THE DENTIST

A short story by Xavier

People, what few I know, tell me I'm good looking. Perhaps I am; I don't
know. I do know I have a problem; I am so shy. What use are good looks if
you are so shy. I try to break out of it but I seem trapped. I expect some
of you reading this will sympathise with me; others will think 'Stupid
kid.'

Since I left school about two years ago, with exam failure after exam
failure, I have worked for Deloitte-Ottle; doesn't that sound grand.
Deloitte-Ottle is a private company that deals with refuse collection in
the town where I live. No, I am not a 'Bin man' I am a 'Street cleanser',
in other words I sweep the streets. When I first got the job I went around
with a small hand cart and brush, now, however, I have my own little
electrically driven 'Pavement sweeper', I expect you know the type I mean.
I like the work because I can keep myself to myself; I don't feel
pressurised into talking to people. A thing to be avoided if you are shy.

>From an early age I knew that I was gay, or at least I knew what I wanted.
My 'Best friend' and I would 'Patrol' the playground when we were about 14;
'Bum patrol' we used to call it. We would go and eye up all the other lads
and pick out the ones with the cutest, tightest little bum. We gave each
marks out of ten. I think it held a greater significance for me than my
friend realised, as I still do my own 'Bum patrol' now, when I am
sanitizing the streets. Apart from watching the other, mainly older lads,
at school, I used to get very excited at the sight of a lad of around 18
who used to come down our leafy little cul-de- sac, sweeping the road.
People working for Deloitte-Ottle wear bright orange trousers. These are to
make the workmen more visible and to enhance their safety on the highways.
They certainly made them more visible; at least I used to think so when I
saw this particular young street sweeper coming down our road early one
morning.

He would be quite regular. At 8.15 every Wednesday morning, just as I was
leaving for school, I would hear the familiar rumble of his cart on the
rough surface of the road. I would purposely find some excuse to hang
around my gate, just so that I could get a good look at him. He was very
thorough, sweeping every leaf or piece of paper  onto his large shovel. Of
course he had to bend on a number of occasions. Those occasions were sheer
bliss to me as I probed every part of his bright orange trousers with my
eyes. Orange became my very favourite colour. 

Apart from this guy wearing trousers in my favourite colour he had on a
snow white tee shirt, at least in the summer. His bronzed arms showing from
the cut off sleeves as he swept. I would often wonder if he wore any
underpants. The trousers were extremely tight and, no matter how hard I
probed his bum with my eyes, I could not detect any tell tale lines beneath
the smooth material. This street sweeper was the image I used in many of my
14 year old jack off fantasies. I gave him a ten out of ten score on my
patrol sheet. 

As mentioned, after several exam failures I found myself in the local job
centre. I looked around the general vacancies and noticed a card, it said:
'Self motivated individual required. Must be able to work on own initiative
to serve the people of the community, to place one's fellow citizens before
himself'. Deeply moved by this, I quickly noted the job No. and took it to
the scantily clad 'Client manager', who would have been better suited
behind a bar in some night club. Anyway, it turned out to be a job with
Deloitte-Ottle and an interview was arranged for the next day.

I was very nervous on the morning of the interview, but arrived in good
time at the prestigious offices of Deloitte-Ottle, a small temporary hut in
the corner of the yard at the municipal dump. I walked up the short ramp to
the door and knocked. "Come in," shouted a voice from within. I pushed the
door and entered the small, cramped office. The office contained several
large filing cabinets, a desk and, in the corner, a stack of brooms and
shovels propped up behind a street sweeper's handcart.

The guy behind the desk looked up "You must be Gary; am I right?" I
recognised the guy straight away. It was my tight arsed idol of a couple of
years ago, now promoted to the dizzy heights of 'Human resources manager'.
My heart leapt into my mouth which instantly became drier than it was when
I entered the door. "Yes that's right, Gary Wright." "Take a seat Gary.
Have you filled out the form the job centre gave you?" I told him I had and
handed it to him. He took it and started to read the answers I had given.
This gave me a few moments to take in what was happening. There, in front
of me, was sitting the object of my desires. As he read the form, I
caressed his face with my eyes, enjoying the smoothness of his complexion.
He had very smooth skin, without a blemish, hardly any signs of a shaving
stubble. His light brown hair was kept in a short style. He looked good
even though he was not wearing his bright orange trousers; he wore a suit.

