Path: andrew.cmu.edu!crabapple.srv.cs.cmu.edu!cantaloupe.srv.cs.cmu.edu!drycas.club.cc.cmu.edu!pitt.edu!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!mips!darwin.sura.net!europa.asd.contel.com!
 uunet!bonnie.concordia.ca!daily-planet.concordia.ca!alcor!fink2
Newsgroups: alt.sex.motss
Subject: Story
Message-ID: <fink2.706032535@alcor>
Date: 16 May 92 16:08:55 GMT
Sender: usenet@daily-planet.concordia.ca
Lines: 900


From S-Tek in Montreal: (514)597-2409

COMING OF AGE PART III - Josh Joshes Around
by Dorian Grey

     My hands trembled while I stood in the cold on Midnight, February 28th.
Josh's birthday. My letter was simple. And desperate. He was the essence of
which wet dreams are made. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Dark eyebrows. Intelligent.
Sexy. Into sports. And born with a great sense of humor that equalled my own in
its subtleness. But would he receive my letter? Or would his mother intercept
the mail? I thought with alarm after my hands dropped the letter in without my
consent.

     Now I was trapped into it. But at least I remained anonymous. I was
careful of that. My letter didn't make any mention of my identity. Or my sex.
It read:

     Dear Josh,

     Happy birthday, from somebody who loves you. You're 18 now, and I hope
that this birthday marked a beginning for you. You're now an adult, and can
vote. And do anything else you want. I hope that in your adult years you
maintain your sense of humor, and that special sparkle in your eyes, and that
sense of wonder and mischieviousness that has been your hallmark for the years
that I have known you and enjoyed your prescence.

     You don't know me. Not really. I'm like one of the many people who smile
when they see you, except I smile even when your attention isn't directed at
me. I have been your silent, and secret admirer for a long time now. Basking in
any minute attention you give, even when it's an illusion created by my day
dreams. My waiting is finally over. I've decided that I'm not going to wait for
the impossible.

     But know this. In the multitude of eyes that cross over you, there are two
that will never forget. You will haunt me forever.

     Thanks for the memories day dreams provide

     I must admit, when I read it after writing it, I cried. It was so poignent
and personal. Too personal for me to send. But it was fait accompli--already
done. I must admit that I sulked. And cried more than once in the next 24
hours. I've always been silly that way.

     When I saw Josh in school the next day, I focused on the midnight chill I
felt the night before when mailing it. I had to kill all those feelings. Four
years... Four years. And still I had gotten nowhere since freshman year. He
looked so cute then, when I first saw him in my English class. I was so awkward
and strange entering the high school, and he was one of the only freshman to be
carefree and savvy. And warm and friendly. He had flaxen hair then. The next
year, he still had the hair, but his eyebrows became even darker, and when I
saw him in shorts (we didn't have classes together sophomore year) I noted his
darker leg hair below the knee. Junior year his hair darkened to less blond
shade, and stayed that way this year. I had him three years in English. And
almost once in health. I switched out the day of "Confessions," when we each
talked about the last time we were jealous. I talked of not getting a part in a
play, and he discussed an old girlfriend talking about an exciting sexual
episode with a new beau.

     I knew then that the idea that he was really attracted to guys that I'd
been harboring for so long was false. But still I hoped. Until I sent my
letter. Every once in a while I get depressed. Or realistic, I've never decided
which. And I do things. Like the letter.

     Two days after I sent my letter, I noticed a change in Josh, and it wasn't
just because it was now March. He started to look at people strangely, as if
looking for something. I followed him from his third period class to English,
like I oft en do, and heard an interesting exchange.

     "Hi Josh," said Mary Henniman with a larger than life smile.

     "Hi, Mary," replied Josh, who then turned around and accosted her as she
passed me. "Why'd you smile at me in that way?" he asked her.

     "I was just saying hi. I have to go to physics. Sheesh."

     I almost fell down the stairs trying to get away so fast. I felt
uncomfortable with my heartthrob behind me. It felt like he could see through
me. And into the back of my head. I didn't like it, and hurried to English.
Unfortunately, I c ouldn't avoid him there, either, as he chose to sit almost
directly opposite me that day. I kept on glancing up at him as I always do, but
pulled myself from it so that he wouldn't notice.

     This continued for a while, and I was fairly successful until Thursday,
just four days after my letter was sent. I looked long and longingly at Josh
while he was writing a reaction to literature we had to do that day (he was
inspiration for a poem), and didn't notice when he looked up at me. Our eyes
met for several brief moments that seemed stretched out to an eternity. It
seemed like he asked a question with his blue eyes, and found an answer in the
depths of my soul. My shirt got wet, and my face red before I turned back to my
poem. When the bell rang, I tried to get out of the class early to avoid Josh.
I didn't want to have him ask if it were a prank or whether I was gay or what.
He KNEW. I could feel it.

