Date: Sun, 15 Feb 2015 06:48:56 -0600 From: jdhauthor67@gmail.com Subject: Zinger-Part One The following is a work of fiction/fantasy. While it is based on real people, the events depicted are not based on actual events. This work is the property of the author; copyright protection should be respected. This work involves sexual relationship between two males. If that offends you, then please move on. Please let me know whether you like the story/feel free to offer criticism, comments, suggestions, or other feedback at jdhauthor67@gmail.com. And, remember, Nifty needs your donations to continue its great work! Zinger Chapter One Teddy Azinger – "Zinger" to almost everyone who knew him – developed way faster than the rest of us. Starting high school, I had a few whispy hairs under my arms, almost no pubic hair, and what others in gym class called a "little boy" dick. Zinger was exactly the opposite. His hair, chest, and crotch were covered in straight hair, and his dick was a man's dick, 6 or so soft, thick inches with a shapely head, and cradled by a full, hairy nutsack. It had folds of skin that he held onto when he peed, meaning he was definitely a grower. When we were in the shower after gym class, the only thing that could distract my clandestine attention from Zinger's chest, stomach, or crotch was his blazing blue eyes. He had the bluest eyes I have ever seen. They were shockingly blue. If I had not known differently, I'd have thought they were fake. They were that liquid. And, they danced when he smiled, which was almost all the time. He had a big, broad smile, framed by full, red lips. Zinger may not have had the tiger by the tail, but he sure acted like he did. Before freshmen orientation was over, Zinger was the big man on our small, Catholic campus. For the next four years, he stayed there. He listened to music none of us had heard of, mixed drinks none of had tasted, and took drugs we never could have gotten our hands on. And, he had whatever "it" is that makes people say "he has it." I do not what that is, as I have never had "it." I have always been a little too furtive, a little too eager to please, a little too enthusiastic, a little too harried. Zinger was none of those things. He was casual, always seemed comfortable, languid almost, and never hurried. He sat back and soaked it all in. He seemed like he knew stuff none of us knew, like he had experienced things none of us had – or ever would – experience. Girls flocked to "it." Rumor was Zinger had fucked his first girl at an 8th grade graduation party and had not stopped since. He never confirmed or denied the rumors. He was too cool to indulge the rumors. He hovered above and beyond it all, almost looking down on it. At the first football game, he had a senior girl on his arm. She blew him in the janitor's closet during the post-game sock hop. At least that was the report that ripped through our gym. He never confirmed or denied the report. I know he fucked Missy Baxter during that Fall's Homecoming Dance. I inadvertently walked in on them in the Chemistry room (more than a little dorky, I was going to quickly check an experiment and then return to the dance). When I did, Zinger had Missy bent over Mrs. Laposky's desk, and he was pounding in and out of her from behind. For a hairy guy, he had almost no hair on his back or ass. I know, because I watched his ass as he pounded Missy faster and faster and faster. I was mesmerized by the sight of his ass. He grunted and his ass clenched as he came. Turned on beyond belief, I sneaked out of the Chemistry room, hopefully undetected. For most of high school, I hovered near Zinger's orbit. Both smart, we shared most classes. We studied together a little. We hung out together a little every now and then. We were friendly, but we were not really friends. I was the kind of person he nodded to in the hallway, not the kind of person to whom he stopped to talk. Too many times, he caught me staring at him. Often, it was at his eyes. More often, it was at his body. Zinger was a committed runner and weight lifter, and his body thickened, thinned, and developed throughout high school. While I stayed small and shapeless, he filled out beautifully. By the time we were seniors, he was 6 feet tall, weighed 180 pounds, and had virtually no body fat. He was both muscular and lean. The only thing that separated him from Adonis was the mat of hair that covered his front side. I loved that mat. Spring semester of our senior year, the Honors German students who could afford it traveled for three weeks to Germany. In our group, there were three boys and nine girls. Once we got to Frankfurt, we were joined by two groups from Minnesota, one from Blaine and one from Jackson. We shared the same bus and hotels for our three week trip. The first night, we were in Rothenberg, a small village with a wall surrounding it. Chris asked me to walk the wall with him, and I did. It was snowing and beautiful. Oddly, it was also