Panty Freaks, Part 2, Chapters 6-10

Part 2, Chapters 6 - 10

Chapter 6

By the time Larry and I entered the seventh grade our little masturbation sessions had become a regular part of my visits to his home. This just became one of our private, naughty little secrets. I was a little envious of Larry though. I knew he got to masturbate a lot more than I did. Not only did he have a lot more hours alone in his home, but the consequences of discovery would be much less for him.

I devised some ingenious tricks for masturbating silently and I always carried a towel to bed with me for cleanup. Some of the boys at school said they cleaned up with toilet paper, but I found it was noisy and felt yucky. Toilet paper sucked!

My most enjoyable sessions were those at Larry’s house when we were there alone. However, a dark cloud began to loom over our naughty little pass time. The subject had been mentioned briefly during our sex-ed class and Larry and I started reading all the library books and magazine articles on the subject that we could find. We were wondering if we might be gay.

At first we just sort of said "so what?" but then we began to realize all the social implications that came with that label. "Faggot" was a curse word in our school, and calling somebody a fag was just like calling him a bastard or a son-of-a-bitch. I knew how our minister preached against it as sin and an abomination before God.

That same year one of the older boys in tenth grade was beaten up at a local drive-in. The boys who beat him up called him a queer and a fag. The boy was beaten so badly he had to spend a couple of weeks in the hospital.

I remember my dad saying "It was good enough for the son-of-a-bitch!" My dad was a religious man and didn’t use words like that lightly. I knew if he was driven to swear, it came from deep sincere emotional conviction. He meant it! And that scared me.

They never caught the boys that beat up the gay boy. The local authorities just said they didn’t know who did it and they had run out of leads. "Maybe the boys were from out of town?" they said.

I think some of the guys at school knew who did it. I heard them talking about it. I could have probably gotten some names if I had asked the right people, but I stayed out of those conversations as much as I could.

Needless to say, these events all served to make Larry and I much more cautious and secretive. We began developing a little list of behaviors to help us rationalize that we were straight. We decided as long as we didn’t engage in oral or anal sex with each other and we still liked girls we weren’t gay.

Wearing panties, however, was hard to rationalize. That seemed like very gay behavior. Of course we didn’t do it all the time - just on special occasions. There was even one of the regular clubs on campus that initiated new pledges by making them dress up like girls with dresses and makeup and all. They had to run around like that for a whole week. It was just a joke and everybody thought it was funny. Surely what we were doing was no worse than that.

Our mutual masturbation sessions were even more difficult to explain, but an event was to occur that year that would all but put a stop to that. About halfway through our seventh grade year my parents forbid me to ever go to Larry’s house again, and he was no longer allowed to visit me. This decision was essentially precipitated by two events:

First, Larry told his mom he would go ahead and take modern dance and she enrolled him.

Second, Larry’s mom bought a computer and hooked up to the Internet.

My parents learned of both events at about the same time. They didn’t want me hanging around any boy that would go out on stage wearing stretchy little tights. That was disgusting and sinful. Such a boy couldn’t help but be a bad influence on me.

My parents certainly didn’t approve of Larry’s mom’s lifestyle. She had been a single mom for too many years. They thought a decent woman should have remarried by now. It was no way to bring up her children.

Computers and the Internet were evil incarnate (although sometimes a necessary evil). Dad had used a CAD-CAM system in the engineering department where worked for years. Most businesses used PC’s for everything from keeping financial records to writing letters. Computers were firmly established in the workplace, but my dad said they had no place in the home.

Many companies were now using email for communications. Buying and selling on the Internet was becoming common. My dad said that could only lead to a single global currency and a world government. A time would come when we could neither buy nor sell without the mark of the beast!

To hear my dad tell it, all of cyberspace was the domain of the devil; an unholy realm literally abounding with pornography and blasphemy. If I were allowed to hang out with a boy who accessed the evil Internet my mind would surely be poisoned with unclean and seditious thoughts.

In spite of this turn of events, that year was not without its lighter moments. One afternoon I entered Coach Robins’s office with a little cardboard packet containing a new brand of athletic supporter. I wanted his okay before I wore it in gym class. I didn’t want to get in trouble or get kicked off the floor.

"I wanted to check with you first, before I wore it," I said.