     He was waiting at the door. I was chicken, so I did the thing that my
actor's background prepared me for. I improvised.

      "Ms. Beaglestein?" I said to the teacher after handing her my poem.

      "Yes?" she asked, bitchy and annoyed, as she was every day.

     "I wanted to ask you a question... About our last assignment." Josh was
still at the door.

     "You didn't write any commentary on my last essay, and I don't know what I
did wrong." I said those words so often that I didn't think about them when I
said them. Somehow the witch liked me, and loved my writing, but always wanted
more. Sh e thought I was brilliant. A genius or something, and thought that if
I wrote better than most people in the class, it wasn't good enough.

     "Wrong? But you have a 6 on it! That's the highest you can get on the
holistic scale." I mentally smacked myself. Now my pretense looked suspicious
because I'd forgotten she liked that stuff I made up for the book that I hadn't
read. That d idn't even exist. (it was a "Personal Choice" assignment).

     Josh seized his opportunity and budded in, making querelous eye contact
with me.

     "I had a question about that last assignment, too, Ms. Beaglestein." Josh
said, "How did you want us to do that? Writing a book review is hard. How'd
Dorian do it?" This was getting to be too much. He was confronting me and
joining my excap e-improv. What could I do?

     I made it a chain-improv, where when one person enters to take the other's
place, the other one exits. So I did.

     "Uh... It's getting late and I dont' have lunch this period anymore, Ms.
Beaglestein. I have to run to class... Bye!" I said, leaving no room for her to
offer to write a pass so we could chat... with Josh.

     I walked out the door, and leaned against the wall just outside the
classroom. I loved his voice! Was it baritone or tenor, I wondered while
listening in on their conversation. . "Would you get that! Some people are
always in a rush," said Ms. Beaglestein.

     "I think Dorian's really trying to avoid me," Josh said, to my horror and
chagrin. "I don't know why. I try to be nice and all, but..." and I left,
unable to take anymore of it. I arrived in my behavioral psychology course
panting and in a sad state. The teacher then began a lecture while I sat, with
my eyes open and facing her, while dreaming of Josh, and some of his better
parts.

     The next day in English was unusual. Ms. Beaglestein smiled at me in a
funny way when I saw the room was rearranged differently. The desks were still
in rows, but this time they were arranged so that they were islands almost unto
themselves , with each desk with a counterpart, or mate, directly in front of
it. She assigned me to a particular pair with an empty opposite, and my
classmates began to filter in. I was early as usual, and then Josh walked in.
He had what we actors call Pre scence--the ability to draw eyes and command
attention.

     "Where do >I< sit, Ms. Beaglestein?" he said in a silly singsong, as if to
annoy her.

     "Accross from Dorian."

     "You are not," Ms. Beaglestein began as I sat, in shock, "about to play
Mastermind or head-to-head board games." .      "In keeping with the greater
goal of AP English this year," she continued, "you will learn about yourself
through classwork and essays. But today, for a change of pace, we will be
playing one of Dorian's favorite games."

     I didn't understand where all this was leading to as she drowned on and on
until it dawned on me: Emotions! I had a friend come to my student drama
organization from the newspaper and write about what happened. We discussed
future productio ns, and I held an improvisation workshop, and we played a game
where you sit on the floor, Indian-style, and observe the person's face in
front of you, and try to ascertain his emotion. Then, you return it. If you
have trouble figuring it out, the person writes down the emotion, while
maintaining his expression, and you read it, and try to feel it.

     Josh indicated that he wanted to be the Giver first, or the person who
starts by expressing an emotion. I looked into his eyes and fell in love all
over again. I blushed, but he kept staring into me, and winked. I regarded him
quizzickly, and then he wrote down something on a slip of paper, and handed it
to me. It read: "I like you."

     I returned it with ease.
     My turn. Josh didn't know what I was sending, so I wrote down on my piece:
"I like you. More than you know." Later, his reply was "I know."

     I didn't know what to do next, and was interrupted by the bell. Ms.
Beaglestein hollared before anyone could leave      "I paired each of you with
someone that you probably don't know too well, or didn't have an opportunity to
learn to like because of your cliques or the seating arrangement. Your
assignment, due Monday, is to continue with Emotions with your p artner during
the weekend, and interview each other in regards to biographical information,
and important emotional times for your partner. Then write an essay on what you
learned and be ready to apply it to the protagonist in your next Personal
Choice."

     "But Ms. Beaglestein," cried out an unhappy student, "I was going to go
somewhere this weekend. Can I have an extension?"

     Ms. Beaglestein said she would only grant extensions to those who broke
all limbs and were in critical condition after being run over by a Mac Truck.
It was a bitch of an assignment for me to do with my new friend Josh.

