go back to class.'

Her sudden call and the twisted tightness of her mouth made me suddenly fearful and worried I'd done something that would get me into trouble. I never rode the monkey bars' pole again. Instead on weekends, while mother did the wash, I'd climb up and slide down the pole that helped support the crossbeam in the basement. I'd do it until Mom said, 'James, you're wearing out your pants.' Before I went to bed each night, I'd give the bedpost my best embraces. Then I slept well.

Being without the society of other children, I'd never seen other guys naked before I got into seventh grade. We came from various elementary schools to middle school, and the locker room was filled with a couple hundred guys in various stages of pubescence. I couldn't figure if it I was more impressed, flummoxed, embarrassed or ashamed. All I knew was I wanted to be big where it mattered like half the other guys.

Two guys in my home room - Gerry Davis and Will Wood - had come out of the shower and sat facing one another their legs wide over the plank bench by their lockers. They were talking a steady stream, towling their hair and seeming to take a long time drying out the wells of their ears while their genitals flopped on the bench between them. All three of us were shorter than average, but Ger had muscled curves in his slender arms and Will was considerably more buffed-up than either of us. I noted that Will had the bigger dick but Ger would stand up from time to time and run his forefinger over the top of his member so that the thing would start to arch up. They were unconcerned about anyone around them, and no one seemed to be paying attention except me.

I wanted to get right between them but figured my skinny butt, stringy arms and legs and teeny winker of a wiener would not be welcome. The last thing I wanted was to be laughed at. Thus began my idolization of Ger and Will. That night instead of humping the bedpost, I ran my forefinger over my teeny weeny, and I saw it got bigger. Suddenly flushed with the hot magic of my own blood, I was elated and fearful as I saw my high, tight, bald balls flex and pulse in answer to the call of my finger. The tuber my duber rose and fell a half dozen times that evening before I thought I should go to bed.

Next morning I dropped my PJs to give another fling, and much to my amazement there was a single strand of hair coming out just above where my preadolescent widgey left my body. I thought, If I get a sprout like this black thread, I'm going to play make the dick come alive every chance I get.

I treated myself always in the morning and at night, and soon I was stopping by the lavatory stall every noon for another flogging at lunchtime.

Somewhere along in there, I realized I could get bigger and better results, work up precum and start to shoot if I grabbed firm hold of my cock and really wanked it.

Before Christmas break, I believed I'd actually stretched out my tools, adorned with an appreciable bush down there, and I had the confidence to parade around the shower and locker room like the other guys. But I still wanted to be in the middle between Ger and Will.

In home room, Ger and Will were the hits. We had little Friday skits and they did complete nonsense re-enactments of jousts and sword fights, taken from the movies, and made wild with their own sound effects. They could sound like neighing horses, ratcheting windmills, or crazed maidens in distress. I admired their nerve to cut loose and their success in making everyone in the class laugh in an uproar.

During the holidays, I discovered Will lived up Martha Street from me. Only we lived on the more prosperous end; he lived across the tracks near the warehouses, repair garages, and poultry processing plant. But when I went over there to ice skate, he saw me and we talked for the first time.

'You should go out for wrestling,' Will said. 'Ger and I think there should be more guys our size on the team.'

'Would I be any good?' I bothered.

'We all start from the same place. Coach Springer is really helpful. Give it a try.'

'Thanks, Will; I'll give it a try.'

So I became a wrestler only to be paired with Ger and never with Will who was just a little more muscled and therefore heavier than the two of us and others at our level. Though it was Will that I now felt that I wanted to get in a tangle with, I stayed with wrestling just to be near him. I was on the low end of Stringer's string, but it kept me close to Will. Each winter and spring I could stand naked next to him in the shower and while toweling off. It was Will that I called up in my fantasy every night and every morning as I pounded my lonely cock to let fly its load of spunk by shooting in convulsive delight.

Besides I liked the calisthenics and workouts that shaped my bod; those I continued for years after. I've aged along with the rest, but I'm still in shape.

Sometimes, in those days, I guy in the locker room would have a spontaneous erection. If he got a real boner and tried to hide it in his towel or whatever, he got attention. This happened to Will Wood one time. Will's wand had passed beyond the ordinary to be one of the top two or three wonder rods in the class, about nine inches when flaccid. He'd always looked extra size to me, long, rounder than other guys and uncut so that even the foreskin up to the tip looked thicker with more to the fold than other guys.

