Sophomore Year 44
The Friday mood spawns a spontaneous kitchen dance party as the guys let off a little steam. With the upstairs briefly to himself, Hank reflects before the mirror.
I so appreciate reading your reactions, ideas and experiences. Please feel free to drop a line!
And remember - Nifty depends on our donations! Let's help it survive and thrive! If you have ever leaked into your briefs or shot a load reading a Nifty post, then please consider contributing at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
Chapter 44
The guys came thumping down the stairs all laughs and cheers for the good smells coming from the kitchen. Just as I was hanging up the apron that years of restaurant work had taught me to use, Buck bopped in swaying to the music with a mischievous smile.
Turning back to the doorway, in a mock emcee's voice he called, "Ladies and Gentlemen...please welcome to the stage...the Mighty Zack and his tasty peaches!" Zack burst in full of giggles and started dancing around the kitchen singing along in made-up Spanish.
He wore an old pair of briefs and when he turned and bent to wiggle at us, I saw his butt was now laid bare thanks to Buck's handiwork with a pair of scissors. Actually, the seat of the briefs looked more ripped than cut out, in tiny tatters around the edges.
I guessed that Buck had used some combination of scissor cuts and tears to do the job. Little flaps and fringes flopped around as Zack moved to the music. The effect was comic, yet I also found it somehow riveting.
The whole scene probably sounds silly now, but Zack was having such a great time that it put us all in a merry mood. Joining in the fun, Buck grabbed me in his arms to join Zack in dancing around the kitchen floor.
Buck was surprisingly adept at the song's Latin rhythm, a kind of slow rhumba, and moved his hips smoothly. From the years I'd been conscripted as my mom's dance pupil and partner, I was pretty good at following.
Someone looking in the window would have seen a group of guys clowning around at the start of a weekend. And there was definitely no shortage of laughter. But at the same time, the marvel of Buck leading me around the `dance floor,' his bare chest rubbing against mine, was oddly exciting.
He held me close, as if he was really dancing with a girl, and I felt like his strong arms lifted me slightly off the floor as we spun around. His thick chest hair tickled my chin, and his bulbous nipples poked along my collarbone. The laces of his shorts and the ribbed pouch of his jock brushed against my belly.
Buck alternated humming along to the tune with corny pick-up lines from old movies. "So, little lady, you new in town?" he joked. "Why, Miss Scarlet, you smell divine!" with a Southern drawl. "If I told you that you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?" Buck had such a talent for making me laugh and shiver at the same time.
As the song came to an end, Buck stepped back to bow and tip an imaginary top hat to me. I jokingly curtsied back. When the next song started, he scooped up Zack, who'd been watching up raptly, and wrapped the boy's arms around his neck and legs around his waist and comically waltzed him around the room.
"Why, Cinderella," he joked, "what a lovely gown! It truly shows off your finest features." He teasingly pinched Zack's bare butt several times, eliciting squeals of surprise and laughter. I nursed another sip of beer as I watched them spin around the kitchen in high spirits.
I thought if anyone in the room was a Cinderella, it was me. I was the one rescued from a dreary existence of always hiding myself in the corner. Buck was like the fairy godmother who with a flick of his magic wand had transformed the shy wallflower in baggy clothes into the belle of the ball in skintight sports gear.
The glass slipper was the captain's jockstrap that had fit perfectly almost as if by magic. I laughed to picture Buck as Prince Charming going from door to door with the jockstrap, asking every young man in the kingdom to try it on.
When the song ended, Buck set Zack's bare ass on the table and, slightly winded, leaned against the counter and took a pull from my beer. While his dad caught his breath, I pulled Zack off the table and he and I cavorted in a lively dance around the room.
Buck watched us with his arms folded across his chest and a smile on his face. He looked amused, contented and proud all the same time. It was a scene of crazy silly Friday night fun. I think we were all in a special mood and ready to blow off a little steam.
As we danced, Zack said, "I really like your football shorts. Especially with the flap open. I love seein' your jockstrap. You look like a star quarterback or something." I blushed and mumbled something. Then he asked, "Can I try to lace `em up later?"
Before I could answer, the record came to an end and Buck announced, "OK, playtime's over, boys. Zack, go get your stuff outa the car. If we're gonna get a little gym time in before dinner, I want you in your jockstrap. No way you're gonna work out in that pretty little party dress you're wearin'."
Zack zipped out to the garage and returned in seconds with his bag. "Can Hank come join us?" he pleaded. "I wanna try undoin' the laces on his shorts."
