Date: Wed, 17 Aug 2005 07:54:16 -0700 (PDT)
From: thunder boy <thunder151@yahoo.com>
Subject: JOCKBOY MIKE: CHAPTER 06

Disclaimer:  If you are under 18 or it is illegal to read this material in your
area, please leave now. This story contains material describing sexual activity
between teenage boys. Material may not be reproduced without author's
permission. Responses/suggestions/feedback to: thunder151@yahoo.com.



     It was about 6 o'clock at night by the time I got home, in the dark,
starving after wrestling practice. Dinner was ready when I got home. I wolfed
it down,  still pumped from practice, elated about the prospect of hanging out
with Sean, frazzled and excited about popping a boner in front of him
(again), and increasingly nervous about going to his house. I had no problem
at dinner with the announcement that I was going to hang out with him for
the night. Cooper had asked me on the bus home what I was doing, only half
-listening to the answer, caught up in his own excitement of hooking up with
his most recent romantic interest. Some girl in his English class.  For the first
time in my life, I got ready to visit another guy with the vague idea that it was
like some kind of date.

     I rode my reliable 10-speed  bike to his house. I  worked up a little
sweat under my coat, my breath visible in the cold air as I rode under the
street-lights. It burned off some of my nerves, but I was still shaking a little
when I pedaled up his driveway and parked my bike. Fuck! I was at Sean's
house. The lights were on. Gonna knock on his door. Gonna go inside.
Gonna be with him. I walked awkwardly up to the door, feeling like a dork.
      Knock, knock, knock.
     Quiet. Cool and quiet.
     My heart pounding.
     My shoes scuffing on the porch.
     It seemed like forever.
     Should I knock again?

     The door cracked and opened. Sean was standing there in just soccer
shorts and a t-shirt, flashing a smile. He opened the storm door and said
"Come on in," holding it open for me. I was grinning like an idiot. I couldn't
help it. I was just too happy, seeing him. I looked down at his legs and bare
feet as I went through the door, inches from him, feeling his body heat,
smiling. The T.V. was going in another room and the lingering smell of
dinner was in the air.  The place had a definite Japanese sense of space.
"Let's go downstairs," he said. And then "take your shoes off first."

     I kicked off my shoes next to the door and followed him to the stairs,
admiring the view, the rhythm of his walk, the killer hairy legs, the perfect,
supple feet treading on buff-white carpet, the defined muscles in his neck and
shoulders. His walk was sensual, if I haven't mentioned it before. There was
an animal grace in all his movements, but his walk was especially unique. He
was a runner during the off-season, ran cross-country and track, which gave
him great endurance for wrestling. Consequently his walk possessed a
simplicity and economy that I had noticed before, but was coming to
appreciate immensely in that moment.

     When he walked, his trailing foot would hold its place until the last
possible moment, when he would push off with his toes on a delayed
impulse. So it was like his stride had this subtle flourish, like the double-kick
of a butterfly-stroke in swimming. Like he had mastered the Zen of walking.
His sense of purely physical intelligence had me in a state of awe.

     I followed him down the stairs, noticed the muscles in his shoulders,
the luster of his smooth, soft skin, the fine hairs on the back of his neck like
peach-fuzz. I had an urge to kiss him there, on the back of the neck .... to
cover his neck with a flurry of kisses. I had an image of wreathing his neck
with kisses like a garland of flowers. I was sinking fast, hopeless, drowning
in his essence not two minutes after walking in the door.

     At the bottom of the stairs, we went around a corner and the basement
opened  before me. This was undoubtedly Sean's space. It was a finished
basement, with a reasonably spacious sitting/working/playing area. It had a
couch and a low easy chair with ottoman. There was a T.V. and game-box, a
solo-flex machine along one wall, a sliding glass door to a sunken porch. A
computer and some schoolbooks sat on a desk. The door to a smaller room
was open, the lights off, no doubt his bedroom. The rec-room area  was
comfortably messy with teen-jock clothes and stuff  laying around. It was a
little warm, like over 70 degrees warm. There was a subtle scent  -- complex,
athletic, sweet and musky   the smell of Sean. I took a deep breath. This was
great.

     I looked at Sean, nervous, smiling. "Nice place you have here."

     "I know   it's decked out   one of the advantages of being an only
child," he said, holding his arms out, then looking down. He looked
apologetic. His voice had the usual, low tiger-growl quality to it, now a little
nervous. I couldn't believe it. Sean was actually nervous. "Have a seat," he
said.