After this erection, Will became famous for his manhood. He got the nickname "Woody," that seemed innocent enough to the unknowing. Sometimes, guys would say in his presence, 'Have you met Willy Getts Woody,' or ask, 'Do you ever wonder when Willy get woody?' Will laughed and sloughed it off, but I couldn't help wondering that it might bother him, and I never made those remarks myself. I just wanted him to get woody with me.

I made friends with those who were Ger and Will's friends just to be in the same crowd. Summer before our Junior year, we were in a lot of parties together. One time, some of us went out to the quarry to swim. We wore suits because it was a mixed group. As it got dark and time to leave, Orv, a friend the year ahead of us, motioned Ger, Will and me to creep up the quarry scrap pile where he was peering over the edge. When we got to the top, Orv pointed out that down below Garan, a guy in his class was clashing himself against the writhing pussy of Janey, my next door neighbor. They had their suits on but it was obvious that Garan was doing his best to grind himself into Janey. The fingers of his left hand tore at the tight openings of her suit between her legs as he tried to clear room to get into her cunt.

I felt hot all over and red in the face. I turned, confused, and looked at Will whose face was filled with lust, his greedy eyes ablaze, his prong eager to be doing some kind of the same thing with somebody. Ger was already going back down the hill. I wanted to touch Will, I wanted to grapple with him in the rock pile. I wanted to be under him in the same way that Janey was under Garan, getting the mauling of Will's cock and curious, furious fingers. I wanted to push and rub my cock against his. That was the closest I came to prayer.

Ger impatiently beeped the horn of Orv's car, calling us all back down the hill and interrupting the fandango between Garan and Janey. Back in the car no one said anything. The three of us wrestlers sat in the backseat, my hands clasped together to prevent them from feeling between Will's legs, the thing my own quiet lust urged upon me.

The summer before our senior year, I got a job working with Will and his father. Mother didn't want me to do it; she regarded the Wood family as white trash; "the dead enders," she called them. Mr. Henry Wood was a plasterer when he wasn't plastered, the mother a broken-toothed hag. Will was the oldest of a dozen or so children and had worked since childhood as a hod carrier, the reason for his muscular build that bulged within his short stature. Now Will plastered alongside his father and I was the hod carrier.

We worked mostly out of town and stayed in cheap motels. Will and I were together more that summer than I ever imagined we would be, staying in the same room, sleeping in the same bed. I'd said to him, 'In all these years, we've never wrestled one another. We should give it a go.' We stood off one another in our jockeys, gripped and grappled and tried to deck and pin one another. In the process, it seemed to me that we embraced in the tightest of hugs, caressed across chests, abdomens and necks, thrashed in the tumbles of cock against cock, at times we almost kissed.

We'd talk after wrestling as we lay in bed, relaxing ourselves to sleep. 'You ever go camping with Coach Stringer?' Will asked one time.

'Not me, why?'

'Ger and I did once, just the two of us with him. Coach talked at the campfire about the way humans had lived closed to nature; he talked up being natural, as in nude. He took off his own shorts and invited us to do the same so we'd just experience the heat of the fire, the breath of the air on our bodies. Out of curiosity, we did. Then he suggested we compare our dongs.

'"It's easier and truer to compare hardons than softies," he said. And we did that. Of course, we had to beat off to get there. Then he held Ger and my erections in the clutch of this long-fingered hand. Ger and I never did any more than that. In fact, Ger was really disgusted with the whole thing.

But I have to tell you it felt great.'

'Who had the longest doodle-do?' I wanted to know.

'Well, Weinerworth, who do you think?'

'Is that why Stringer didn't stay?'

'We never said anything about him to anyone, but I suppose.'

Will also told me one night that he had failed second grade, all because of poor reading ability, and was therefore a year older than our class. That was why he had the more developed bod he always had compared to the rest of us.

Mornings I liked to wake early. I quietly uncovered Will beside me, gazed at his pile driver that tented his skivvies. I carefully placed my hand, pulling the cloth, to better outline the measure of his impressive tumescence under the covering. Often I bent to him, only pretending to close on his pisser and take his prize-winning prick in my mouth with a tender kiss and a loving suck.

Our last job together was a priest's parish house where we stayed in one of the finished rooms before completing the last one. It was early September, just before Labor Day, and the return to our senior year. The interior atmosphere felt close with the heavy damp smell of drying plaster permeating the air. We now wrestled in our jock straps, even clasping one another's ass cheeks to fell one another. That night I won the fall for the first time, and when I did I collapsed on him as though worn out, spent. Will let me lay there, as I panted in his ear to get my breath and fantasize I had cum with him. I felt his right hand on my back, stroking me lightly, a true caress. His still left hand felt as though it had gone asleep in my ass crack and on the underside of my balls.