Buck smiled at this request but noting my hesitation said, "Nah, Hank's gotta keep an eye on dinner." And then with a quick wink in my direction as they headed for the stairs he added, "But maybe if you're real sweet to `im, he'll let ya play with his laces later."
Hearing them bounce down the stairs, I smiled and shook my head, marveling at how I came to be part of this crazy household. Waves of gratitude rolled through me, and I wondered how to express it. In the meantime, I decided to zip upstairs for a quick shower while they were busy in the gym.
On the way to my room, passing the laundry closet, I noticed the dirty clothes basket was almost full. In the mood to do something helpful, I thought to first check if the washer was empty. I was puzzled to find a bottle of Windex and a cleaning rag left on the lid. I was sure they hadn't been there this afternoon and wondered who had got them out and what they'd been used for.
At any rate, I put the cleaning supplies back on the shelf and lifted the lid to look inside. There I found a recently washed load, which I chunked piece by piece into the dryer. It was all whites: T-shirts, socks and briefs, and most looked to be Buck's.
Next, I dumped the load from the soiled basket into the washer and started a new cycle. Feeling quite pleased with myself for this contribution to household operations, I headed off to my room with a bit of a smug strut to my step.
Before I'd got very far, I caught sight of myself in the hallway mirror and stopped a moment to study my reflection. The first thing I noticed was how snug my new football shorts fit. I thought they made me look quite sporty.
I next turned around to check the back and was pleased to see a few inches of my jockstrap showed above the waist, just like Buck had taught me. It struck me as funny how, in the past, if I noticed a guy's jock peeking over the back of their shorts, I'd always assumed it was just by accident, never intentional.
This of course was long before the fashion trend that blurred the line between underwear and outwear, long before guys intentionally showed their underwear in public and on stage. And before men's underwear was modeled by celebrities and emblazoned with designer names.
Next, I admired the way the white fabric of the shorts stretched across my tail so tight that I could clearly see the leg straps of my jock underneath. Of course, I'd seen jock straps show through football pants a zillion times before both on the field and on TV and again assumed it was by accident.
Lately however the act of wearing a jockstrap and showing it was taking on a new meaning for me. It was hard to explain why. Everyone, men, women, children, old and young alike, wore underwear. But only men wore jockstraps because a jockstrap had one sole function, to support something that only a man has.
Wearing a jockstrap and showing it was a proud declaration of one's manhood, as if to say, "there's just one reason I'm wearing this and that's because I have a set of balls that need support and thanks to this strap that you're looking at, they're getting it."
I think I'd been ashamed of my body for so long I'd forgotten what it felt like to enjoy it, to take pride in it. And now here I was in this household, this community of men who encouraged me to savor it and enjoy the pleasures it could bring, including showing it off.
I remembered how mortified I'd been at first when Buck had forced me to show off the print of my jockstrap under Jack's white gym shorts and then the wrestling singlet and now the football shorts. I'd been embarrassed by all types of underwear and did my best to hide mine whether I was wearing it or not.
And then I recalled the incredible positive reactions I'd gotten from the men who'd seen the print of my jock under my clothes. They'd showered me with praise and reassurance and comradery. I'd felt embraced as a welcomed member into a club of men.
A sense of power and self-esteem charged through me. It made me feel strong and manly and aroused. I turned and struck various poses in the mirror, experimenting with which showed off the jock strap to best advantage.
Knowing that Buck and Zack would be busy in the basement for a while gave me the courage to be a bit daring. Instead of dashing to the safety of my room to undress, I stayed in the hallway watching myself in the mirror. I slowly loosened the laces of my shorts, pretending to be in a crowded locker room.
Then I imagined myself in the gym downstairs, standing on the small stage in front of the folding mirrors. As I leisurely pulled out the laces, Buck, the captain and Mr. Akins sat in chairs below me cheering me on, their gaze intense and fixed.
Finally, I pictured myself in Professor Parker's office during his office hours, making up some phony reason to be unlacing my shorts. In my fantasy, sweat broke out on his forehead and he trembled all over from nerves as I stripped.
I had no idea where these crazy images were coming from. They sure weren't like anything I'd ever dreamed up before. But one thing was clear, I was getting super hard, and my balls felt like they'd been dipped in `salsa picante.'
I was just about to pull my dick out and watch myself stroke when I noticed a smudge on the mirror. It was at about knee height and looked like it had been hastily wiped. I thought of the Windex left on the washer and Zack's forced self-inspection in the mirror that afternoon.