intimate. It made no sense that Zinger had invited me, not his friend Steve or one of the girls who was pining for him. By design, Frau Lucinda put me, Zinger, and Steve in the same room that night. Surprisingly, the room had only a king bed, so we would be sleeping three across. Germany had no drinking age, so we were likely to be too drunk to care. Zinger drank German beer all night. I did not like beer, much less warm, bitter German beer. I drank vodka and orange juice all night. Steve did not drink at all. By the time we returned to the room, Zinger and I were smashed. We both tugged off our shirts, pulled off our jeans, and collapsed onto the bed, wearing only our briefs. Steve climbed in to my right, leaving me in the middle. The hotel's steam heating system was banging away, and our room was hotter than Hades. Being drunk teenagers in Germany, we made lame gas chamber jokes and then laughed our asses off before passing out. When I woke up at 5 or so, I was hot as shit. So, I kicked the covers off all of us. I immediately noticed that Zinger had his right hand tucked into his briefs and was holding his dick. I watched him the rest of the night, as every once and again he gripped and then released his dick. The next day, everyone just assumed I was hung over. I probably was. But, mostly, I was tired from watching Zinger squeeze and release his dick, when I should have gone back to sleep. Two nights later, we were in a room with three twin beds. Only there were four of us: Me, Steve, Zinger, and Katie, a blonde from Blaine. Katie was in bed with Zinger. And, from the sound of it, she was having a good time. Zinger had the decency to wait until he thought Steve and I were asleep, but I had only pretended to be. Not long after he whispered my name without answer, I heard Zinger whisper "slip your panties off." Then, I heard some shifting around before Katie gasped, which I took to mean Zinger's hard dick had entered her. The room was too dark for me to see exactly what was going on, but it was light enough that I figured out that Katie had her legs almost straight up as Zinger fucked her. As he did, her breathing quickened, and she started to make small, ragged noises. I gripped my own dick, imagining I was the one he was fucking. Listening to the slap of his dick slamming into her wet pussy, I was not going to last long. When Katie muttered "oh . . . oh . . . oh," I shot. When she whimpered "yes yes," I shot again. When Zinger grunted, I could almost feel his orgasm building in my own balls, and I shot again. Zinger collapsed onto Katie. Before too long, she climbed out of the bed, and went to the bathroom to clean herself up. Zinger rolled onto his side and stared in my direction. For some reason, I thought he was staring right at me, and that he knew I had jacked off to the sound of him fucking Katie. The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful. We toured during the day, drank ourselves silly at night, and passed out drunk here and there, only to repeat the same general pattern the next day. It was that way in Salzberg. It was that way in Heidelberg. It was that way in Munich. It was that way until the last night, in Frankfurt. That night, we stayed sober, as we had a very early flight home the next morning. As we checked into our hotel room, we were beat from a trip of drunken debauchery. Our room had one full bed and one twin bed. Steve immediately claimed the twin, leaving Zinger and me to share the full. When we climbed into bed in only our underwear, Zinger did what he normally did, sliding his hand into his briefs and gripping his dick. "What's the deal with that?" I asked, looking down at his crotch. "I like to hold my dick as I go to sleep." "Every night?" "Every night." After Steve flipped the light out, Zinger leaned his face close to my ear. "You can hold with it tonight if you want." I had no idea how to respond. I was gay, but I thought I was the only person in the world who knew that. I longed to touch a dick other than my own, but I feared the blowback if anyone ever found out I had. I was not the most popular kid in school, but I also was not an outcast. If people found out I was gay, then I would be. Gay was not okay at my high school, which was the kind of place that rewarded conformity and disdained difference. With all that swirling through my head in a split second, I ignored Zinger and pretended to be asleep. When I woke up, it was light, and Zinger's hand was still in his briefs holding his dick. To be continued . . . . The following is a work of fiction/fantasy. While it is based on real people, the events depicted are not based on actual events. This work is the property of the author; copyright protection should be respected. This work involves sexual relationship between two males. If that offends you, then please move on. Please let me know whether you like the story/feel free to offer criticism, comments, suggestions, or other feedback at jdhauthor67@gmail.com.