Then he held me suddenly and kissed me full and hard. 'Thanks, James, you've been a great pal,' he said and thwacked me across the buttocks. He shook me off of him, got up from the floor, and turned out the lights. I sensed him get out of his jock and into bed. I did the same, and we held one another in a full body press, soon falling asleep. The next morning I did kiss his engorged cock, ever so softly before he woke. The musky smell of his gihugent genitals in my nostrils stayed with me for a long time.

Our senior year was post climactic. I was preparing for college; he'd go into the military. We were in separate classes with separate agendas. We still showed up at the same parties, but our conversations went nowhere. He left for the army the day after graduation. I regretted that we never said a proper goodbye.

By the time of our first five-year class reunion, I had thought about Will so often and with such unsatisfied pangs of desire that I could not get him out of my mind. Of course, soon after entering college I was out and more flaming than I needed to be. I was even a blond out of the bottle for a while - white hair, black eyebrows. A year of teaching high school English calmed me down so that I was "straight appearing," though never dodging the "gay as a goose" admission when asked. 'Mr. Wentworth, are you gay?' the modern age students would ask. I guess I never knew how desirable looking I was because I was chronically single and horribly shy.

Sadly for me, Will didn't show at our first reunion or at the second; no one in the class knew where he was. Perhaps Gerry Davis knew, but he died eight years out of high school from some rare blood disease. The Wood family no longer lived in town, and no one knew where any of them were. I decided to track Will down using my skills as an amateur genealogist and found his current address through the Social Security and Veterans administrations. I let the reunion committee know how to contact him. I thought to write an encouraging letter myself but guessed it would mean more that the whole class wanted to see him.

Fifteen years out of high school, I was standing and talking to Janey who had married and divorced Garan, when in comes Will and right up to me, just about smiling from ear to ear, tanned, fit, in full-basket jeans and western boots. Coincidentally, I was dressed the same.

'James, as I live and breath, how's it hanging?'

I gave him a quick embrace and said, 'Will, I'm so glad to see you. I have such fond memories of our years together.'

'Me, too; I think of you often.'

'Jeez,' I blushed. And just then some bodacious babe sallies up, 'Willy, who is this number?'

'Melinda, this is my old wrestling buddy, James Wentworth. James, this is the missus, Melinda Wood.'

We exchanged the "Pleased-to-meet-you"s and got separated by the press of other classmates. But I kept my eye on Will and when we went to our tables to eat, I engineered my way next to him. Will talked about his military career as a radio-man, his marriage, and wife's family's trucking business, his three children, his father's death, his mother going back into nursing - something I never imagined - and his house in Tucson. He drank a lot of scotch, and about the fourth highball had his hand on my thigh when it didn't tumble between my legs and feel for the gold.

I suggested we go for a walk and a smoke, and he went along, stopping first to take a much needed leak. I sized up his hose, uncut, as long and full as I remembered. I'd worried the army might have circumcised him, but he must have protected those jewels from any resetting. He shook off the drops of piss in my direction and leisurely repacked his manhood. I let him see mine, too, giving it a couple wanks and wondering that I'd ever been shy about my assets.

We smoked and strolled, his arm in mind. Away from the clubhouse, I said, 'You have any regrets, Will?'

'Yes and no. I'm better off financially than I ever expected to be. But it would have been good if we would have known what we know now.'

'Meaning?' I fished.

'Fuck it all, man; I'm talking about sexuality.' And he planted a big kiss on me.

'I've lusted after you for twenty years,' I said.

'Oh, shit,' Will said, and started to cry. 'It's too fucking late,' he moaned.

'Not tonight. I'm in 202, a corner room. The bed is up against the outside wall. 202.' I gave him my second key.

We smoked another Marlboro in silence, his fingers intertwined in mine. After returning to the clubhouse, he said, 'Later,' and went to his table. I went to my room; there was no one else I wanted to talk to.

I policed the room, mowed my ass crack with the trimmer and shaved my balls and cock for the third time that week, took a long hot soak in the jacuzzi, and relaxed in my open kimono on top of the bed against a haystack of pillows. Of course, I fell asleep.

I must have woken with the loud click of the door closing or being locked. Someone was in the room. I scooted to the end of the bed to stand, and a figure came to me in jeans, boots and his shirt open over a hairy chest. I smelled the scotch on his breath when he held my head in his hands and kissed me hot and wet through his tears.

