The Attic Lessons

3fed358618bde7a1a17b73c7bf5e673b072fcb06An excerpt from Fleshbot Fiction‘s The Attic Lessons by William O.


Down to just my Jockeys, I sat on the low bed, enjoying the sight of Max and Billy undressing. While I'd caught that glimpse of Billy's reddish bush, I learned then that there wasn't much more hair than that. Billy was just pale as pale could be, and aside from the hair on his head and under his arms, he was as smooth as he was pale. Well, there was that light fuzz on his muscled rugby legs, but the light had to hit it just right for me to see it. I guessed his mother was the one who wrote "B. Coughlin" in bold black letters across his jockstrap waistband.

Max looked a little more sophisticated in his white-and-blue-striped boxers. And he looked a lot more hairy. There was a thick black trail running up Max's belly that erupted into a mushroom cloud on his chest. I'd already noticed that thick hair on his forearms inthe car, but now I could see it covered his legs, too. Max sat down on a bed across from mine as Billy scooted across my mattress on his knees to get behind me. Lanky Max leaned back on his elbows, now in just his boxers and big horned-rim glasses, hairy legs stretched out onto the floor, big feet crossed at the ankles. Max just watched us, a drowsy, cocked-head stare, as Billy's hands started working into my shoulders. I felt bad that, with my broad shoulders, little Billy had his work cut out for him. But not too bad.

He started with hands on either side of the base of my neck, getting a feel for how tight my muscles were, pressing only slightly into the meat, working his way gingerly from the neck to shoulders and back.

"That steering wheel sure did a number on you, oh boy," came Billy's assessment, as he dug in a little deeper. "I bet I'm gonna get just as sore as you are trying to take out these knots."

But he kept at it, sometimes with a hand on each shoulder, sometimes both hands on one side. As Billy worked, his hands weren't the only thing I could feel. I knew it wasn't an accident when the pouch of his jock grazed my back. Wasn't a soft pouch, either. I was feeling a little smug thinking this was going to be easier than I'd imagined. Then again, has it ever been that difficult to get a horny young guy to pitch a tent?

"Sorry if this is taking a lot out of you, Billy, but you're doing great," I encouraged him, wanting him to pick up that I didn't mind at all when his boner, pressed up against the jockstrap cotton, brushed my lats. With Billy pressing down hard, and that basket touching me, I'd readjust myself with a little wiggle to give his cock a friendly rub with my body. Billy knew where this was headed.


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