The cardboard packet was clearly labeled "Men’s Athletic Supporter" by the manufacturer. Coach Robins took the supporter from its packet and looked a little puzzled as he scrutinized what looked like a small pair of flyless cotton briefs. The fabric was, however, reinforced with some kind of heavy rubberized material sandwiched between two layers of soft cotton, making it stretchy. The texture was definitely like cotton (I wished it could have been nylon), but much smoother than the coarse weave of regular jock straps.

"Most jock straps are open behind," I said. "These are more modest. I don’t feel nearly as naked under my gym trunks."

Coach Robins knew my parents were very religious and I wanted him to think modesty was my motivation for this.

"Well son, I don’t see any problem," he said, handing them back to me. "Like I said, I don’t care what brand you buy as long as it’s a real athletic supporter."

Back in the locker room I donned the new supporter, showing it off to Larry and the other guys. My new apparel was indeed a novelty and someone remarked that Coach Robins wouldn’t let me wear it for gym class.

"It’s okay," I said. "I’ve already checked with Coach Robins. He cleared them."

"They look like a damned pair of panties," somebody remarked.

"Well at least they cover up the crack of your butt," I retorted.

"Yeah," Larry chimed in, "regular jock straps are obscene, man. Have you ever thought about how we look running around with our ass holes showing!"

There were a few laughs at Larry’s remark and that was pretty much the end of it. Larry, however, was grinning impishly.

"Where did you get those, man?" Larry asked, in a half whisper.

I told him the name of the store.

Yes, the new athletic supporter covered your buttocks and was more modest in that respect. However, the things were devilishly effeminate in the crotch. There was not even a hint of a pouch for the genitals. The stretchy fabric held my penis firmly against my crotch, preventing an erection. After a little arrangement my testicles usually slipped up inside my inguinal cavity, out of the way and out of sight. I really liked this feminizing feature of the new supporter. The most fun thing about it though, is that I was doing this in the name of modesty!

Larry purchased a pair and began wearing them immediately. Before the end of that school year I noticed that four or five other boys had switched to that brand also.

Chapter 7

I really missed getting to see Larry on weekends and evenings. It was like in the old days before we became friends. We didn’t see each other all that summer. We did talk on the phone a couple of times, but that was breaking my parents’ rules. I just didn’t get caught.

I guess if I would just admit it, I missed that stash of catalogs and magazines we had at Larry’s house. I had to be very careful about what I tried to conceal around the house. I did manage to keep some catalogs of outdoor clothing. The spring and summer issues of these catalogs usually had couple of pages showing women in swimsuits (usually pretty conservative swimsuits). This was about the extent of the sexual imagery available to me at the time.

I was feeling kind of down when I started eighth grade that fall. However, there were some new positive developments at our school. I got to enroll in my first computer class - they called it keybording - and the school put some computers in the library. They even had Internet, but they had so much filtering software on the school’s computers that you couldn’t really look at anything too interesting - at least not the stuff I was interested in.

Larry, of course, had full access to the Internet at home, with very few restrictions.

"Mom says as long as I don’t give out my name and address, or buy anything, she doesn’t care."

"What about porno sites?" I asked.

Larry grinned. "Most of those are pay sites. I can’t spend any money, remember."

I was curious now. "What about free sites? Are there any free porno sites?"

"You’d be surprised at what’s out there for free, man," Larry said, still grinning.

About that time the bell rang and we had to return to class.

We weren’t allowed to have private email accounts at school and our activities were strictly monitored. That’s when I discovered the public library down town. I had only been there two or three times in my life, on school field trips. Now I became a regular. I tried to get down there at least twice a week.

I told my parents I had to go there to look up things for term papers. My parents knew several families who home schooled their kids and they used the public library. So, fortunately, they weren’t overly concerned about me going there. I did, however, work extra hard to keep my grades up and maintain my studious facade.

The computers at the public library did have filtering software, but the censorship was not nearly as heavy as at the school. I got my first email account and thoroughly enjoyed creating my first web nickname. I played around with a lot of derivatives of my name, Mike, before finding one I liked.

There were already lots of Mike’s with numbers after their names like "mike127 etc. I played with "emike", "myke" and several others before settling on "myko". It had a ring to it I liked. Myko sounded cool. It was me.