Looking up from my application form and straight into my eyes he said "I
see you live in Scanmore Drive. That used to be part of my first round when
I started with the company. Come to think of it," he paused for a moment.
"you look familiar. Don't I know you?" I felt a bit uneasy, not knowing
whether to admit to him probably noticing me watching his tight little bum.
"I don't think so," I said bravely. "Yes I do," his face seemed to light up
with a smile. "You're the school kid that I always saw hanging around his
garden gate aren't you? Come on admit it," again he paused slightly.
"Although you're not so little now, are you?" I felt my self getting hotter
and hoped I wasn't going to turn bright red, the ultimate embarrassment.

"I think I may have seen you on the odd occasion, you look different in a
suit," I replied, as calmly as possible. He laughed slightly, "Yes I
suppose this suit is a bit different to the bright orange work trousers you
lot get issued with. Tell me, why were you always at your gate?" I didn't
know what to say. I couldn't say I was ogling his tight arse in his bright
orange trousers, that I used to wank myself stupid thinking of what lay
underneath. He seemed to sense my difficulty. "Stuck for words then eh?" He
 got up from his desk and walked over to a door at the end of the office,
it lead; I was to find out, to a small store room with no window. He
emerged a few seconds later and threw a small plastic carrier bag at me.
"You want this job kid?" "Yeah, course I do," what else could I say? He sat
at his desk again. "I think I have a good idea of why you were watching me.
Do you think I am right?" "I don't know what you mean so how can I say if I
think you are right or not?" I wasn't admitting anything.

"Okay, not to worry. Look in the bag." I opened the bag. Inside was
something bright orange in colour, all rolled up; the bag also contained a
white tee shirt. My heart was throbbing strongly as I realised it was
exactly what I used to see him wearing. "Take them out then," he said with
a grin. "I think you'll approve." I pulled out the tee shirt and the rolled
up trousers. As I unrolled them I could at last feel how smooth and soft
the material was; something I had imagined during many a fantasy. "What's
this for then?" I asked. "If you want this job, and I mean really want it,
you have to pass an aptitude test, only.....," he paused, inhaled slightly
and smiled. "you have to do the test I had to do when I first joined."
"What do you mean 'The test I had to do'?" "I'll tell you. I know why you
used to look at me; I could sense you were looking at my crotch in my work
trousers, am I right?" Again I could feel myself blushing but before I
could answer he continued. "You liked the look of them didn't you? They
turned you on didn't they?" By now I knew I was a bright scarlet. "I knew
you were trying to work out if I had anything on underneath them; you were,
weren't you?" "Yes, yes, I was; I was trying to work out if you had
anything under them. I did like the look of you wearing them. Okay I admit
it. I admit I am queer, shall I go now?" I got to my feet and started
toward the door. "Where the fuck do you think you are going then? Sit
down."

As I returned to my seat he came around his desk and sat on the edge of it
in front of me. I could see the beautifully bulging crotch which formed
under the smooth, dark green material of his suit. I was surprised at how
close fitting his trousers were considering the loose styles of today. I
did not disapprove. "As I said, if you pass the test which I had to do, the
job is yours. Want to try it?" I suddenly felt more at ease. I had, in
essence, come out to this guy, something I had not done even to my parents.
"Yeah, I'll give it a go; what do I have to do?" Placing his right hand in
his trouser pocket, pulling his crotch even tighter, and smirking, he said
"It's simple. Go into the store room and change into these work clothes. I
think you will find they fit; you see they are the trousers and tee shirt I
used to wear. When I came for the job they were given to me by the
personnel manager, so, as you are of a similar inclination to me, I am
giving them to you." "Is that the test then? just to put these on?" "Part
of it mate, part of it."

Many of my jack off fantasies involving this guy revolved around his bright
orange trousers, so you can imagine how I felt. There I was with the guy of
my dreams being told to put on his old work clothes. My prick was beginning
to come to life. I rose from my seat and went into the store room. As I
began to change I heard the telephone ring. "Deloitte-Ottle street
sanitation," I heard him answer. "Yes sir, in fact I am interviewing a very
promising young man at this moment; I feel certain he will be suitable. He
just has to complete his aptitude test, the one you devised personally
sir." 

Having removed my shoes and trousers I was about to put on the orange work
trousers when I thought whether or not to take my pants off first. 'Make
your dreams come true' I thought. I took them off and slipped into the
trousers. As I pulled them up my legs my now semi erect prick began to
stiffen even more; by the time I came to fasten the waistband and zip up
the fly I had to press its hard seven inch against my belly; the heat of my
knob sending a warm glow throughout my teenage body.