     I figured out where I should sit. The couch was facing the television,
but it had clothes on half of it and exercise equipment on the other half. The
easy chair was off to the side. So I sat on the floor with my back against the
middle of the couch. I moved a pair of sneakers to the side, but not too far. It
was thick pile carpeting, very comfortable. Sean shoved some clothes off
half of the couch, sitting behind me and to my left.
     He didn't offer me a place on the couch.
     On purpose?
     He sat slouching back, with his hips on the edge of the couch, his legs
out in front, crossed at the ankles.

     It was everywhere I wanted to be, sitting practically at his feet. I could
look at the television and his awesome legs both at the same time. He flipped
through the channels with the remote and stopped on an episode of  "The
Wild Boys." The show is a spinoff from the NCKY skateboarders' group,
about these two guys who explore the animal kingdom like they are playing
"Truth or Dare," mostly naked. We started getting into it. Sean had his ankles
crossed, and whenever Steve-O (the skinny guy) was on the screen in a
jockstrap (frequently), Sean would rock his feet from side to side.

     Hmmm. Interesting.

     Sitting there, inches apart, feeling his heat, had me aching to touch him.
Aching to feel his skin and the haze of hair on his legs.

     We exchanged commentary on the video action. Steve-O had stuck a
fish in his butt-crack, baiting a stork, which was chasing him around and
pecking at his ass. "I can't believe it," I said. "These guys are crazy." I
fidgeted in my seat, sympathetic with the action on screen. My shoulder
brushed against Sean's thigh. He didn't pull back..

     On-screen, Steve-O would say, "Okay, that's it, I'm not doing this
anymore, it's over." But he kept holding that fish in his butt-crack and
wiggling his ass. And I kept admiring Sean's hairy legs and bare feet.

     "I think Steve-O is a masochist," Sean offered, after watching the stork
chase a naked Steve-O across the yard at beak-point. I was restless with
energy. I squirmed around, trying to control a growing urge to touch him.
Finally, I settled for laying on my back with my head propped on the couch,
my hips about 6 inches from Sean's feet.

     "And an exhibitionist," I added.

     "Yeah, for sure,"  Sean replied. His voice edging into that growling
tone again. "I bet he'd love it .... if that stork just tore his jock-strap off."
Chuckle. "He'd probably get a hard-on."

     Then Sean moved his feet apart and planted his right foot on the floor,
next to my left hip. Touching. Yikes! This was getting intense. I wanted to
jump right out of my skin and into his bones. But I didn't. I was stalk-still, a
rabbit in the headlights.

      Sean could see me stretched out on the floor in front of him, but I
could only see his legs and feet. I couldn't see his expression. I wasn't sure
where this was headed. I had to go totally on blind faith. Feeling his foot
touching my hip, and guessing he was checking me out, my dick started
pumping up. My left hand lay motionless on the floor, just on the other side
of his bare foot. Like I was paralyzed.

     Then I sneezed. "Ah-choo."

      Sean laughed. "You know, they found out that people sneeze when
they go into bright light," Sean said.

     An interesting observation, I thought. And you .... are my .... bright
light?  Or your foot .... on me ... is my .... bright light? Or Steve-O's ass
cheeks are my bright light? Or something. The unspoken thought just hung
there, between us.

     On T.V., the stork was chasing Steve-O up a tree. "Do you think
they're gay?" Sean asked. "Two guys, running around together, in there jock
straps, in the jungle, playin' grab-ass?  Do you think they fool around with
each other?"

     My heart was pounding, and all the blood was pulsing into my dick.
Now I had a boner that Stevie Wonder could have seen.

     "Yo, Mikey, anybody home?" Sean ruffled my hair with his hand.

      I was speechless, breathless. I turned my head and looked up at him, a
worried look in my eyes. He was grinning. A kind grin. His hardboy dick was
unmistakable in his shorts. He pointed at it gangsta-style with both hands, his
eyes rolling up and to the left, like he had been doing since last summer. I
had a rushing feeling in my chest, and my dick went to full-mast. I rolled my
hips in to his foot, propped up on one elbow, my lips an inch from his
muscled thigh, my eyes fixed on his bulge. My straining dick touched his
foot. My dick   on his foot. My boy-boner   on Sean's foot.

     Sean wiggled his foot against my cock.  I breathed in deep, my lips
touching the hair on his leg. As I breathed out, my hips pumped
automatically. I humped his foot. I fucking humped his foot. Like I was his
dog os something. And Sean was watching me hump his foot. Feeling me
hump it. Like I was his dog.

     He half-whispered, "Yo, Mikey, I think you seen the light."
After a long minute, he sang, "Mikey gots a hard-on."