A strange new feeling of self-image, identity, and freedom swept over me. My own private web name gave me a feeling of independence I had never before known. It was a name I had chosen and was not given to me by my parents. I was now a person in my own right, even if I had to keep that fact concealed.

Larry was "barracuda500" (just plain "barracuda" was already taken). He took the name from his uncle’s fishing boat in Florida. Best of all though, Larry and I could now send messages back and forth the each other. It was much more private than talking during recess and lunch break at school. You couldn’t always be alone there.

Larry and I tried to get involved in quite a few extracurricular activities at school because it gave us a chance to hang out together. I joined the drama club, but my parents made me quit. They thought that kind of stuff would be an unwholesome influence on me.

Although I was quite a bit larger than Larry, I was still too small for the football team and too short for the basketball team. Larry and I weren’t exactly shrimps, but we just weren’t in that top one-hundred or so guys that make all the teams. We couldn’t even make second string. We were just too average and ordinary.

I kind of envied our old classmate, Darrell. He was as big of a cut-up as ever, arrogant and loud-mouthed. But he had really muscled up and filled out. Coach Robins said Darrell had real potential and couldn’t wait to start him on the football team when he got in ninth grade. Of course the girls all thought Darrell was just too cool!

Larry and I began to realize that we weren’t going to be jocks. We were nerds; born that way and there was nothing we could do about it. We really didn’t care so much except that it was the jocks who got all the girls. Guys like us just had to stand around and drool.

Of course my parents were going to be delighted with my nerd status. They believed everybody - boys included - should remain virgins until they got married sometime in their mid twenties. As far as I was concerned that idea just sucked!

Chapter 8

By the time I began my ninth grade year Larry and I had started meeting clandestinely at the public library. We had to be quiet inside and we couldn’t talk much. The desk clerk could check the books we were taking out, even our own private books, so we had to be careful. However, when the weather was decent we would hang out on the steps or in the little park adjacent to the library. We tried to meet regularly on Thursday afternoons. We could have much more private discussions there than at school.

It is there that Larry told me that his mom had been dating Mr. Tuddle, the teacher and owner of the dance studio. I realized now why Larry’s mom had been so enthusiastic about getting him and his sister enrolled and why she had taken them to their lessons so religiously.

This didn’t really surprise me. Larry’s mom seemed like the type that would go for a dance instructor. I figured they were probably a pretty good match. The real shocker, however, came later in the spring of that year. It was a warm April afternoon and Larry and I were sitting at a picnic table in the little park by the library. Larry was grinning impishly and I knew something was up.

"I gotta show you something man," he said, looking over his shoulder and then side to side apprehensively. He handed me a notebook with something stuck inside. "Check this out, man!"

I could see the edge of a small slick-covered magazine sticking out from the notebook. I figured it was more girlie pictures. Larry still collected the little sportswear and dance costume catalogs and showed them to me when he had a safe opportunity. He had even added a few Playboys and Penthouses to his collection, which he still called "our" collection. I cautiously opened the notebook.

The image on the cover of the little magazine was so strange and unfamiliar that it took a few seconds for it to soak in. For those few seconds my face must have looked like a deer in the headlights. Finally, I gasped in astonishment and a queasy feeling came up in my guts and chest. On the cover was a picture of a man, blindfolded and gagged, strapped to some strange-looking table. He was naked except for his restraints and some sinister looking device around his genitals, holding them exposed and trapped.

Standing over the man was a woman wearing what appeared to be a black leather swimsuit. The upper portion of her costume - the bustier - had two large cutouts that allowed her breasts to protrude and she had a silver ring in each nipple. It looked much more obscene and lewd than nudity alone.

The woman was wearing a black mask and holding a riding crop in one hand. One of her legs was raised and the point of her spiked heel was making an indentation in the man’s thigh, next to his entrapped genitals. A gruesome-looking pair of tongs and a large hypodermic were laying on the table between the man’s legs. My imagination raced as I dared to speculate on the dark purpose of these instruments.

"Holy shi..! Wh… where did you get this, man?"

Larry only snickered and giggled as I finished looking through the pages of the first bondage and domination magazine I had seen in my life. Finally he told me how he came by the zene.