The trousers were tight; they seemed to fit me as they had fitted him when
I saw him sweeping away. Quickly I removed my shirt and tie and slipped the
tee shirt over my head. It was exactly as I had seen him, tight to my
chest, my teenage nipples showing through. The times I had fantasied about
getting into this guy's trousers; little did I realise that I would get
into them, literally. There was a knock on the door; it opened slightly.
"What size boots do you wear?" "Size eight," I shouted. "Perfect," came the
reply. Seconds later a pair of boots hit the floor. I put them on.

When I was dressed for work I opened the door and went out into the office.
As I did so there was a knock on the door. "Come in," he shouted. In
stepped a youth of around my own age; he too was wearing the 'uniform'.
"Here's my sick note for last week John," he said handing him a piece of
paper.  "Thanks Jason, are you feeling better?" "Yes thanks." As he turned
to leave he caught sight of me, gave me a huge smile and left. I felt a
little embarrassed, I didn't expect anyone else to see me dressed like
this, at least not just yet.

John looked over at me. "Come and stand over here Gary," he pointed to the
edge of his desk. "I see that the trousers fit you just as they fitted me
then. That's the first part of the test." I laughed, "You mean part of the
test is whether or not the trousers fit?" "Yes Gary, that's right. You see
the bloke that owns Deloitte-Ottle, Mr. brown, likes his young street
sweepers to set a good example to the other young lads in the community.
His motto is 'Smart and functional'." "Mr. Brown. Mr. fucking BROWN!" I
laughed. "How come the firm is called Deloitte-Ottle if the bloke's name is
Brown?" John laughed as well, "Because he likes to sound continental. He
says the local councils really go for continental companies for cleaning
the streets; they like the French look." 

By this time my prick was really stiff; I could feel my hot shaft being
pressed tightly against my belly by the smooth material. I was worried that
my knob end would stick out of the waistband because they seemed so low
cut. I knew John could see my excitement from where he was sitting, his
face level with my crotch. "Come on then Gary, turn around." I turned.
"Very nice. Now walk over there and stand behind that cart." I felt like I
was on a fashion show. I could feel John's eyes as they probed my trousers,
just as I had done to him. As I got behind the cart and turned there was a
sudden flash and I was dazzled. John had quickly taken a Polaroid camera
from his drawer and snapped me. "For Mr. Brown," he said. "He likes to see
new recruits."

"Wheel the cart into the store room Gary." As I did so john got up, walked
to the door of the office and turned the key that was in the lock. "Don't
want to be disturbed," he smirked. Once inside the windowless store room
John told me to keep my hands on the handles of the cart, just as though I
were pushing it down the road. "Not bad Gary. I think Mr. Brown would
approve, you most certainly look smart. Now all I have to check to see is
whether you are 'Functional'." He stood behind me. "Legs slightly apart
Gary, legs slightly apart," he said gently in my ear. I placed my legs
apart, just a little. I felt john place his hand on my bum cheeks, just as
I had thought of doing to him. He ran his fingers down my crack. I felt my
balls tighten. Up and down my crack he rubbed, pausing briefly to locate
the exact position of my entrance, pushing slightly. 

His hands then progressed between my legs; I could feel him catching the
back of my balls. My prick was twitching. "That's it Gary; keep your hands
on that cart. Pretend you're walking down the street and some nice six
former is looking at you. Remember, just like you did." I just stood there
enjoying every moment. It was what my teenage body had yearned for since I
first saw this street sweeper. Slowly, John, after having squeezed my balls
and felt their firmness, moved his hands around my waist. Up to the clip
they went. It offered no resistance to his nimble fingers and soon I felt
the tightness around my fully erect penis vanish. Down my legs they
slipped, over my smooth and almost hairless teenage bum cheeks, until they
were down to my knees.

"You've just passed the second part of the test Gary." "How have I managed
that then? Is it because I let you touch me up?" "No, it's not that you
have let me touch you up, although you would have failed if you hadn't let
me." "What then? What else have I done?" "You've shown initiative. You've
left your underpants off!" "I know. I always used to try to see if you had
any on when I saw you in the street. I used to fantasise that you didn't
have any." John started to slide his hand over my bum cheeks. "You were
right Gary, I never wore any. I used to love the feel of these trousers
against my bare arse as I walked around the streets. Especially when I got
glances from young guys as they passed. That's how I remember you; I knew
what you were looking at even at that age."