'Will,' I recognized.

'I want to be affectionate with you,' he said. I felt the large metal buckle on his belt pressing against my naked equipment as he grappled me in the tightest of wrestling holds while kissing me frantically about the neck and biting at my clavicles.

I tore the shirt off his back and struggled to open his belt. 'Do with me what you will,' I gasped. 'I'm yours.'

He got out of his jeans and boots in a moment, slipped off my robe, and pressed himself against me as we stood there. He began raising and lowering himself on his feet. I felt his penis gliding against mine, imagining in the dim light of clock, radio and tv dials our two whangers hanging between us in their regular state of anticipation, always fulsome and now wanting even more sensuality from each another. I swayed and moved against him, our cocks beginning to rise to thrusting strength like two swords coming out of their scabbards.

I could feel Will's pole was stacking up against my abdomen, its coursing length touching the underside of my balls, running past them with a light rasp against the root of my own hardon, gliding through the hairs of my pubes and midsection to the navel. I marveled at the way Will used his erection to stroke me and how I was riding him in turn.

I felt the impressive deltoids of his upper arms, the strength of his strong back, trapezoidal to his tapered, wrestler's waist. Shorter than average like me, the runts of the class, we both outshone the rest of the guys, paunchy desk jockeys all, as being in shape, and sporting the musculature to carry our heavy watutsis that now clashed against one another. Our vorpal blades going snicker-snack, I thought in a flash of the Jabberwocky he and Ger had once enacted and almost laughed with the joy of it, as we jived in place against one another.

Will coiled his legs about mine and tipped me back so we crashed together on the bed. Above me, he began to drag his big barbaric clave over me, trailing his lips over mine, my chin, neck and nipples with every passage as he clubbed me with his heavy meat and I whacked back at him, writhing against him. He'd invaded my cave and we were having it out in the hot and holy tradition of all those cavemen, wrestlers, and swordsmen who'd gone man on man, bone on bone, in sexual abandon through the millennia.

Will was groaning and moaning inarticulately like a caveman, too, with an occasional word coming through - "buddy," "pal," "stud," "stuff," "man." He rocked on me with increasing speed and pressure. I felt his sweat fall on me and the bedclothes growing damp underneath under my neck, back and ass.

'Frot me, frot me,' I cried, 'rub me hard; make me cum.'

He rose on his knees, grabbed me under the arms and tossed me up higher against the pillows on the bed. Then he spread my legs and sat in the well between them. For a moment, I thought he was going to fuck me, but he nestled himself up against me so that his balls mashed into mine and his pole aligned its stack against my chimney. Will grabbed on to our crazy union with both hands and, clutched that way, jounced and jiggered himself against me within the well of his grip. I responded pushing my self up and down supported with my hands behind as I bounced my ass into the frot bundle that Will held in his hot, loving embrace.

'Holy fucking frot,' Will called. 'Frot, frot, frot.'

We two maniacs went at it. I felt the gizz begin to rise in me and saw that Will's face was contorting, his eyes going insane, rolling back as though he was going into a seizure. The god of ecstasy had come to us. Hot fluid percolated from our gonads and together we shot, shot, shot those great and glorious wads of glistening, creamy man-made jelly.

I heard the heavy splats, felt the hot hits and saw the explosions run on Will's upper arms and torso. My body convulsed of its own as Will's rode out its tremors. Then he moved over me, sliding in the sticky spunk, breathing heavily and snuggling into me as we held one another, kissed and licked at the love offering we had made to one another.

'God, how I needed this,' he said. And he began to cry again, quiet salty tears that I kissed away, holding and caressing his back and buttocks, pressing him upon me until we slept, the sleep of spent hoplites, Vikings, crusaders, marines.

In the morning he was gone from my bed and gone from the hotel. He never came to another reunion, I've never seen him again. I send him birthday cards and Christmas cards. Never mind that I get no reply. I keep thinking someday he'll show up at my door, and I'll rejoice that I saved myself for him, even if it's only one more time we frot together.

Oh, Will, William, my woody Will, Bill, Bilz, Billy, my man; woodsman, wankman, Willy, my Willy; front man, my frotman, lover of my life, my inspiration, my realization, my joy, my trust, I love you. I wish for nothing but your happiness. We have had one another in gay abandon. I have tasted your lips, and eaten your own true seed. You will always be mine within me, imprinted on mind and body. My Will.