     I was lost, gone, falling into him. I kissed his leg with an open mouth,
my tongue on his skin, tasting him, feeling the texture of his leg-hairs, licking
his skin. A long, slow, wet  kiss, with my eyes closed, with "The Wild Boys"
droning in the background. My mindless cock flexed against his foot.

     "Dude, you got a hard-on for me?" Sean asked.

     "Yeah, Sean, I got a hard-on ... for you."  My voice breaking. I looked
into his eyes, seemed like forever.  My dick was rigid now, flexing on its
own. Then I sneezed, again. It sprayed all over Sean's leg. He started
laughing again.

     "Sneezy, seems like you got a hard-on for me alla  time."

     "Yeah, Sean, I got a hard-on for you alla  time," I whispered, sniffling.

     "I know .... and it seems like you wanna be SHOWIN' me .... how you
got a hard-on for me .... ALLA  time." And all this time I am leaning into his
foot with my little hard-on. I wanted to be feeling his leg with my hand, but I
was afraid to grab his leg, in case he didn't like it.

     "I'm sorry, Sean, I can't help it .... I just get a boner whenever I see  ...
whenever I think about you .... I can't help it."

     "Tha's okay, Mike .... I LIKE seein' you get all boned up for me .... 'n'
I think .... I think you like SHOWIN' me how u got a hard-on for me .... Am I
right?"

     "Yeah man, I like it when you catch me with .... a boner .... a boner for
you," I admitted sheepishly. My hard weiner spazzed when I said that. Sean
slowly pulled his foot away from my crotch. I missed it immediately. I tried
leaning into it, but it was gone.

     "Okay then, Mikey, stand up and let me take a good long look," he
said, tilting his head to the side.

     Oooooh man. I was weak in the legs and felt a rush in my chest. Sean
telling me to stand up for him .... gonna see how I have .... a boner .... for
him. I stood up, facing him. He spread his feet wide in front of him, checking
me out. My dick was at attention, ridging my jeans right up to the waist-snap.

     Sean grabbed my belt-loops and pulled me in closer. The muscles in his
arms flexed when he moved, and his abs popped out hard. I stood looking at
his face. He squeezed the ridge in my jeans with his fingers and held it firm
between his thumb and forefinger. I stood with my hands at my sides, my
heart pounding. I flexed my dick again as he let up on his grip .... I flexed my
dick for HIM.

     Then he unsnapped my jeans. Nice and slow. He grabbed my zipper
and worked it down the length of my rigid wiener. He dragged my jeans
down  over my hips, down to the floor. My white jockeys were tenting bad.
He flicked the underside of my dickhead with his finger. My eyes rolled up in
my head. "Step out o' your jeans," he said. I did. He took them and rolled
them into a ball and threw them on the couch. My pants were ... gone.

      I could see Sean's hard-on tenting his soccer shorts, too. Oh man I
wanted it. Wanted it bad. But I didn't move. This was his show. "Looks like
you got a little erection for me," he observed.

     I shuddered. Fuck yeah, Sean, I was thinking. I abso-fucking-lutely got
a little erection for you. It's little, but it's all I got. And it's all yours. Take it,
for God's sakes. My total boy-boner is yours. I was breathing heavy.  He
pulled the waistband of my jockeys down to just above the base of my dick
and sat back. My wiener stuck straight out at him, held down by the waist-
band, a tent pole in my tighty-whities. A fledgling bush of wiry hairs peaked
over the top.

     "Take off your shirt," he said. I knew I had a choice. Technically
speaking, I had a choice. I could just grab my clothes and leave. He had made
it easy for me to give in, leading me down the garden path, teasing my boner,
undressing me, doing all the work. But now I was in it deep, he knew where
my head was at, knew I was aching for him. I pulled the sweatshirt over my
head. He held his hand out expectantly. I handed it to him. He threw it on the
couch. "Now your socks" he said. Handed over. He held them to his face and
inhaled, with a look of mock-disgust and tossed them on the couch. Gone.

      "You are one cute little fucker, standing there .... with that ever-ready
boner stretchin' your underoos." My chest swelled up when he said that.
"Looks like wrestlin' is givin' you some muscle .... and look ... your even
gettin' some man-hair down here on your legs." He leaned forward and
pulled hard on some of the hairs near my ankle.  I was proud .... proud that he
noticed my hormonal accomplishments.

     "And look at this," he said, pulling on a patch of my pubescent crotch-
hair, "you're even starting your own little jungle .... not bad .... for a twelve-
year-old." He grinned. I felt like a twelve-year old. It was embarrassing, and
my face started to flush. But it turned me on. I moaned, low, under my
breath.

