There are but five senses the human animal possesses, as I understand from my Biology class, not including those such as the “sixth sense” and common sense, which my father claims I often lack; sight, sound, touch, smell, and taste. Crammed under the weight of half-clad bodies of the boys in my high school physical education class, all sweating, hot, and panting from the just finished game of soccer, twisting, wiggling, jostling, laughing as the “pile on” ensued in celebration of the end of the match, evidently forgetting the youngest and smallest member of the class was penned underneath, I was subjected to a learning experience I’d never dreamed of having, even in my own wildest, wet-dream fantasies! What started as a simple game of soccer, now was something radically different, at least in my eyes, testing first hand those “senses” I’d recently learned about in Biology class.
All of us in the class were given strict instructions at the beginning of the semester what the appropriate attire for class had to be (not wished to be or choice, but HAD according to our pot-bellied not-very-energetic instructor); tee-shirt, boxer physical education shorts (those sports store downtown types with the school logo on them), tennis shoes, white socks, and jockstrap. Evidently there were some, or at least one, who failed to read the list of required clothing and omitted wearing one very important item when wearing those very baggy, gym shorts- a jockstrap! Not me thank you very much size small and still fitting loosely, but another person in very, very, close proximity to me!
In a pile-up or a tumble in the turf, those short legs of the baggy, boxer-style gym shorts can ride up the thigh to crotch height and expose the other shorter leg (well, not all are short) unless it is well encased, snugged up tight to the balls of the young man it’s attached to, by the nylon pouch of the jockstrap. If not, that marvelous appendage God gave man for procreation and pleasure can bounce around in the breeze, wobble deliciously against the fabric of the shorts, or, in the “instant case” as my lawyer father often states, rest comfortably on my chin and lips, my nose pressed up tight into the bushy pubes adorning the space from which it sprang.
I couldn’t really move (lie), as if I wanted to, but I really couldn’t see (true) what this fleshy, warm, and slightly, slowly chubbing delightful man-piece looked like since my face and nose was pressed tightly up against the lower abdomen of the person to whom it belonged, but I could feel it laying there, touching my lips, foreskin slowly retracting, a small drop of Cowper’s fluid forming at the slit, and rather large size gonads resting on my chin (how’s that for remembering my Biology lesson?). I could smell the scent of a young-man, well into puberty, brought forth by the energetic soccer match and sweat, a faint odor of an erotically intoxicating cologne, and the savory smell of his sex, accentuated by the scent of the seminal fluid beginning to appear at the tip of his cock, all of which brought me to an instant cock-stand! I could feel the warmth of his slowly growing sex organ on my lips, beginning to press up against my nose, and with each jostle of the pile, an easy, inviting thrust forward, bringing it closer and closer to a full cock-stand and that third innate sense. If I were to describe it, just from the contact with my lips and face, I would certainly ascertain it was much thicker and longer than a Wisconsin Bratwurst (bun included) and probably much more delicious, although having tasted brats (which I found delectable), I could only surmise of course.
Was this an invitation, an accidental encounter not intended to be sexual in nature, or was the individual just “baiting” me into something which could lead into more dire consequences? Oh my, oh my, what am I to do? If I do what I want to do, will he shout out “homo”, stuff me in a garbage can, ostracize me forever, or just plain beat the shit out of me? Should I be content with just the whiff of sex, the touch or feel of his sex organ against my lips, and the nestling of my nose in his pubic bush or should I risk all, open my lips, widen my mouth, and with a flick of my tongue, swipe the seminal fluid from the slit at the tip of his magnificence and then allow him to push forward into my warm, moist, and eager oral cavity? Say what you wish about homosexuality being accepted in the United States; that may be, but there are still those narrow-minded, right-wing, conservative sons-a-bitch’s who delight in beating the living shit out of gay kids. It’s still tough to be openly gay in many schools and communities here in the good old U. S. of A. so boys like me have to be more than just a “little careful;” we have to be damned careful and ready to take off like a striped-ass ape if need be!
