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Coming of Age, Part Three
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
COMING OF AGE PART III - Josh Joshes Around
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 come 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. .
END
-=Lasher=-
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