I tried to picture what might have happened. The last I had seen; Zack was standing before the mirror naked and totally hard. Buck stood behind chiding him for trying to hide his arousal from us and encouraging him to embrace his sexual energy. Had Buck inspired his son to blow his load onto the mirror while he watched, cheering him on?
I supposed it wasn't that different from my session the day before, standing in the Captain's laundry room, my meat slathered in man cream while the Captain and Mr. Akins stood outside the door encouraging and arousing me with their lewd calls.
But if Jack had cum on the mirror, surely there'd be more than just one smudge. Where had the rest gone? I suddenly pictured Buck catching his son's boy cream in his hand and then, as he had done with me, solemnly sharing it between them, lick by careful lick. My knees wobbled.
What act, I wondered, could more clearly express not just the precious bond and profound intimacy between a father and son, but also a boy's joyous embrace of his budding manhood? Yearning for a father figure for so long had almost frozen something inside me and I could feel the warmth of my new life starting to thaw it.
I was so overwhelmed by these thoughts that I decided to wait a while to blow my load. Instead, I returned to my room and found a hanger for my new football shorts and hung them on the wall to join the other prizes of the week.
As was now habit, I then ceremoniously removed my jockstrap and held it high in both hands like the quarterback in the poster downstairs. I spun slowly around to the imagined roar of adoring fans, coaches and teammates. Such an intoxicating feeling for a timid kid with body image issues!
I returned the jockstrap to its place of honor on the wall, alongside the singlet and my new football shorts. I paused a moment to gaze affectionately at each of these badges of my newfound pride in being a man.
The voices and clanging metal floating up from the basement assured me I would have the upstairs to myself for a while. In what was for me another daring act, I paraded naked across the hall to the bathroom, again pretending it was a crowded locker room.
After a nice warm shower, I dried off and wrapping the towel around my waist, headed back to my room. In a sudden fit of mischief, I pretended Professor Parker was sitting in the hallway and allowed my towel to drop as though by accident. I practiced the move a few times in the mirror.
Before I knew it, I was flexing naked in the mirror and getting hard. I toyed with the idea of rubbing out a quick one right then and there, but remembered I had to finish the dinner prep and common sense prevailed.
Back in my room, I pondered what to wear. It was such a relief to no longer be in the old biddy's house where to leave my room I had to be fully dressed, including shoes and socks and shirt tucked in. Here the dress code was much more casual.
Given that the weather was still warm, and that Zack had been dancing around the kitchen with his butt hanging out, I felt safe going with the de facto uniform for hanging out in this household (and pretty much any house with just guys): underwear.
I saw the pair of Mr. Akins' briefs I'd left on the bed and wondered if I dared wear them again. I picked them up and pressed them to my face. I took a deep whiff to see if they might be too ripe. The heady scent had only grown stronger and fit my mood perfectly.
"If anyone complains, I can always put on something else," I thought as I pulled them on. "Though," I chuckled to myself, "it's hard to imagine anyone in this house complaining about crotch musk."
To complete the outfit, I pulled on some white socks and Buck's cum-stained T-shirt. I wasn't one-hundred percent certain of where things stood with my wearing this shirt. I had taken it from the laundry without permission, and that had definitely earned me an ass-whooping.
Then I had spermed all over it, which you'd think would have earned me another major ass-whooping, but Buck had seemed secretly amused by it and actually praised the abundance of splatters, so maybe that had earned me some sort of reprieve.
Then Buck had ordered me to wear it that morning as I dressed for school, but at this point I wasn't sure if I had permission to wear it still or permission to stop wearing it. "Well, what's the worst that could happen?" I shrugged, "Another ass-whooping?"
I wouldn't mind. Buck's frequent spankings stung, make no mistake about that. He was a strong man and did not hold back. But they were not cruel and did not bruise. After a few minutes the initial pain faded and left a nice warm glow in its place.
As I say, I didn't mind. The truth is, there was something I was starting to enjoy about them. Just knowing I could take it, for one. And the warm contact as Buck held me in a tight grip while we were usually half naked.
And then he was always extra sweet and affectionate afterwards. He seemed to want to make clear that he spanked out of disapproval, but rather out of caring. I started to think of ways I might earn more.
Freshly showered and dressed I returned downstairs to set the kitchen table and lay out a few things for dinner. Then I sat and listened to the noises from the basement. The metallic clanging had been replaced by laughter and splashing water. I tried to imagine what was going on. I pictured clouds of steam, shiny tiles, wet skin, and soap suds in every crevice.