Am I out at school? Hah! Fat chance in hell of that happening! I’m just a little smarter than that and a hell of a lot smaller than most guys, at least those in my physical education class. Okay, maybe not “small”, but I’m just not a giant, any part of me (although on a little guy like myself, “it” tends to look bigger than it really is). Picture me, if you can, sophomore in high school; five foot three inches tall, weighing one hundred eighteen pounds on a good day, thin, waist of twenty-four inches, small shirt size, and wearing small boxer briefs, and tell me if I’m big, medium, or small. Add to that the important stuff, dick (1), size five and a half inches stiff with my finger up my ass and pushing hard and balls (2), about the size ping pong balls in a medium tight sack and then try to say, “my, my, he’s a big boy!” Again, hah! There are guys in my physical education class I swear if they get a hard-on all the blood rushes from their head and they pass out!
Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of people in my school who accept gays, but there are still those who don’t and really seem to get their rocks off tormenting, taunting, poking, pushing, pummeling, and shoving those who are gay (if the boy is smaller than they are) or those they think are gay and want to torment the shit out of! Let your eyes linger too long on a nice cut of tube steak in the shower or restroom and someone will shout, “HOMO,” “QUEER,” or “FAG,” at least in my Physical Education class.
So far “junior” had not stood up and saluted in the shower; if I feel myself start to stiffen, I think of something terrible to distract me; you know, like fucking a girl!
But now, buried underneath this pile of high school boys, mostly Junior and Seniors, I’m confronted with the dilemma of a nice, tasty, slightly growing boy-cock, not in a state of relaxation, resting within tasting, licking distance! Now I ask you, do I take the opportunity to indulge myself, relatively assured no one would know who lapped at the lollypop while buried under this mass of testosterone exuding male bodies or do I miss the only opportunity I might ever have to actually give a boy-cock the taste test?
Curiosity and the presentation of steak on a platter in front of me got the best of me so I opened my mouth, much like a fish at the bait, and with my tongue, lapped the fluid dripping from the slit. Finding it much to my liking, I sucked in a better part of the rapidly stiffening appendage and began nursing on it such as babe at his mother’s teat. While doing so, I slipped the tip of my tongue under the rapidly retracting foreskin, around the large head of the penis, under it to that very sensitive notch, and began a gentle bobbing, bringing what I thought I heard as a moan of satisfaction. Just as the knob began to swell in preparation for discharge from the stimulated head and hose, I heard the instructor blow his whistle and shout, “Games’ over; everybody hit the shower!”
The very tasty dick and erotic smelling crotch suddenly was removed, the owner quickly slid away, and I was left at the bottom of a rapidly disappearing pile. Quickly covering my own turgid throbbing flesh with my hands, I slowly stood to join the parade to the locker room and the shower. I watched carefully, from the back of course, the line of boys running toward the locker room trying to gather some clue as to my tasty delight, but no one, and I mean no one, looked my way or even seemed to be interested in finding out who sucked his cock. I certainly would’ve if it would have been me, wouldn’t you?
Perhaps, I thought, in the shower room I might get a clue, although I’d have to be damned careful; one little twitch of my wiener and all would be revealed and lost. The single room all-in-a-bunch-everybody naked- dicks-wobbling-and-bouncing shower room had been augmented by three large handicapped shower cubicles with shower curtains across the entrance for privacy. Each wheelchair accessible cubicle was installed with a detachable shower head attached to the water outlet so each and every part and crevice of your body could be thoroughly and adequately rinsed after soaping and scrubbing. I preferred using those cubicles even though I wasn’t handicapped; doing so certainly cut down the on the view and temptation, much to my regret but much to my own personal safety I thought.