     Saturday morning, Josh called me up and asked me if I could go to his
house so we could both start working. I consented, and arrived at his house at
4:00 PM. I was still shaking inside.

     "What do you think about working together?" he said while we went up the
stairs to his room. I evaded the question by saying that I thought it was going
to be a lot of work.

     "No. I mean about the two of us. Working together."

     I cleared my throat and studied the grounds, feigning deafness.

     He thought it would be a good idea if we tried continuing with Emotions a
while, but in a different manner. One person would write a phrase representing
an emotion, and the other would have to give an emotive reaction. I said it was
alright , and he wanted to be the Giver again.      He handed me the first
sheet and I read it: "I'm hungry." So I looked up, and down, and rubbed my
stomach to show hunger. The next: "I'm tired." So I looked up and down
differently, and then straight ahead, and then my head began to droo p forward,
and my eyes fluttered realisticly. I started to get into it. This was a good
variation of my favorite improv excercise. We went through a bunch of different
needs: food, sleep, light, warmth, pain, and for each one I had an appropriate
motion. I rubbed my stomach, my eyes, my arms, and a "wound."

     Just when I really started going strong, I received a piece of paper from
Josh on the bed that said: "I'm horny." .

     I looked up at him, and he looked at me expectantly. I blushed, and
smirked, and smiled, and then grinned, and rubbed my hardening cock.

     He handed me another sheet: "I want to make love to you. I got your letter
Tuesday." I was confused for a second, but then went with the flow.
     Josh stood before me and took off his shirt. He was hot. His creamy white
chest had no hairs, and looked smooth. A faint line of dark blond hair started
beneath his naval and went south. He looked at my crotch, and then rubbed his
own app reciatively. He slid off his pants, and bent over, facing the door, to
take off his socks. His buttocks were firm. Or at least looked so to me. My
cock begged for attention.

     Josh got on the bed next to me on his knees, and motioned for me to take
off my shirt. I did. Then, he placed his index fingers on my nipples after
licking them lightly, and made larger and then smaller circles. My bulge became
quite formi dable, and tried to get out of my jeans. Josh looked down to my
cock with mischief in his eyes, and unbuttoned my pants. And slid them down
while I thrust my pelvis up in the air.

     He then went and turned off the lights. We could still see, because the
March sun hadn't gone down yet.

     Josh got on top of me. And I mean lying face to face. I handed him the
slip of paper he'd just handed to me. He smiled, and nodded. We kissed. Deeply.
The inside of Josh's mouth tasted faintly of vanilla, and I loved it. He began
press ing against me, and me him. Our pelvises pushed against each other and I
could feel the warmth of his thigh with my love-rod at the same time I felt his
against my naval. Our kissing got frenzied, and he pulled away sooner than I
would have liked. I was gasping for breath and more mouth at the same time.

     We lied next to each other then, side by side, and the tune of an old
Sondheim song passed my throat as the lyrics did my head: "Isn't it warm?/Isn't
it Cozy?/Side by Side/by Side..." I reached with my right hand over to the
waist-band of Josh's boxer shorts. Just as I pulled it up, I felt his large and
hot hand had already taken hold of my cock. I started to rub his ever so
gently, and he just sort of rubbed and gently squeezed my own at the same time.

     After I started to get real hot and bothered, he got on top of me again,
and we hugged while thusting against each other. I wrapped my arms around him,
and hugged him again. Then my hands wandered downward, and found their way to
his derie` re. My hands pulled up the elastic band of his boxers, and slid into
his pants.

     Josh giggled. Apparently I was tickling him while feeling the trace
amounts of hairs on his behind. My hands made circles, and he stopped giggling
and started pressing harder and harder into me. He was horny as hell, and so
was I.

     We kissed again. First just superficial kisses--pressing lips to lips as
we press pelvis to pelvis, and cock to cock. Then I felt his tongue brush my
lips, forcing them apart. We soul kissed for quite a while, and my head started
to spin. Then he pulled away from me, and moved down, underneath my crotch. He
pulled my legs apart a little, and started to tug on my underwear. I didn't
know what he wanted to do, but I did know that I wanted him to do it. . My
underpants went down past my hips, and he pulled them off with some degree of
urgency. Then I felt something warm against my innermost thighs. Air. Josh was
breathing as hard, no harder, than I was, and it was tantalizing. He must have
moved closer, because I could feel his hot breath against my balls.

     Josh's tongue was quite heated, too, I found out. He pressed it against my
balls and it seemed like he was trying to lap up my small blond hairs there.
His fingers from both hands massaged my darker pubic hair without touching my
waiting co ck. I waved my cock in his face by flexing those muscles down there
that no one ever talks about, but he didn't seem to notice.

     One hand stopped its massage, and I moaned at its absence before it
returned to tickle me balls. Then I felt the most incredible sensation--a
moistness at the base of my love-rod that traveled the length of my cock, and
started swirling arou nd my second head.