Putting his hand between my legs and squeezing at my now overly tight nuts
he continued "I knew that you were like me; I had that feeling, but I
couldn't say anything just as you couldn't say anything to me." He now had
his hand right under my legs and was grasping my aching prick that was
sticking, like a pole, in front of me. His other hand continued to rub up
and down my crack pausing, as before, to locate my tight virgin entrance.
The feel of his fingers on my ring was almost too much to bear. No one had
ever touched me there before and it felt like nothing on earth.

"Turn around Gary." I turned and placed my hands back on the handles of the
cart. John crouched down in front of me, his eyes taking in the glory of my
fully erect member. "How old are you Gary?" "Seventeen and a half." "You're
certainly a big lad for your age. You must have worked hard on this over
the years." "I have," I replied "mostly thinking of you in your orange
trousers." He laughed again and took hold of my uncircumcised shaft,
pulling the foreskin back to its full extent. The end of my knob was purple
and shiny; my piss slit gaping wide and oozing pre-cum. 

John stood up "Pull your trousers up Gary." I was disappointed and
frustrated by this request; I was dying to cum. After fastening the
waistband, I was just about to force my hard on back inside when John said
"Don't bother to put that away; leave it out." I was again the street
sweeper, just as you would see me in the street, pushing my cart,  but with
one difference. John told me to again face the cart. He got on his knees
between the cart and me. Without another word my cock was in his mouth. I
felt a sudden surge of blood to my rock hard prick. I instinctively thrust
forward, my knees buckling with the excitement.

John seemed an expert cocksucker; I began to wonder how many other
'aptitude  tests' he had conducted. He smothered my knob with his tongue,
touching every part of it, poking my gaping piss slip, clearing it of its
sticky contents. Down my shaft he went tantalising my knob with the
tightness of his throat; I thought he was going to choke on it. Faster and
faster he sucked, working himself into a sexual frenzy. I looked down; I
could see my hard dick jutting from the orange work trousers, my balls
still being held tightly within. The sight of this, coupled with the fact
that my shaft was buried deep within the mouth of my idol, was blowing my
mind.

I looked past my own erection, down my legs and to the floor. I could see
that John had unzipped his trousers and had the most beautiful sight I had
ever seen sticking from his flies. He too was uncircumcised but he was much
bigger than I had imagined. As I saw my own shaft disappearing into his hot
orifice I could see his own being frantically massaged below. By this time
John was beginning to moan. I was beginning to reach that ultimate point, I
too became frenzied with sexual tension; something had to give.

The back of the cart had now moved towards the wall of the room and could
go no further. I had John jammed between the handles of it. I began to
thrust forward more; he could no longer move his head. He was sucking me no
longer; I was fucking his mouth. I took over, my teenage lust overpowering
me. John took it all in his stride, moaning and slurping throughout. He had
to adjust his position and sat on the floor facing me, his outstretched
legs between mine. I did not stop fucking his mouth as he did so. I glanced
over to my right. There on the floor was an old mirror. I could see my
bottom half in it. I had a perfect view of my teenage arse in those
trousers. It reminded me of seeing John as he swept the road. I could see
myself thrusting into his mouth, my cheeks tensing. John started to run his
hands over the taught material, adding to my pleasure.

I looked down again. John's prick looked as though it would explode any
second; I could see his piss slit gaping and dripping, just as mine had
been.  I was right; as I watched, John let out a deep moan. He wrenched his
foreskin backwards as far as he could and forced his rock hard prick
towards the floor between his legs. I saw as he tensed his legs and
frantically ran his tongue over my prick. I then bore witness to the most
enormous orgasm I had ever seen. Spurt after spurt of thick white fluid
shot from his manhood covering the worn linoleum in thick streaks. That was
the final straw. I looked at my arse in the mirror, thrust forward, tensed
my arse cheeks, and shot. I closed my eyes and thought of John pushing his
cart and I shot. I thought of all the things I had ever thought of doing to
him and I shot. It was like watching a video in fast forward, vivid sexual
images flashing before me, and I shot. John gulped every last drop from my
throbbing prick.

Suddenly there was a loud knock at the door. "Gary. Gary," came the voice
of a young girl. "It's all over now Gary. Here rinse your mouth with this."
The dental nurse handed me a glass containing pink mouthwash. "Rinse well
and spit into this bowl," she said reassuringly. "There now. Wasn't as bad
as you expected then was it. Here is your nasty old tooth. Do you want to
keep it as a souvenir." I got out of the dentist's chair and felt a strange
dampness in the front of my bright orange work trousers.......

Xavier								July 1995


This is a work of fiction composed for the entertainment of adults only.
Any
similarity between locations or actual persons is purely coincidental.
ALWAYS practice safe sex!