"It was last weekend, man. Ralph, ah… Mr. Tuddle was over at our place. He had bought some groceries and Mom was going to fix dinner. They had left some groceries in his car so they sent me back out to get them. That’s when I found them - you know, the magazines. They were in a cardboard box under some newspapers in the trunk of Mr. Tuddle’s car. There must have been over a dozen of them and I figured he would never miss just one. So I filched this one."

"Wow!" is all I could say, my eyes still riveted to the pictures in the magazine. "Do you suppose Mr. Tuddle’s into this stuff?"

"I dunno, man. Maybe. I’ll keep my eyes open.

"It’s too bad you can’t keep magazines at your house, though. Otherwise I would just give you this one, man."

"Thanks anyway," I told him.

Although my encounter with that magazine was brief, it implanted images that danced in the head of an impressionable, sex-starved, teenage boy. Images which quickly began to find their way into my masturbation fantasies. In the depths of my increasingly perverted imagination the cute, adorable little sex kittens of my dreams - my female schoolmates - were becoming cruel dominatraces.

I imagined myself strapped helplessly to a bed or table with these girls standing over me dressed in black leather tights, wearing spiked heels or thigh-high boots, holding whips and riding crops. I imagined them giggling sadistically as they did unthinkable things to me with those awful tongs, forceps, hypodermics, and scalpels. Strangely, I found these images more erotic than thoughts of normal sex. My mind was rapidly becoming perverted.

During the last week of school Larry and I observed "panty day" as usual. It came off without incident and soon school was out for the year.

That summer would have been rather uneventful except for a little weekend project that would later prove to be quite an enhancement to my stifled sex life. By happenstance, one weekend in late July found me alone at home while my parents and older sister were visiting relatives. I had lawn mowing contracts to honor and my dad was very supportive of my work ethic. A boy just turned sixteen was certainly old enough to leave alone at home one weekend.

Finishing up my lawn mowing chores early Saturday afternoon, I was looking forward to the evening. With my family gone I could have a masturbation session and not have to be careful or quiet. I wouldn’t even have to do it in the bedroom and I could run around the house wearing panties. That thought started me getting hard immediately.

In spite of my relative euphoria, I was also a little lonely and a little bored. Larry, as usual, was in Florida with his uncle and wouldn’t be back until just before school started. We had television, but we didn’t have cable or satellite. We didn’t have a VCR. I wished we had a computer, especially Internet.

I piled the dirty laundry into the washer and started the cycle. I knew my mom would be proud of my initiative, not having a clue as to my ulterior motive. I needed to wash the clothes so I could filch a pair of my sister’s panties after they came out of the dryer.

I know, I could have easily went into her bedroom and took a pair from her drawer. But somehow that seemed wrong. In either case I would recycle them through the dirty laundry again after I had finished with them. It was kind of like I was secretly sharing the garments.

Although it didn’t exactly feel like stealing it just seemed wrong to take them from her drawer. That would be invading her personal space. I wouldn’t do that. There were some unwritten rules and some boundaries I just wouldn’t cross. Somehow, filching a pair of panties from the dryer didn’t seem nearly as bad as taking them from my sister’s drawer. Taking them from the dryer was naughty, but not wrong.

I wouldn’t be filching panties at all had it not become such an important part of my sex life. Ever since I was initiated to the world of masturbation at Larry’s house that day I had preferred to slip into panties whenever I masturbated. It was almost like I couldn’t really enjoy it without panties.

Larry had confided the same thing to me. He wouldn’t masturbate unless he was wearing panties or maybe some stretchy tights. It just made it so much more fun!

While the laundry was running I was just rummaging around in my room - kind of bored, kind of looking for something to do. I was looking through the drawers of my chest of drawers and accidentally pulled the bottom one all the way out into the floor.

As I was starting to replace it, I stopped and looked for a moment. I realized the way the braces were attached to the bottom that it would be very easy to put a false bottom in the chest of drawers, just beneath the bottom drawer. I had taken beginning shop in school that year and had helped my dad with several little projects. I would have no trouble doing this if I could just find a piece of plywood large enough.

My mom didn’t go through my things nearly as much as she used to when I was younger. However, the risk of hiding things in my room was just too great. She might have some legitimate purpose for going in there and find them accidentally.

