Suspenders

I wasn't the most athletic kid growing up. When I was small, I was also less aggressive than a lot of the other boys in gym class, so I tended to hang back during the team sports. Once I started to grow, I struggled to keep up with my body's new abilities, and often made clumsy errors because I didn't know my own strength, or hadn't got used to how long my limbs had become. At the age of 14, I understood that the best praise I could possibly hope for was no comment whatsoever; my peers believed strongly in negative reinforcement only.

That's why I was pretty surprised at what I heard coming out of Frank Mancuso's mouth on the way back to the locker one day during the floor hockey unit. We weren't walking exactly side by side -- there was a socially-acceptable buffer of about three feet that cool kids left around the dorkier ones like me, so as not to give the impression that we were friends or anything like that -- but I was the only one within earshot when he said, "You did good today." I glanced about quickly to make sure he wasn't actually talking to someone else (and yes, I had learned that lesson the hard way), then muttered a quick, "Thanks."

I was terrified of saying anything else, because I was sure I'd make a fool of myself if I did. The problem was that I had a completely hopeless crush on Frank Mancuso, and every time I even tried to talk to him I sounded like an ass. He was the best-dressed kid in the ninth grade by far, and because he was so small (he was about foot shorter than I was, and I don't think he even crested five feet yet, such is the variation of puberty) he looked liked an adorable little dressed up doll to me. Except I wanted nothing more than to undress that doll, because I was sure that he was not a little boy in any place that counted. In fact, one time when we were playing shirts vs skins before the weather turned cold, I was sure I spotted hair under his arms. Hair! I didn't have hair under there, even though I was nearly a foot taller than him.

The problem was that I thought I needed to strike while the iron was hot, but I really did put my foot in my mouth when I talked to him. One time in art class a few of us were gathered around the teacher's desk and Frank's fashion sense came up; I poked some fun at his leather tie in the way boys poke fun when they're trying to bond, but it totally backfired. The other three kids (all girls; Frank was always surrounded by girls) and the female teacher all jumped to his defense and told me that leather ties are cool. That's the kind of reaction I wanted to avoid, but maybe the problem was when I talked in front of an audience. I usually did better one on one.

Despite my history of social awkwardness and my complete lack of self-confidence, I had a couple of things going for me. I only knew about one of them, which I had been practicing for months for just this kind of situation. However, it was a skill I couldn't use until after school, so I needed to plan carefully to make sure I ran into Frank as he was walking home. It would be worth missing the bus for this. I was going to be outside the door he usually left by, and ask him for a light. What better way to make friends than by smoking? At least I figured it might go that way, but I hadn't actually tried it yet. This would be my public debut as a smoker, which was in itself a big thing.

It didn't hurt that I had done some stalking. I knew Frank's schedule, and this was the day that he walked home alone across the athletic fields. I was outside the entrance by the gym when he came out, trying to act casual but maybe failing. I think I faked tying my shoe as he opened the door, then fell into step with him. "Got a light?" I asked, producing a cigarette?

He stopped short. "YOU smoke?" he asked, incredulous.

"For a few months now," I acknowledged. "I know it's no good if you're an athlete, but we all know I'm not an athlete." Laughing, he produced a lighter and continued walking.

"Trade you light for a butt," he said without a hint of irony. I nodded, and offered him one from my pack. "Where you going?" he asked.

"Nowhere now," I said. "Sooner I get home, the sooner I'm getting yelled at about my homework."

"Let's go to my house," he said, then added as we started walking, "I thought you liked homework, or that you would."

I snorted. "Who does that?" He laughed. "I just figured you were into that stuff," he said.

"I'm into what any teenage boy is into," I said, feeling more at ease.

"Like smoking?" he asked.

"Right, like smoking!" I smiled. Frank was really starting to warm up to me.

When we got to his house, we went to his room, Frank offered me a drink, and then said, "It's too damned hot in here, sorry. I'm not allowed to turn on the air conditioning until like July."

I shrugged. "We just use windows," I admitted.

"Well, I'm way too hot," he said, then unbuttoned his shirt. To my delight and amusement, he took it off without even pulling down the suspenders holding up his pants. When he was done, they framed his nipples in a way that made me start to pop a boner. I'd seen him shirtless, but this was somehow way, way hotter.

"That was different," I said, laughing.

"I have a lot of free time," he said, "and a lot of clothes. I get bored and try weird things."

