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.

The End