I had learned to become quite innovative when it came to hiding panties. I would put them in rolled up socks, or in the pocket of clean folded jeans and places like that. I lived in constant fear of discovery. Even so, there were times when they would all be in the laundry, like this weekend, and I would be out until I could catch some in the dryer.

I was suddenly elated at the thought of being able to keep magazines and catalogs in my room. The occasional swimsuit models featured in L. L. Bean and Eddie Bauer catalogs were becoming a little too conservative and wholesome for my fantasies. I wanted some of Larry’s dance costume catalogs and if possible some of those B&D magazines! A false bottom under the bottom drawer promised to open up a whole new world of erotica for me.

Going into the garage, I began rummaging through our scrap lumber - my dad never threw anything away. He always said there’s no such thing as scrap lumber, just lumber you’re not using at the time. I began to agree with his logic when I stumbled onto a piece that would be just the right size with only a little trimming with the saw.

I was removing the piece from the stack when the dryer buzzed indicating the load was finished. Suddenly, a devilishly naughty thought entered my head. I immediately went into the laundry room and took a pair of my sister’s panties from the dryer. I went into my bedroom and stripped, slipping into the panties. I tried to think thoughts that would keep me from getting an erection, but I was already forming a tent in the crotch of my panties.

As I went about the business of sawing the lumber - it didn’t take much - and installing it in my chest of drawers my budding erection disappeared. It felt so neat to be running around the house nonchalantly doing regular activities wearing nothing but panties. Being able to forget about how I was dressed as I concentrated on mundane tasks was strangely erotic.

Occasionally I would remember and reach between my legs to feel the smooth slickness of the nylon panties engulfing my crotch. No sooner would I begin to enjoy the sensation, however, than my erection would start to return, ruining the effect. I envied girls. They never had to worry about erections ruining the smooth soft contours of their crotches.

At the same time I didn’t really want to be a girl. I was glad I was a boy. I just wanted to be a sissified boy without a penis. I knew this was silly. All the wonderful throbbing sensations I had when I shot off came from my penis. I enjoyed masturbating and shooting off thinking about girls and imagining that I was a sissified boy without a penis.

In real life I knew that couldn’t be. I think I rationalized that these thoughts were all safely in the realm of fantasy. When I finally had an opportunity with a real girl I was sure I could function as normally as any boy. These fantasies were just a way of whiling away the time until the real thing came along. But these thoughts were so much fun!

Finally working the plywood into place in the chest of drawers, I was quite satisfied with my handiwork. It was no footlocker, but it would certainly hold quite a few magazines and catalogs. I added a few globs of glue to keep the piece from ever shifting or rattling then left it alone to dry overnight.

I was looking forward to going about the business of fixing dinner wearing nothing but panties. My mom had left the refrigerator full of goodies. First though, I had to go back to the garage and clean up the small mess left from sawing the plywood. I would leave no trace that I had ever engaged in a woodworking project this weekend.

It was a hot July evening and there was no air-conditioning in the garage. After I finished cleaning up I sat on the floor and felt the cool concrete against my buttocks through my slick nylon panties. I stretched out my legs and laid back and felt the cool concrete on the back of my thighs and on my back. I felt very sissified and vulnerable.

Reaching between my legs I felt soft slickness of my crotch until my budding erection began once more forming a tent in my panties. This time I just rolled down the waistband of my panties until my penis popped free. Below the waistband my crotch still felt very soft, smooth, and girlish (I imagined it felt girlish - I had never felt a girl’s crotch).

I began masturbating very slowly as my mind searched for erotic images. I thought of girls I had seen in catalogs and magazines, then my thoughts finally drifted to the school cheerleaders. In my imagination about eight or ten of them were standing around me in their cute little gold and white uniforms. They were smiling and laughing at my panty-clad sissified body. In my imagination it was my two favorite cheerleaders who were stroking my penis and massaging my balls through my slick nylon panties.

Suddenly I envisioned them holding those gruesome tongs and the big hypodermic I had seen in the B&D magazine. They were telling me I was just a sissified little nerd and didn’t deserve to have a penis like the jocks. No girl would really want my little penis so they were going to cut it off. However they were going to be charitable and allow me to shoot off one last time before they cut it off. I didn’t really deserve to shoot off, but the girls were in a charitable mood.