"That's pretty weird," I replied. It was the only safe thing I could think to say, because seeing him like that was really turning me on.

Frank snorted. "You really have no idea," he said.

"Okay," I answered; my tone made it clear that I really had no idea what I really had no idea about.

"Wait here. Close your eyes when I tell you to." He ducked out the door and I heard another door close. What could be possibly be doing? I resisted the urge to peek. The unseen door opened again, and he said, "Okay, close your eyes until I say."

I screwed them tightly shut, sitting on the edge of his bed with my heart beating and my stomach queasy with excitement. Thankfully, my boner had subsided amidst all the nervous energy, but I was a little worried was going to throw up. I didn't even know what I was so worked up about anymore.

"Okay, you can look," he said, and I did. Somehow I kept my eyes from popping completely out of my head, but I gasped. I definitely gasped, and he laughed. Was he angry? Going to beat me up? Even dressed like that?

What he was dressed like was pretty weird. Frank had clipped his suspenders to his boxer shorts, which looked a little too big for his diminutive waist, and that was it. No shoes. No pants. No shirt. No nothing. Just boxers, held up by those suspenders of his.

"My aunt bought me these underpants that are two inches too big in the waist," he said, "and this is the only way they will stay up. Even under jeans, they just slide right down. I can't wear 'em until I grow into them, except like this, which is ridiculous. What do you think?"

"Um . . . " I said.

He held out the waistband to demonstrate how much room there was, and had I been a foot and a half closer I swear I would have seen him all in there. "Funny, right?" he asked.

"Um . . . " I replied.

"I like boxers when they're the right size, but I can't wear 'em on gym days," he said. "My dick pops out of the fly in those stupid shorts." He closed the distance between us. "That ever happen to you, Kevin? You ever pop right out?"

"I-I don't wear boxers," I said. Realizing I was looking straight at his crotch, I wrenched my eyes up to meet his, my face burning.

"What do you wear?" he said, his voice an intense whisper. "Show me."

I did.

Figuring that he probably wasn't setting me up for a beating dressed like that -- and horny enough that I would have found any argument in favor of taking down my pants to be reasonable -- I unsnapped, unzipped, and pulled down. It was obvious that I was happy to see him.

"They're okay," Frank said, "but do you want to try these on? They might fit you." Without waiting for me reply, he unfastened the suspenders and let his boxers drop.

He was everything I imagined. Smooth and tight in all the right places, but just enough hair to prove that he was no little kid. He had a triangle of muscle pointing down to the object of my desire; I had no idea a body could look like that, but I definitely liked what I saw. His legs were lean, muscular, and there was a hint of hair glinting in the light. For some reason when I looked at them I remembered the phrase "coltish" used to describe a boy's legs in a story I had read; Frank's legs were all boy, and definitely not horsey.

I followed suit, and pulled my underpants down and off with the rest of my lower garments. When I looked up, Frank was as hard as me, and he was holding out those boxers for me to try on. When I took them, they were still warm from where they had been. I pulled them up over my hips, and after freeing my hard-on from the waistband it poked out a little to the left.

"No," Frank said, "it goes like this." He reached into the fly and pulled my penis right out of the hole. "See?"

Seeing was difficult, as was breathing; Frank Mancuso was naked and hard and just grabbed my dick! "Yeah," I said.

Nodding, he lifted the hem of my shirt up to remove it. "I can't see how they fit with this in the way," he said in explanation. I had no objection to his weak excuse. Frank Mancuso just grabbed my dick. Frank Mancuso was naked and hard in front of me. Frank Mancuso was taking my clothes off.

I came.

He wasn't even touching me, really, at least not down there. He was pulling my shirt off over my head, and I bent over to help him and all I could see at one point through the tunnel of fabric was his naked chest, and stomach, and hard, hard penis, and I just came.

"Damn!" he said as I shot off. "That's a lot!" He finished pulling off my shirt, and I fell to my knees because my legs weren't working right. My head was swimming. No one ever told me I could just cum without being touched! Frank Mancuso just got me off! Frank Mancuso is naked in front of me. His hard penis is RIGHT in front of me. Of my face. Of my mouth. Which is watering. I can smell him, the way he smells down there. Right in front of me. I can count his pubic hairs because they're so close. I can taste his cock because it's in my mouth. When did I start sucking his dick? Is that why I can count his pubic hairs? Is that why all I can smell is the very essence of what makes this boy sexy?