After my experience on the playing field, I really needed to use one of the cubicles, but not before I did a quick survey of the available displayed male appendages wobbling and jiggling as my classmates walked to the showers. None of the cocks seemed familiar, but how was I to know; I’d only tasted and felt the one previously resting in my mouth and smelled the crotch from which it sprang? The room was populated with brown, white, pink, black, and olive colored cocks but none of the young men exhibiting such delicious delights gave any hint of where it had been previously. There was no way I was going to wander about the shower room tasting or smelling; a sure way to end up with a broken nose!
I took my time heading for a cubicle; the locker room was slowly clearing as more and more of my classmates headed out, the day ending for them, as well as me, with this, our last class. Stepping in the handicapped stall, I soaped up, spreading shampoo/body wash over my head and lathering it up to a frothy, soapy mixture in my hair. I thought I heard the privacy curtain on the stall open and quickly close, but I was unable to look since my face and head were covered with soap.
A voice, very near and behind me, whispered softly, “Shhh; keep your eyes closed, okay?”
Was I about to look a gift horse in the mouth, or in the instant case (thanks Dad), a one-eyed wonder I’d tasted, inhaled the aroma of, and now hoped to have an encounter (not of the third kind) but an entirely different kind? I think not! Decidedly, I went with the flow and let it happen!
The voice, a soft, seducing, comforting, loving, erotically seducing voice, again spoke as hands, strong, masculine, gentle began an almost magical massage of my head, lathering my hair, “Let me do this, please!” Slowly, carefully, tenderly, and pleasantly cleansed my hair. Shampoo completed, he guided me under the shower head to rinse the soap away again admonishing me, tenderly, to keep my eyes closed. God, did I ever, not wanting this to end by some stupid action on my part!
Those gentle, tender, caring hands slowly and lovingly began applying body wash to neck, shoulders, chest, and back almost electrically charging my body with tingling, sparkling, jolts of eroticism. Around my neck, stroking it and slipping down over both shoulders, following the length of my arms to fingers, where other fingers slipped in and out, cleansing them of any lingering dirt before migrating up to my underarms, offering those sensitive spots equal treatment.
Oh, he wasn’t done; no, not by a long shot! Those hands, from behind me, moved across my chest and nipples, bring those little nubs to stiff peaks as his breath wafted into my right ear; hands down my torso, across my stomach and “innie” bellybutton, heading south to my sparse pubic bush and resting on my very turgid, throbbing, twitching maleness, for only a moment before he began stroking it, up and down, flicking the head, fingering the valley of the glans with each pass, bending me over, and resting his chest and stomach on my back.
The voice said breathily into my ear, “You’re so beautiful, so delicate and precious, perfect in every way a boy can be, so everything I’ve ever dreamed of and have wanted you since the day you entered high school. Today, when you took me in your mouth I knew you were what I wanted most in the world. It took a great deal of wiggling to put myself in the right place at the right time and today it happened.”
Apologetically he continued, “I’m so sorry if I hurt you with what I’m about to do, but I need you so and we have so little time.” Hell, I needed and wanted him just as desperately, so I wasn’t about to object to whatever he wanted to do!
I felt his very stiff penis nudge my anal opening, so I reached back with both hands to spread my bun cheeks so he would have better access, and pushed back toward his crotch as the very large knob penetrated and popped through my sphincter, the guardian gate, followed by the thick, long shaft breaching my rear portal until I felt the hair on his pubic mound snugged up tight to my ass (no pain, thank you very much)! It felt so good, so right; he rested momentarily as I adjusted, both of us realizing having it stuffed up my bowel, tight and deep, full and sheathed well was what we both wanted. I felt it throb or twitch as we connected, causing a momentary “flip” in my stomach as though the very tip reached there penetrating and reaching up into my very depths as he impaled me on his knightly, long, lance.