     "Okay, Mikey -boy," he said, leaning back again. "Here's the deal .... I
know what you need."  He cupped his hard-on through the shorts, his legs
stiffening. "I've known u want me bad for months .... ever since you stood
there checking me out at the pool last summer, practically drooling .... I got a
kick out of teasing you that night ..... and ever since you sprang a boner in the
locker room at school .... pervin' on my muscles and oglin' my schlong ....
and then standin' there totally helpless .... when I tweaked your stiffy in front
of your gym locker .... and ever since I pinned you wrestling .... and pushed
my junk in your face .... and you sprang a hard-on for my cock ... until it
freaked you out .... and dozens of other times when you check me out .... in
the showers .... in the halls .... in wrestling practice." Man he was on a roll.
Then he stopped talking and just looked at me.

     I looked down. At his feet. The way he said it, it was like I was stalking
him. My hunger for him was so obvious. He made it sound like I was just
using him for my own perverted little fantasy, acting like a fuckin' pussy. He
was waitin' for me to say something.

      "I'm sorry Sean. I didn't mean to piss you off .... It's just I think your
so hot, so amazing .... I can't help it .... when you're around its like I HAVE
to look at you ..... And I wanted .... a hundred times I wanted to do something
about it  .... but I was chicken .... scared you would shut me down .... for
being queer." My boner was starting to wilt with the thought of him cutting
me off. I guess I was looking pretty pathetic. I shifted my feet and tried to
cover myself with my hands.

     "Stand up straight," he said, "Now hold your hands behind you and pay
attention."  He paused, looking at me, then continued, "You think I was
scared of you .... for being queer? .... Or disgusted, cuz your gay?  No, dude.
Would I do THIS," he said, pointing the love sign to his crotch and smiling,
".... in the showers .... if I was freaked?" We both laughed. Then he sat there
looking at his feet for a minute.

     I breathed a sigh of relief. But all this heavy talk was making me feel a
little out of place. Under-dressed for the occasion. Standing there with just
my semi and a pair of undies. Almost naked. Exposed. The air on my skin.
And then the semi started revving up.  Sean looked up and watched as it
pumped up with each heartbeat. I looked at him and went rigid. "Amazing,"
he said. "You really are .... totally queer for me."

     "Yeah," I said. Almost by surprise, my ass-cheeks flexed.

     "Well, dude, here's the deal .... I always thought you were kinda hot ....
and last summer at the pool party .... you were too cute .... tryin' to check me
out without gettin' caught ...." He smiled thinking about it.  "And then you
were just too cute .... over and over again .... gettin' caught with a boner ....
like you got right now." He grabbed it through my underwear and gave it a
squeeze. I shuddered.

     He leaned back on the couch again. "Then when you joined wrestling,
and started gettin' a hard body to go with that hard wiener .... I decided to
give it a shot." My brain was doing cartwheels. Sean, my teen-boy hero, was
actually diggin' on me.

     "Just so you know where you stand, I'm gonna lay it out .... I get into
girls .... AND guys." I was overjoyed to hear it.

     "But it's gotta be on my terms .... or not at all." He looked at me, all
serious. I nodded that I understood.

     He stood up. Stood right in front of me. He held my face in his hands. I
could smell him, that seductive hard-boy scent winding into my brain.
Looking in his eyes. Then he slapped me playfully on one cheek. "So Mikey,
you gonna do what I say?"

      I nodded, slowly, looking right at him. "Yeah, Sean. I'll do whatever
you say." My mind was flying. Months of wanting him, and here he was,
touching me, wanting me, claiming me. But behind that awesome realization,
nagging doubts lingered. Like, CAN I do whatever he says?  What if he
makes me do stuff I don't want to do? What if he makes me act like a flaming
faggot? In front of my friends   or in front of the whole school? Am I gonna
be able to handle this?

     "I thought you might, Mikey," he said. "I think you're gonna love it."
He closed in on me. His arms went around me in a sleeper hold, squeezing
me, my arms pinned to my sides, my hard-on poking into him. His lips closed
on mine, his mouth on mine. I struggled to keep some air in my lungs. I
moaned into his mouth as he breathed me in. I gulped air in little rabbit-
breaths and grunts. The he slowly eased his grip and pulled his head back ,
looking at me, smiling. I was swooning, with little bright lights dancing in
front of my eyes. I started to sway, but he held me firm. "WOW!" I thought,
"this IS gonna be great .... if I survive it."