I imagined some of the girls in the background saying, "Awww, his little ding-dong is kind of cute. It’s really a shame we have to cut it off." The two girls straddling me still said I didn’t deserve to have a ding-dong and I was just lucky they would allow me to squirt before they cut it off.

Just as I was about to shoot off I imagined the girl with the hypodermic shoving it into my crotch at the point where my balls met my penis. She shot me full of some imaginary liquid that made my crotch and legs tingle and temporarily paralyzed me so I couldn’t move. I looked up into her cheerful, giggling face, pleading for mercy with my eyes.

Suddenly my body jerked and I began shooting my load. The imaginary tongs in the hand of the other girl suddenly morphed into a pair of pruning snips as she bent forward, and with a lighthearted giggle, snipped off my little penis. My eyes were now filled only with gratitude that I had been allowed to shoot my load before she snipped me. For the girls it was all just a moment of frivolous fun.

I pumped semen for what seemed like five minutes before my orgasm subsided. The host of imaginary girls dissipated like images in a dream from which I had just awoke. I now lay alone in the dark, on the cold hard concrete floor of the garage. It was quiet except for the muffled sound of the refrigerator running in the kitchen. I had just experienced the most devastating orgasm I had had since that first time in Larry’s bedroom.

Chapter 9

That fall I wasted no time in telling Larry about my newly-made hideaway. Cautiously, one catalog at a time, over the next few weeks, Larry slipped me a nice collection of catalogs and magazines. My collection even included three B&D magazines!

We were in tenth grade now and Larry and I were both sixteen. We had our first real part-time jobs. Larry worked evenings in a fast food chain and I worked Saturdays and two week nights as a stock boy and helper at the local Christian book store (my dad pulled a few strings to get me on there). It was nothing like mowing lawns. I mean we paid income tax and social security and all that stuff. It was like we were becoming real people now.

Larry and I also started attending most of the home football games and the pep rallies. This gave us more time to hang out together and the games were fun, even though we knew we would never be jocks and never play ourselves. But I think the main reason we went to these events was the cheerleaders. They were totally awesome!

There was one little blonde cheerleader in particular named Celia. Celia was the same age as me and Larry and she had just joined the squad this season. In fact, Celia went to my church - her father was a deacon there!

I guess you could say that Larry and I shared a crush on the same girl. This didn’t create any real rivalry because we both knew our chances of scoring with her were essentially nil. Celia might as well have been some Hollywood celebrity we would only see on screen.

"Damn! It makes my balls ache to watch her!" Larry exclaimed, as we sat watching the cheerleaders at a pep rally.

"Me too!" I replied. "She makes my tongue weak!"

We were watching a routine where all the cheerleaders tumbled and flipped, exposing their shapely legs and their cute little gold tights under their short skirts. Celia was slightly more full-figured than the other girls on the squad, but she was solid muscle. Her athletic prowess was obvious as she went through her routine of flips and jumps, outperforming the other girls.

"You ought to be in thick with her, man. She goes to your church doesn’t she?"

"Yeah, but it’s not that easy, man. I mean, I’ve talked to her at church and she’s friendly without being friendly. You know what I mean? I mean girls have a way of letting you know you’d better not try anything without having to come right out and say it."

"Yeah, I think I know what you mean, man," said Larry. "It’s like those friendly sales clerks that are paid to be friendly. When you try to talk to them they’re all smiles and nice words, but they’re really saying ‘Get the fuck out of my life, asshole!’ and they’re letting you know that’s exactly what they really mean."

"You got it, man. And the girls at church are really no different than the girls at school. They want jocks, not nerds. Besides, all the youth at our church had to take a chastity vow this summer. We had to get up in front of the congregation and vow to remain chaste until we were married."

"You took that vow too?" Larry sounded surprised.

"Yeah, I mean I really didn’t see as I had a lot of choice. I couldn’t have very well said, ‘I’m sorry Mom and Dad; I’m sorry Rev. Coleman, but I just can’t make that commitment. If I have a chance to get some nooky I’m not going to turn it down.’ That would have went over like a lead balloon!"

Larry laughed. "I’m glad it’s you and not me, man. I’d be just like you said. If I have a chance to get some nooky I’m going for it!" His eyes were fixed on the bouncing cheerleaders.