     I was almost in pain because of the intense pleasure that wasn't quite
intense enough. Then it happened. My cock was enveloped in moistness that that
was quite hot.

     Josh was going down on me.

     His tongue swirled around my mushroom-head, and his whole head went down.
I glanced down at his blonde head bobbing up and down before thrusting my hips
up into his face. Then he pulled off, and spit large gobs of saliva on my cock.
He rub bed it in with his tongue, and then started to jerk me off.

     Up and down. Up and down. Up and... OH! I had an itch. Not a scratch it
itch, but a pleasure itch, unlike anything I'd ever felt before while jerking
off on my own. I NEEDED to go up and down. Faster. And harder. So I thrust my
hips in precise opposition to Josh's handy strokes.

     Whenever I started to build up, Josh slowed down. I was getting a little
upset. Then he went f!,-HWjeballs, but I wanted more. I reached down to bring
myself closer to climax, and Josh got the messsage.

     Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Up and up and up and DOWN! I got
frenzied and wild when he forced his head down on my bucking hips. He deep-
throated me, and I couldn't stand it anymore.

     "Josh!" I whipered/screamed. "I'm going to cum. I'm close. I'm close.
I'm... OH! I'm cumming!"

     The fiery cum deep within my balls erupted like lava from my cock, and
Josh swallowed it all. Then a strange thing happened. Josh pulled off from my
cock, still licking parts of it for my love-juice, and without any warning, I
started to co me again. And again! Josh licked the still smouldering cum from
my stomach, and lyed on top of me. . "How was I?" he asked.

     "Wonderful," I replied.

     "Do you really love me, like you said in your letter?" he inquired. . "Of
course."

     He hugged me, and I then realized by his crotch's insistant thrusts that
he still hadn't been taken care of. I told Josh to roll over onto his back, and
I tugged at his waist-band, and pulled his boxers off.

     Josh was HUGE. I'm about 6 or 7 inches, and he's about 9. I never thought
cocks could come in such sizes. I licked his cock up and down and savored its
musty, almost sweaty, taste. Josh moaned, and whispered "Blow me!"

     I started to, but couldn't manage to get all of his neat meat down. Then I
got another idea.

     "Do you have some Vaseline, or KY jelly?" Josh replied by reaching with
his right hand over to the back-board of his bed, and retreived it. He got my
idea very quickly. We traded places. I was on my back, and he knelt, while
applying the lo ve-jelly.

     He took his finger, got a lot of jelly on it, and slowly stuck his finger
in my ass, and rubbed it around inside.

     Josh got on top of me, and we kissed. He pulled his face from mine for a
moment, and asked: "Are you sure that you want to do this?" .      I responded
by saying that fair is fair, and I wanted it more than anything. He then pulled
my legs over his shoulders, took hold of his larger than large cock, and slid
it into me.

     I gasped as if for air because I hadn't known what to expect. He leaned
his chest forward and we kissed again, deeply. It felt beautiful to have him
inside of me, but I forgot after a few minutes. Then, when we went back to
peck-kissing, his buttocks started to go in and out to a slow rythym. Then the
tempo increased, and I started to concentrate on what was going down there, in
my love-hole.

     In and out. Deeper and deeper. I started to contract my asshole
unconsciously when I started to get hard again. When I realized what I was
doing I stopped.

     "Don't stop!" Josh said fairly loud in between his hard breaths. I started
to go all-out on my squeezing his cock with my ass, and he went faster. And
faster. And harder. "Oh god, I'm hard again!" I said.

     Josh glanced down, and then with his free hand, started to lightly jerk me
off. I loved it, and so did Josh. Each time I started to get harder and kind of
thrust my cock into his hand, it resulted in a harder and tighter hole for
Josh. He couldn't take it anymore, and said loudely: "I'm close... Real
close... I'm going to come." .

     I was not about to let him stop now, so I played dead possom. His thrusting
continued, but without my squeezing to help him, he started to calm down. Just
as his breathing became deeper, I started again. And stopped. And started, and
stopped.

     Even though I stopped and started, Josh's hand movements were incessant in
jerking me off. Pretty soon I was near the edge.

     "I'm cumming, Josh!" I said immediately before a torrent of cum stormed
from my cock and hit both of us in a gooey splash. My cumming forced a large
and hard contraction from me, and I could feel Josh getting close. As the last
spurt from my own cock subsided, Josh started to moan while he thrust into me
with an animalistic frenzy.

     He emptied inside me for what seemed like 5 minutes.

     We kissed.

     "Are you still my secret and silent admirer?" he asked.

     "Only if you want me to be."

     We walked into English on Monday together, and handed in our essays. We
told Michael, the cute guy who sits next to Josh usually, that we'd stayed up
all night working on it. And we smiled.