Frank put his hands on my shoulders, and I watched his abdomen advance toward my face, and then retreat, again and again. Taut. Hairless. Flat. Firm. Hypnotic. When did I lay back? His body was above me, rising and descending like an oil derrick searching for a gusher in my mouth. His legs were spread, and his balls smacked up against my chin as he drilled deeper. Frank wanted this gusher. I wanted this gusher. His hands now cradled my head, holding it steady as he moved faster. I could feel the warmth of his abdomen, smell the sex radiating off of his skin, as he let a little noise sneak out of his mouth. My own mouth was making slurping and gagging noises; he was really going too fast for this oil well but there was nothing I would not endure to reach this gusher.

When my eyes were tearing up from having to breathe only when his spastic thrusts pulled him out of my mouth almost completely, and I was sure I could take no more, then Frank drove his point home with a loud groan. His fingers gripped my hair, and his cock-head forced open my throat to accept the load he deposited therein. I was taken aback by his forcefulness, but the amount of crush I had for this boy got me through it to reach the prize that I sorely sought.

The fact that it tasted completely disgusting was merely an afterthought, because I barely had time to taste him as he convulsed into my face. I only tasted it after he was spent. After he backed up, and I could see his entire, naked body before me, and I knew I could stare and he wouldn't care. It might have been then that I tasted it, but that's also when he squatted down in front of me and grabbed my dick again. It was still hard and I groaned.

"Last time didn't even count," Frank said. He put his hand on my chest, gently holding me down, as he squeezed and stroked and fondled. "You've got a big dick, Johnny," he said. "You almost need two hands."

"Yeah," I said. It was an effort to get even that word formed.

Frank climbed on top of me again, now straddling my waist, and put his own against mine. "You're definitely bigger," he said. I reached out and felt the two cocks with my hands. It was like jerking off, except totally hotter than I ever could have imagined. He thrust into my grasp, and I could feel his balls on mine. Then he slid back down to the floor, holding my penis and looking at it closely. I could feel his breath on my skin.

"Really big," he said, almost too himself. I remained silent, because he seemed like he was getting ready to do something. I hoped I was right.

He squeezed, and one remaining drop of cum appeared on the tip. "Gross," he said, wiping it off with the edge of his sheet. He breathed in and out couple of times, readying himself, then tried to put my dick into his mouth.

It didn't work out that well. He went down about three inches, then gagged, and when he pulled off he actually puked! I sat up and said, "I'm sorry!"

Frank spit a little on the floor, and said, "Don't worry about it, I'll clean it up later." He pushed me back down, and tried again. This time he was more careful, and instead of trying to suck it he just kissed and licked the head before putting only that much in his mouth. Even that little bit felt amazing, and my leg started to shake uncontrollably. I could feel butterflies in my stomach. Frank Mancuso was sucking my dick!

I knew he wouldn't be able to keep it up too long, but I wanted this. Reaching down, I took the hand he had on me and began to pump it up and down. He got the hint, and began jerking as he licked. I groaned. I'd never cum twice in a row, but thought I was about to do that now. Heck, I'd only ever jerked off twice in one day a couple of times! Frank's mouth felt amazing, but I think the fact that it was Frank Mancuso's mouth that made it extra-special. He looked up at me, and smiled, dick in hand right next to the beautiful face that I'd lusted after for months and months.

I came. Again. Right in his face.

It wasn't a lot, but it felt every bit as good. Frank ducked all but the first shot, and laughed with good nature about getting it on his face. He didn't taste it. Considering how gross his was, I didn't blame him. He wiped his face with a towel from his hamper, and handed it to me to clean up the rest.

"You know we still can't be friends at school, right?" he said, as he started pulling on clothes.

"Yeah, I know," I said. "It's fine as long as we can be friends like this."

Frank smiled. "Damn straight," he said.

If you enjoyed the preceding work of fiction, please consider donating to Nifty. Every dollar goes a long way.

As I am not (yet!) a prolific writer, I sometimes get asked what else I have written. Here's what you can find on Nifty:

• Adult-youth

• Are you? http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/are-you - Birthday boy http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/birthday-boy - Coffee shop boys http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/coffee-shop-boys - Hot summer http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/hot-summer - Hungry for love http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/hungry-for-love/ - Overalls http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/overalls - Pillow fight http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/pillow-fight

• Young friends

• Junior High series http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/junior-high-series/ - Summer homework http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/summer-homework