"It’s a wonder they allow Celia to get out there in that little costume - but I’m glad she can!"

"Me too!" I replied. "Our church says sportswear is okay as long as it’s in good taste. Like they wouldn’t allow thongs and T-backs and stuff like that. They don’t allow bikini swimsuits, just one-piece, and they’ve got to cover up a lot of skin. Actually, my mom and dad are more strict than our church. They wouldn’t let my sister be a cheerleader. They don’t even believe boys and girls should swim together."

"Do they know you’re watching the cheerleaders?" Larry had a teasing smile on his face.

"Naw, they think I’m here for the football. And don’t you tell them different!" We were both laughing now.

"So what about you, man?" I inquired. "You ought to be making time with the chicks at the dance studio. I hear they outnumber the guys five to one."

"It’s more like ten to one," Larry replied, "but it doesn’t matter. They’re just like the girls here at school. They like the jocks."

"I didn’t know jocks took dance?"

"Well, maybe they’re not jocks exactly, but they’re the type of guys girls go for. Girls go for a certain type.

"There’s one boy named Pierre - the girls think he’s so damned cute. Even my mom thinks he’s cute. She says he’s a real Casanova. I know he’s boinking at least three or four of the girls."

"That still leaves a lot for you though, right?"

"I wish!" Larry croaked disgustedly. "You know how girls are. The guys they like are just so ‘kewl’ and the rest of us are just dog turds in the mud! I guess they don’t sit around and get horny like guys do. They can take sex or leave it. If they don’t get the guy they want they can just do without. I don’t think it bothers them."

"Probably not," I replied, "at least not like it does us. I can’t go very long without thinking about sex."

Suddenly the cheerleaders bounded off the field and the players entered at a full run from the opposite end. The crowd stood up in the stands and began to cheer and roar. Larry and I stood up and became part of the cheering crowd.

Chapter 10

We had just returned from Christmas break when Larry approached me with a mischievous grin on his face. I had seen that expression many times before, just like the time he showed me that B&D magazine, and once again, I knew something was up.

"Say man, have you ever seen a gaff?"

"Sure. Well… no. I mean I know what one is, but I’ve never really seen one. I guess you use those when you haul in big fish on your uncle’s boat, huh?"

Larry giggled. His expression was more mischievous than ever now. "Yeah, that’s one kind of gaff and my uncle keeps one on his boat, but I’m talking about a different kind of gaff. If you have time to stop by the library this afternoon I’ll show you."

Needless to say, I was waiting eagerly at the library when Larry arrived. In spite to the chilly weather we seated ourselves on bench outside the library. Once again Larry had a slick-covered publication stuck inside a notebook, but this one looked similar to one of the costume catalogs with which I was already familiar. Nothing seemed too different.

"I don’t understand," I said, as I leafed through the catalog. "I’ve seen this stuff already. It’s neat and all, but what’s so special?"

"Check this out, man" he said, turning a page and pointing. "That’s a gaff. I started wearing one under my tights at the dance studio. It’s a great feeling, and I love the look."

I had overlooked the innocuous little garment when I casually browsed through the catalog. I saw it now though, and began reading the description. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Larry grinning as he watched the expression on my face change.

The picture in the catalog showed a man wearing what appeared to be a woman’s bikini bottom. As I scrutinized the photograph more closely I could see the man didn’t have even a hint of a bulge in his crotch. The little blurb in the catalog said gaffs were ideal for male stage actors playing female roles in scanty clothing. It gave the impression of realism without unsightly telltale bulges.

"Man, there’s places on the web where they sell these things just for cross-dressers," Larry said, "but they’re a lot cheaper from the costume catalog."

"How long have you been wearing these?" I asked.

"Oh, about a week now I guess. It all started about three weeks ago though. We had just come home from the dance studio when I told Mom I thought boys looked dorky with bulges in their tights. She agreed and said she was glad I had noticed. She said I was getting to the age where that was becoming a problem and it was about time I considered wearing a gaff.

"I was like you, man, I had never heard of them, but Mom showed me this catalog. She let me read the caption, then she just smiled and asked me what color I wanted. As soon as it came in I turned around and ordered three more in different colors. They’re too cool, man!

"You know, I think Mom knows I’m into this stuff. We never talk about it or anything, but somehow I just think she knows. And secretly, I think she thinks it’s cool."