He began pumping his cock into and not quite out of me, not slowly but not with great rapidity, whispering his delight in my ear, kissing my neck as he panted his increasing excitement, and slicked his hand up and down my stiffness, flicking his fingers around my glans and in the little valley at my cock-head, but deliberately on a mission to bring us both as quickly as possible to the outcome we both desired. Less than thirty seconds after we joined, his stomach and chest resting on my back, his hands secured under my arms locking us together as well as connecting us in our sexual intercourse, I felt not only my own orgasm approaching, but his stiff penis begin to swell inside me, signaling his own impending release. I spurt and so did he, several times inside me, his cock swelling, subsiding, and swelling again as each ejaculation gushed into me; mine was unloaded on the shower floor. It was so breath-taking, satisfying, leaving me light-headed but wanting more, much more!
“Keep your eyes closed and wait a minute, please,” he said almost out of breath from his own spectacular release, slipping his now deflating cock from my rear orifice and exiting from the shower cubicle. I opened my eyes, finally, and waited for a couple of minutes, almost tempted to quickly peer out into the locker room in hopes of catching sight of my marvelous lover, but I waited!
My tumescence returned to flaccidity and I stepped from the cubicle. Retrieving my towel from the hook on the wall, quickly toweling my head before wrapping the towel about my waist to hide my private, now his, parts, I walked back to my locker to get dressed. As I neared it, I heard the locker room door open and close, signaling the departure of my mystery man. My paramour was gone and I was left only with the sound of his voice, the exotic scent of his cologne and of him, and the feel of emptiness after his wonderful, active, and stimulating cock filled me, breeding me, making me his – whoever he was! All of my senses, save one, that of sight, were charged, enhanced, and overloaded as a result of my encounter with him.
For the next two weeks I looked, listened, and yes, smelled the air seeking my secret lover. Several times, while classes were passing, I’d catch a faint whiff of his scent wafting about in the halls, but the herd of students moving from one class to the next was overwhelming and I couldn’t locate the source. Disappointed, yes- discouraged in my quest – no!
Speculation concerning his identity ran rampant in my young mind; it was someone who watched me, knew me, and wanted me! Who could it be? Was it him, standing next to the water fountain; or him, standing talking to a cheerleader; or the guy with glasses in my art class?
It wasn’t until the Homecoming Dance (my first and attending stag) after the football team was introduced (we won), the King and Queen and the court were introduced, and the obligatory first dances were taken by the homecoming royalty, when the lights were dimmed, and I stood in the darker shadows watching all the others dance, I caught his scent and heard his voice behind me whispering softly in my ear; “Miss me?” he asked.
I leaned back, letting his head rest on my shoulder and my back up against his very familiar chest as I breathed in deeply his intoxicating, alluring, beckoning scent, a scent so familiar I came to a full cock-stand, tight, confined in my briefs, my small butt pushing up against his crotch, feeling his stiffness confined in his britches. Moving his head, placing his hands on my shoulders, turned me to face him.
I turned, not quite certain what to expect, wondering who my mysterious but desirable lover was, but there he stood; more handsome than I’d ever imagined, someone I’d seen on numerous occasions at football games, spotted in the hallways, but never, never dreamed in a thousand years he was my secret lover; still dressed in his head cheerleader uniform, white sweater, red pants, white tennis shoes, and wearing a smile that simultaneously melted and captured my heart! With a grin and a wave of his hand, he invited me to join him in leaving the gym to his car where he could “dance me outside,” and we could be as one. He and I said nothing as we drove away from the school. We both remained mute when we came to his home, walked upstairs to his bedroom, and as we carefully, lovingly disrobed each other. It wasn’t until, flat on my back, my legs wrapped around his hips pulling him tight against me, forcing his man-piece deep inside me, thrusting in my moist warm sheath, lips locked on mine, I muffled out my own cheer of delight; knowing and feeling the love of someone as popular as he was would want me as his boyfriend; small, quiet, but definitely lovable, if what we were now doing was any indication, but he did; I loved it, wanted it, and wanted him in return!
Thank you for reading “Sensory Overload.”
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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