"I wish my mom thought it was cool," I said. "My mom and dad are against anything that’s remotely sexy."

"I feel for you, man," Larry said, with a sober expression on his face now. "You know, I can order you one of those if you want. It’ll just come to my mailbox and I can pass it to you here at the library. If you ever see anything in a catalog you want, just give me the money and I’ll order it for you."

"Thanks, man."

Giving Larry enough money to cover it, I told Larry to order me a gaff - a white one. I had to stick with a conservative color in case the garment happened to be discovered by my mom (unlike catalogs and magazines, articles of clothing had to go through the wash). I would claim it was some kind of athletic supporter.

"You know what I did the other night, man?" Larry was grinning again.

I just smiled in anticipation of his story.

"I got out of the shower and was getting ready to go to bed. I just slipped on the gaff before I put on my pajamas. I turned on my reading light and started looking a girlie pictures and thinking about what it would be like doing it with them.

"I was all worked up and ready to start jacking off and I reached between my legs and there was nothing - you know, I had sort of forgotten about the gaff. I mean it was the weirdest feeling, man! I couldn’t even feel the outline of my dick. It was like there was nothing there at all!"

"So I’ll bet you got out of that gaff in a hurry, huh!" I was getting hard listening to his story.

"I wanted to," he continued, "but I couldn’t make myself do it. It was the weirdest feeling in the world, man. I was looking at all those babes in the magazine and I was so horny I was about to bust. Usually I would have jacked off like crazy, but when I reached between my legs and didn’t feel anything - not even a bump - it did something to me, man. There was something about that feeling that was even more fun than jacking off! I tried to imagine what it would be like not to have a dick, and as long as I kept that gaff on I knew it was just like not having one.

"I looked at the pictures some more and kept getting hornier and hornier. I figured before the night was over I would pull the gaff off and jack off like crazy, but I never did. I couldn’t do it. Every time I reached between my legs and couldn’t feel anything, I enjoyed that feeling more than jacking off! I finally went to sleep just thinking about girls and how much I wanted it, but couldn’t get it. I imagined I didn’t have a dick. I couldn’t stand it, but it felt real good too. It’s hard to explain, man. You gotta try it that’s all."

"So when did you finally take it off?"

"Next morning," he answered, "when I had to piss."

"I’ll bet you wanked off like crazy then, huh?"

"Nope. I had to get ready for school. I was like you, though. I thought when I finally took that thing off I would really be ready to go after it. But it was a funny thing, I didn’t really feel like I needed to do it that bad. One thing though, I sure had some pink outlines on my skin where I wore that gaff all night."

We both laughed.

I could hardly wait until my own gaff came in. And like Larry, as soon as I tried it I turned around and ordered a couple more - both white (athletic supporters of course). Unlike Larry, however, I didn’t have dance recitals and therefore had no legitimate purpose for the gaffs. For me they were solely a masturbation toy (although they actually rendered masturbation temporarily impossible).

My experiences with my newly-found fetish toy were similar to Larry’s. The utter frustration of being unable to become erect and ejaculate was a sublime joy within itself. We tried seeing how many nights in a row we could wear the gaffs without succumbing to the urge to masturbate. By the end of that year I was up to five and Larry said he had gone seven.

I would play with the gaffs a few days and enjoy the excruciatingly pleasurable frustration of not being able to masturbate. Then I would leave them alone for two or three weeks and go back to my old masturbation habits - wearing panties as a fetish as usual. Since Larry went to dance recital two or three times a week, and wore a gaff there all the time now, he played with this penis-deprivation fantasy much more often than I did. He never went an entire week without spending at least a couple of full nights in a gaff.

Late that spring Larry came to me with some news that I took very apprehensively at first. Larry’s mom and Mr. Tuddle were getting married. They were each going to sell their homes and move into a larger one. Larry and I were both afraid they would move away to another town - they had talked about it - and we would probably never see each other again.

Fortunately, our fears turned out to be unfounded. Larry’s mom and Mr. Tuddle decided to remodel and restore a large Victorian home just a few blocks from Larry’s present home. He would still be in the same school district. In fact, Larry and I would actually live nearer each other now.

Continued in Part 3

Farrell Squire